Bio Dungeon

Book 1: Symbiote

(The Slime Dungeon Universe)

Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue & Jonathan Brooks

Acknowledgements:

For the fans who stuck with us

Cover and Design by:

Amelia Parris

Editing by: Ellen Klowden.

●●●

All work within this novel is fictional.  All characters, places, and adventures were born within the mind of the author and have no relation to anything in real life.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; no copies should be made without the consent of the author. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

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Text Copyright © 2020 Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue

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Symbiote

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

About The Authors

Books by Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue

Books by Jonathan Brooks

Medical Glossary

Prologue

Vitertroll, the Dungeon Pixie, let loose another sigh as he flew around the room, using his trusty feather stick to dust the bookshelves that seemed to go on forever. For as long as he could remember, this had been his life; dusting, studying, and more dusting, with the occasional break to sleep or eat. He was a green-haired, brown-clothed pixie, with a slouching demeanor and a timid personality. Still, he at least kept enough pride to ensure his cleaning was always spotless.

“Troll! Hurry up and bring me my scrolls!” came a sudden and cantankerous yell from somewhere above.

“Yes, cousin!” Vitertroll answered quickly, putting his feather stick down and flying over to grab a nearby pile of scrolls. Grunting from the weight, the green-haired pixie struggled up two levels to a work room, where a figure was leaning into a book and reading with great concentration.

“Five seconds too slow,” the figure berated Vitertroll without turning around. “You’re too slow, Troll; learn to pick up the pace.”

“Yes, cousin; sorry, cousin,” Vitertroll apologized, refraining from allowing his annoyance to show on his face.

The figure waved its hands dismissively. “Just dump them over there in the read pile; I’ll get to them later. Go and take the previous read pile back down and put them away.”

“Yes, cousin,” Vitertroll nodded, walking over to a pile on the right and delicately placing each scroll down on a neat pile. When he was done, he walked over to the other side of the room and frowned. Which pile was the old read pile again? Was it this read pile or that read pile he was supposed to take? Taking a chance, he reached down to the closest pile and touched a scroll. Suddenly, there was a bang, and Vitertroll was blasted in the face by a small explosion, burning his hair.

“You idiot!” The figure suddenly exploded, finally turning around to reveal a small, cute, child- sized pixie, wearing reading glasses and a research cloak over a dress made of fig leaves. “You numbskull, hardheaded Troll! That is clearly the reading pile! Gah, my research notes! Get out, get out!”

With a wave of her hand, the little pixie summoned a controlled gale and tossed Vitertroll out of the room, and over the edge. The lanky pixie struggled to right himself and control his flight, barely managing to do so before landing on a bookshelf. He winced as the door far above his head was slammed close.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, “Now you made her mad. You’re not going to get any honeydew this week, now.”

Sighing in desolation, Vitertroll returned to his feather stick and picked it up. Pausing, he looked up toward the room out of which he’d been tossed, and he grimaced angrily.

“Be rude to me, huh?” he muttered. “Just wait till I hear my ping and partner up with a dungeon! That’ll show you, you little pest. Just because your parents are so great, they helped set you up with this dungeon; you didn’t ping within your first 100 years, either. If my parents were still around . . ..” Vitertroll whished the feather stick like a sword, pantomiming the beating he would give to his cousin, if only.

He broke off, sighing. Though they were cousins in name, in truth the little dungeon pixie was doing him a favor by allowing him to stay with her. After all, his parents had perished alongside his familial dungeon, leaving him homeless. He was approaching his 150th birthday, approaching the tail end of the curve in a dungeon pixie’s life during which they could hear a dungeon ping. His little cousin, born an intellectual genius, possessed this great library in a tree dungeon, even though she was more than 50 years younger than him. This library was famed for containing books on other species, from kobolds to elves to humans, from their culture and etiquette and politics to their anatomy; anything a dungeon pixie’s mated dungeon might need to know. Having this much erudition at her fingertips had made his cousin into a bit of an elitist, even though Vitertroll had read more of its volumes than she ever had. She treated him like a servant, making Vitertroll do all the maintenance and manual labor required to keep the library intact, while cooping herself up researching this and that. He was very jealous.

“Hmph,” he grunted. “Just wait till I ping. Then you’ll see, then everyone will see how strong I can become. Those worthless relatives of mine abandoning me, I’ll make sure you all get your just desserts.”

Having said his piece, Vitertroll went back to work, occupying himself with the magic of cleaning as he flew around with his feather stick. He enjoyed cleaning, as it allowed him to take out his anger and annoyance on the dirt and grime and dust that built up. After all, he was a bit of a clean freak and became nervous at the sight of anything that could make him sick.

Being sick- the very thought made Vitertroll shudder. He’d been sick once with pixie flu and had almost died from it. Pixie flu was a nasty disease that couldn’t be cured with magic, and he’d suffered two months of agonizing pain, unbearable stuffiness, and a splitting headache that threatened to split his head apart. No, a clean space was a healthy workspace. Dust away saves the day.

Distracted by his thoughts, Vitertroll didn’t notice until it was too late that he was flying toward a bookshelf. His clumsy body smacked headfirst into the heavy shelf, dropping him to the floor as blood slowly dripped down from his nose.

“Hells below,” he stuttered, grabbing his nose. “Gah, I’m bleeding!” With a quick muttered chant, his green hair danced as if blown by the wind and the nosebleed vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

“Truly like a troll,” he said mockingly. “Only my healing abilities are above normal. And my memory if I could only remember things.” Though Vitertroll was slow of mind, he did possess a photographic memory that allowed him to record everything he saw. Of course, the daily haziness did him no favors when it came to recall any of the information he held in his brain. His cousin had once... joked, he hoped ... that she’d remove his brain one day and use it as a magical information storage unit. It was a threat that continued to pop up now and again, to his horror.

Shaking his head dismissively, the orphaned dungeon pixie leaned his head back to look up at what he had run into. To his surprise, Vitertroll realized he’d never seen this particular bookshelf before. The very notion of such was impossible, as he had cleaned the entire library, by himself, for years, now. But the mistakable layer of dust covering the shelves and books clearly displayed his ignorance.

Staring thoughtfully, Vitertroll got up and took a step backwards. Instantly, the shelf vanished, replaced by an empty space at the back of the library. He took a step forward, and the lone bookshelf reappeared.

“I couldn’t even detect the magic of this illusion,” Vitertroll admired. “Erm, perhaps cousin hid this shelf from me?” He looked closely at the shelves, noting the even layer of dust. “No, she hasn’t been here either. Does she even know-”

“Fool, of course she knows,” he reprimanded himself. “This entire library is hers. Why would she own something that she didn’t know about?”

“But then again,” he reasoned to himself. “It was her parents who filled the shelves with most of the books, notes, and scrolls. Maybe they placed some hidden content here for her to read after . . . something? Maybe when she reached a certain age?”

“Regardless,” he pondered, “what are these books about, anyway?”

He reached up, pausing a moment later. His face scrunched up, and he moved backwards quickly. “Achoo!”

“Oh no, the dust! I forgot!” Vitertroll panicked. “Ah, I caught something! I’m going to die!” Chanting again, his green hair exploded into action as he desperately healed himself, trying to prevent the possibly improbable disease from entering him. After a few minutes of wasting magical power, Vitertroll let out a sigh of relief.

“There, all healed up,” he smiled happily. “Now then, banish the dust!”

Wielding his trusty feather stick, taken from a dust-eater bird, Vitertroll bravely charged into the fray of death and disease. With valiant and determined . . . determination, he strolled forth a brave knight of the . . . feather stick . . . of dust’s doom! With every swing and parry and counter, the knight of the feather stick vanquished his foes and liberated the poor defenseless scholars long oppressed by the machinations of villainy and hedonism. He stood alone, the victor, basking in the splendor of adoration from the masses and-

With a bang, Vitertroll was knocked out of his fantasies by a well-aimed book from on high. Eyes rolling back into his head, he collapsed, dazed.

“Keep your foolish fantasies to yourself, Troll!” his cousin’s voice roared down from somewhere above. “If you waste any more time dancing in front of that wall, I will banish you from the dungeon! Now, go make lunch!”

“Yes, cousin!” Vitertroll replied reflexively. He grimaced afterwards, rubbing his throbbing head. He couldn’t heal this until seeing her again; otherwise, she’d do it again. Grumbling under his breath, Vitertroll grabbed the books on the hidden bookshelf and carried them over to a table to read before making lunch.

To his absolute delight, they were books from the ancient Gylan civilization, a people who had specialized in the art of healing before they’d been wiped off Palos by . . . Volcana or Lunala, if he remembered correctly? His memories hazy on the best of days, Vitertroll could only recall that the Gylan civilization had broached upon life in some way that infuriated one of the goddesses – or both; he wasn’t sure.

In any case, these books were an amazing treasure trove of health-related knowledge, and Vitertroll devoted his full attention to reading and remembering the contents. Time passed seemingly quickly, and luckily, his cousin appeared to be similarly too caught up in some experiment or research of her own to notice the lack of prepared lunch. When Vitertroll was finished reading the last book, he let out a sigh of amazement and leaned backwards to stare at the ceiling.

“So many things I didn’t know,” he muttered. “How could I have known that life was made of things so small. To think that the current dominant races were researched in their primitive forms to support these theories. Amazing . . ..” As he broke off, he suddenly felt the hunger settling in his stomach. Having just digested, so to speak, an entire tome comparing fae descendants such as pixies to the primitive forms of modern peoples such as humans, he now understood at the cellular level exactly how that hunger manifested and what it took to sate it. Paling at the thought of his cousin’s reaction to her own hunger, Vitertroll quickly returned all the books to the hidden bookshelf and flew/ran to the kitchen wall, where the dew flowers hung. He quickly squeezed out fresh dew, pollen, and nectar from a couple of the magically enlarged flowers and whisked them into a calming drink. Wiping his brow after tasting the concoction, he flew up back to the second-story room.

Remembering past experiences, Vitertroll placed the two drinks, one for him if she was feeling generous, to the side of the door, so that if he was sent flying they wouldn’t be destroyed.

“Cousin, I’ve brought your favorite-”

Then, it happened.

A single, delicate, ping in his mind. Vitertroll froze mid-call, and a huge smile spread across his face like a wildfire. With a joyous shout, he chose to follow the ping, and vanished.

A moment later, the door opened with a bang.

“Where have you been Troll! I’m starving!” came his cousin’s voice. After a few moments of nothing, she called out, “Cousin?”

*****

With a small, green pop, Vitertroll appeared in darkness. He looked around but saw no source of light or illumination. He felt a small tingle of mental connection, the first step of the contract process allowing him to communicate with his destined partner. A little frightened at this mental intrusion in the dark, he cleared his throat.

“Hi, there!” he nervously announced. “I welcome you, as your future pixie partner!”

Silence rang out from the gloom.

“Ah, no I said that wrong, excuse me,” Vitertroll cleared his throat again. “Ahem! Welcome, young dungeon, to this grand world. I am Vitertroll, a dungeon pixie, and your partner and guide to becoming the greatest dungeon on Palos. Might I ask your name?”

A moment more of silence. As Vitertroll began to sweat, a twinkle appeared in the dark, a small, brown light vaguely illuminating a spherical space carved from stone and dirt. There, in the wall, was a sliver of crystal, its light coming and going in soft waves of illumination.

“Ah, there you are,” Vitertroll smiled, relieved. “Erm, can you understand me?”

In his mind, he felt a feeling of affirmation, the closest thing a newborn dungeon could make to communicate ‘yes’.

“Ah, good,” Vitertroll sighed. “Well, why do I, erm, what’s next?” His mind hazy, Vitertroll struggled to remember the next step of the contract process.

“Erm, I think... oh, no; that’s not it,” he muttered. “Hm, ah, right. I should talk about the contract with you and-”

“Contract.”

Vitertroll was startled. He hadn’t expected the dungeon to actively communicate with him using words. This meant it was smarter than the average newborn dungeon. He had a special partner!

“Yes, contract,” Vitertroll agreed happily. “A dungeon pixie and a dungeon form a contract as the basis of their partnership in order to fulfill-”

“Why?”

Vitertroll faltered. “Uh, well, the contract allows for us to work together as a team, with myself providing you everything you need to know about . . . well, everything. And you provide me with a home. A good deal, right?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful,” Vitertroll smiled happily. “Now, I-”

Vitertroll paused as his stomach let out an impressive growl that echoed through the small cave.

“Ah sorry,” he apologized. “I’m a bit hungry, you see. Haven’t had lunch today.”

“Hungry.”

“Yes, it’s something that I get when I need food to replenish myself. Luckily for me, I don’t need that much, since the mana in my body can provide most of my required nourishment,” Vitertroll explained.

“Hungry.”

“Yes, that’s what I am indeed,” Vitertroll nodded. “Now, since we both agree to the contract . . . erm . . . right, I need to place my hand on your crystal, and we both make the vow.” Nodding his head, Vitertroll flew over to the sliver, and touched it with a finger.

“Now I, Vitertroll, swear . . . erm, something. What was it again?”

“Hungry.”

“No no, not that,” Vitertroll shook his head. “I need to get the words right to trigger the contract. Give me a second.”

“Hungry.”

“I’m sorry,” Vitertroll apologized, “but I really do need a moment. What came after my name again?”

“HUNGRY!”

“What?” Vitertroll blinked as the dungeon roared in his mind. Suddenly, the pixie let out a scream as his finger became stuck fast to the dungeon crystal. Against his will, Vitertroll suddenly felt his mana being drained out of his body.

“No! No! Wait!” Vitertroll cried out. “Stop it! We’re partners, partners!” The pain continued to grow, as Vitertroll’s magical body was quickly being drained of all mana.

“No,” he said weakly. “Why? We’re supposed to be partners.”

“No,” the dungeon’s voice rang in his mind, clear and lucid. “You’re...lunch.”

With a final groan, Vitertroll’s mouth ceased to speak, and his body quickly withered away. His already lanky form became mummified, as every last trace of mana vanished; and then, when there was none left, the pixie’s body disintegrated into dust.

Silence once again pervaded the darkness.

“Thanks for the meal, partner.”

Chapter 1

A faint shadow flowed over the perimeter wall of the Drestice Family’s villa on the outskirts of Graniton, cast by a set of flickering torches near the front gate. The dark shape immediately froze, before quickly disappearing as the origin of the projection seemed to merge with the smooth stone of the 12-foot-tall fortification.

Get yourself together, Marstin, he chastised himself as he furtively peered around to see if his shadow had been spotted. You’ve barely even started; you’d never be able to show your face again to the Thieves’ Guild, if you got caught now.

Luckily, his temporary misstep hadn’t been seen by the dozen patrolling guards who traveled along the outside of the disgustingly rich, merchant family’s summer villa. Stretching himself out from his position, he looked along what he could see of the narrow walkway atop the wall and saw two more guards slowly making their rounds. They didn’t move very fast, at least, but they didn’t necessarily need to in order to secure the perimeter of one of richest Families’ estates in the country of Istut, let alone in Graniton. Not only were there literally dozens of guards outside, but there were another two-dozen inside – and all to protect the underground vault wherein dwelt Ghevin Drestice, the wealthiest person to ever grace their populous town.

Why the merchant prince deigned to live in what was normally one of the coldest towns in the country, Marstin didn’t know; regardless, he was there, and was reportedly storing something dangerously valuable inside of his vault.

Counting to exactly thirty-seven when he glanced at the slowly walking guards, Marstin pulled out the small padded hook attached to his waist with an extremely thin – but very strong – wire, swung it twice in a circle to gain momentum, and then released it overhead. There was just the barest scuff as it hit the top of the embrasure, and he slowly pulled on the wire as he held his breath; he had practiced this part of the plan the longest, because it required the most precise toss to reach the top of the wall without it over- or under-tossing.

His practice paid off, as he soon found that it caught on the wall, precisely where he wanted; a few sharp tugs on it indicated that it was secure. Another twelve seconds were counted off as he turned toward the wall and started to climb, using all of the pitiful strength in his weakened, malnourished body to pull himself up. His small, lightweight form was normally an embarrassment, as his skin was so pale and tight against his bones that sometimes others thought that he looked like a wasted, walking corpse; now, however, the lack of anything resembling muscles or fat on his body made it just possible to lift himself all the way up.

All of his limbs were trembling as he managed to ascend the wall completely. He crouched down so as not to present a silhouette to the still-patrolling guards. He paused for the required twenty-two seconds as he undid his hook and wrapped it back around his waist, securing it tightly so that it wouldn’t flail around when he didn’t want it to. When his count was done, he felt physically recovered from the physical exertion…for the most part; dropping himself over the inside of the wall was relatively easy in comparison to the effort required to get on top, and he landed on the soft grass of a carefully manicured lawn.

Marstin shook his head at the pointless display of wealth, since grass only grew that rich and thick for a couple of months because of the normally cold weather – or so he was told; as a result, very few actually took the time to grow and cultivate it in Graniton. Luckily for him, the grass made his footsteps practically silent as he raced for the large villa in the center of the compound, gliding across the lawn with the ease of someone used to slinking around town, while at the same time being as silent as possible. That wasn’t necessarily by choice, but necessity; causing too much noise while trying to swipe some food from the market or a fat purse from unsuspecting passersby could get him in trouble – or result in his death.

He easily avoided being spotted by the few guards protecting the interior of the compound, and he slunk around to the south side of the villa itself. He could always tell which way was south, even on a cloudy night, because it faced the huge mountain range against which the town butted up; even when he couldn’t physically see it, he could nearly feel its presence as one of the largest landmarks around. The mountain peaks rising high enough to touch the sky were so massive and prevalent that it was hard to imagine them not being there.

Where is it?!  It’s gotta be here somewhere…. Marstin frantically searched all over the southern wall of the impressive building with his fingers in the dark, looking for the small, abandoned refuse chute that the Thieves’ Guild’s expensive information said was there. According to a source inside of the villa, the use of the chute was stopped months ago when it got clogged, stinking up the entire building. Currently, it was sealed up with a large brick and some brittle mortar on either side, preventing anything from coming in or going out.

Finally, after taking entirely too long – in his opinion – Marstin found the slightly protruding brick just below waist-height on him, indicating where the chute was sealed up. Removing the thin metal file from his pocket, he proceeded to slowly and softly chip away the mortar, letting it fall silently on the grass below. A few scrapes were louder than he planned for, and he stopped while he listened to the area around him in case someone heard his actions. Fortunately, even after what sounded like a horrible cacophony of scraping noises to his ears, he didn’t hear an alarm being raised, nor see anything moving around the edges of the compound.

When the brick was free of the mortar keeping it in place, Marstin pulled it out from the chute; just as he pulled the relatively light stone brick out, he was practically overwhelmed by a horrid stench coming from the chute that he could’ve sworn had a physical presence. He barely held off coughing and gagging as he fought to gain control of his stomach, which wanted to expel the little he had in there. After taking a few necessary minutes to recover and partially walk away, he discovered that the nauseous odor had started to dissipate; whatever was in there had probably been saving up that smell for weeks.

Sadly for him, he was going to have to find out what it was.

This detail of the heist was the only reason he was chosen by the local Thieves’ Guild to successfully complete it. After weeks of research into the villa’s construction, bribes to dozens of people connected to the estate, and another week of planning, this chute was the only way in or out of the actual building that wasn’t secured to the mines and back. Every other entry into the dwelling was either personally overseen by a guard, was magically locked, or was completely inaccessible – to the point where the Guild thought breaking in was impossible.

Until they learned about the abandoned refuse chute. The problem with the chute wasn’t unblocking it, however; the issue was the small size of the shaft leading down from the huge house itself. Even though there were two Dwarves and a single Gnome that were part of their local Guild – with their small stature – they were too wide. Only Marstin, out of everyone, was narrow enough to fit inside, with even a little bit of wiggle room so that he could actually force himself up it.

To say it was a nightmare was putting it lightly. Squeezing into the chute was a challenge, in and of itself, because he was forced to keep his arms above his head to make himself a little thinner. He needed to take his worn leather boots off before he entered the inclined shaft, where he used his toes along the sides to push himself up the sickly smooth stone of which the chute was made. The stench, without a clear path to escape because of his body blocking most of the long shaft, got stronger and stronger…until he finally found the obstruction.

He couldn’t see it, but his hands certainly felt the disgusting, rotted remains of…something; his fingers squished into it as he forced himself to feel around, trying to find the reason for the blockage. It seemed to take ages of complete darkness, foul odors, and touching things that he would never touch even if he were starving – which felt like most of the time, lately – before he found what felt like a bone wedged into a small crack, holding the entire thing in place. Pushing on it a bit and wiggling it free took another seeming eternity of time, until it finally came free – and something wet and disgusting plopped on the top of his head.

Holding back a scream of disgust and shock, he forced himself to slowly slide back down, carrying a portion of the blockage in his hands and the rest on his head. When he finally emerged, he immediately threw the rotting meat and bones to the side, gagged a few times without being too noisy, and scrubbed his head and hands against the grass, getting some of the stench off. He didn’t normally like to take baths because warm water was extremely hard to get ahold of in any quantity, being as poor as he was; after tonight, though, he would gladly take a dip in a freezing cold lake of ice if it got the smell off his skin and clothes.

Great planning was one of the hallmarks of the Thieves’ Guild, however, and Marstin came partially prepared. He pulled out a small glass vial of an orange liquid from his inner shirt pocket – which fortunately hadn’t broken at any point in his efforts to get up the chute – and poured it on top of his head. Within moments, his stomach settled, and his nose seemed to go numb, as the orange liquid spread over his body in a way that seemed like it was alive. It wasn’t, though; instead, it was an expensive magical potion that would completely eliminate the scent of anything within ten feet of where it was poured for up to 12 hours. It was normally used to help evade guard dogs, or when gaining access to somewhere forbidden required…unique routes…such as sewers in larger cities; this time, luckily, it wasn’t a sewer, but it was still equally disgusting.

It wasn’t for his benefit, however, as much as he appreciated it; no, it was because trying to sneak through a villa with dozens of people inside – guards and servants – stinking like he had been, definitely was not the best way to stay hidden. Even if they couldn’t see him, a stench cloud would follow him just as easily as if he ran through the hallways shouting at the top of his lungs.

After that, it wasn’t so bad. Getting back into the chute wasn’t as much of a daunting task, and despite the disgusting fluid still coating the shaft, Marstin was able to inch his way up the 20 feet until he felt it level off. This might be why they couldn’t clear the blockage; sticking something in here long enough to reach that disgusting mass of meat and bones would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. Poor planning on their part, but lucky for me…I guess?

Eventually, his hands found another blockage, but this time it was the stone brick sealing up the chute from inside the house. Thankfully, he had remembered to keep his file in his hand, so that he could start removing the mortar around it by feel alone. As the first hint of light streamed through a small hole he had created, he had to force himself to keep going slowly, so as not to make any unnecessary noise. After another ten minutes, he finished his task and felt the stone brick shift enough that he was able to push it.

Here we go…if the Guild’s informant did her job, this should be easy. If not, I’ll probably have to run. Gingerly shifting the brick out and wincing at the screeching of stone against stone that sounded horrifically loud to his ears, he held his breath as his fingers lost their pressure on the stone block. He was able to turn his head just enough to look above it, and he saw the stone block fall; he was halfway expecting it to make a crashing sound as it hit the floor of what was supposed to be a little-used storage closet now, but he was pleasantly surprised when all he heard was a faint *thud*. Yes!

Pulling himself out of that cramped space was probably the best feeling he could remember ever having; at least, since he was forced to live out on the streets when his family was murdered, and he was left with some sort of insidious poison that was slowly killing him. He shook his head at that thought, pushing it away, as he couldn’t let himself get distracted about the past; he was too deep into this job to let something like memories of death, abandonment, and years of perpetual pain and hardship cloud his judgement.

It was dark inside of the storage closet, but it was still lighter than inside the tunnel, due to light peeking through the cracks in the wooden door leading out. Looking down near the entrance of the refuse chute, he saw there were a few bags of flour strategically placed on the ground in front of it, where the brick landed safely without much noise. Looks like she followed through.

Marstin didn’t actually know who it was that provided most of the information to the Guild, as well as placing the bags of flour there, but he was suddenly a lot more confident that he could pull this heist off. Not that he wasn’t at least a little confident that it would work, because he knew that Graniton’s Thieves’ Guild leadership had spent a lot of time and gold on ensuring it was successful; nevertheless, it had seemed so impossible from the start that he couldn’t believe that he had even gotten that far without being caught.

His buoyed confidence was like some sort of “elixir of success”; he felt energized as he crept into the kitchen from the storeroom, seeing that it was completely empty – as expected. His stomach rumbled as he saw some leftover bread and cheese on a platter that appeared half-eaten, but one look at his hands – and remembering the rotting meat juices all over them – was enough to dissuade him from grabbing a bite. Ignoring the hunger in his belly, he lithely sprinted across the massive kitchen, arriving at the open doorway leading to the first hallway he needed to navigate.

His repetitive training inside of an abandoned warehouse building, set up with a make-shift facsimile of the villa, came back to him as he silently navigated his way through the empty hallways. A few times he spotted various guards sleepily making their rounds, and he was able to stick to the few shadows and alcoves to hide while they passed.

Marstin’s confidence nearly turned to overconfidence as he barely avoided setting off the first of the magical traps he was told about, but he managed to stop his foot from fully touching the slightly discolored oval of carpet that indicated its position. He was never told what it would actually do, though it wasn’t necessary for him to know; all that mattered was that it would be bad, and if it didn’t kill him completely, it would at least botch the entire job.

A few other physical traps were a bit easier to avoid, since he knew exactly where they were supposed to be, and he was happy that he didn’t trigger anything else – though he made sure to look for them, just in case. As he made his way further and further down inside the villa, he was convinced that all their information had been correct, and he would be successful. Three floors beneath the surface, in a place virtually impregnable from thieves, he found the vault he had been looking for.

His heart dropped when he saw that there were two guards stationed in front of the door. Reviewing his whole journey down there, however, he realized that he was early; he had progressed through the villa much faster than was planned, so now all he had to do was wait.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually the two guards started to bob their heads as the drugged food they had for their late dinner started to take effect. Within minutes of that happening, they had both sunk slowly against the wall they were leaning on, until they were sitting propped up – and fully asleep.

Wasting no time, when he was convinced they were both asleep, Marstin scurried over to the vault door and immediately turned the seven dials that were on there to their correct symbols, the sequence embedded in his head so solidly that he had lately started to dream about them. When they were all in place, he took out his kit and pulled out two thin rods, immediately inserting them into the simple keyhole. He had thought that it was strange that, after all the guards and traps he had to navigate around, the actual keyhole lock on the secure vault was one of the simplest ones to pick. He had been told that it was because Ghevin Drestice, the owner of the villa, liked to visit his vault every day; as a result, he didn’t want to have something more complicated than it already was to open, as he wanted it relatively accessible – to himself, at least.

A soft *click* was the only sound that was made when he unlocked the heavy vault door, and he easily pushed it forward on well-oiled hinges – which meant that it moved without a single squeak. There was an expensive and bright magical light near the ceiling of the large room he entered, which allowed him to easily see everything contained within. Near the entrance, there were two armor stands with some heavy-looking armor, weapon racks with a variety of gorgeous weapons of all varieties, and a few shelves full of jeweled goblets and expensive-looking tableware. In the center were paintings and statues of both pretty and disturbing artworks, which were displayed perfectly at precise angles that could only have come from hours of arrangement. Along the back of the vault were countless racks of shiny gold coins, some stacked up to the ceiling, with small chests (which he assumed were for transportation) in a neat stack nearby. Overall, there was more wealth in that one room than Marstin could even imagine existing, and more than he would probably never see again.

The one thing that he didn’t see, however, was any sight of the main reason he had broken in.  There was no trace of the special gemstone he was supposed to retrieve.

Chapter 2

Marstin began to panic as he quietly, quickly, and frantically searched through the vault room, looking for any sign of a hidden compartment. He peered behind the armor stands, looked behind and underneath the weapon racks, felt along the artwork and statues for some sort of hidden catch or out-of-place protrusion, and even checked in all the small, empty chests stacked against the wall. A necessarily quick perusal of the stacked racks of gold coins revealed nothing, either; without moving them all – which would take at least an hour, if he was being careful – he didn’t think it was there. Looking closely at the jeweled goblets near the tableware, he determined that they were normal…expensive, but nothing special. The thief even searched the stone floor and ceiling, but even taking more time than he had planned to…he found nothing.

This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out of the vault; this is taking too long. My window of escape is closing. Based on his internal clock, he estimated that it was already almost 3 am, which meant that he needed to finish the job and get out of the villa, as well as escape the entire compound. The servants in the house would be waking up within the hour to start on breakfast and other chores, and the patrolling guard change happened at just before 4am – which would mean that the vault guards’ relief would arrive around that time, as well. Marstin estimated that he had about 10 minutes before he had to leave, or he wouldn’t be getting out alive; rumor had it that any thieves caught inside one of the Drestice Family’s estates weren’t turned over to the authorities – they were simply never seen again.

I don’t see anything like what was described to me!  He wasn’t told exactly what the gemstone or jewel were supposed to be, why they were special and glowed with an inner light, or even why the Thieves’ Guild had spent so much time and money to obtain them; but he wasn’t paid enough to know that kind of information, apparently. Actually, I’m not really paid anything at this point; I don’t count food and a place to stay as payment, necessarily. He was promised that he would be set for a long time, if he succeeded in this heist, however, which was why he had memorized the layout, trained, and practiced the entire job until he could nearly do the whole operation with his eyes closed. It wouldn’t take much to set him up for life, so he was hoping that success would allow him to leave his current occupation as a thief behind; Marstin was desperately hoping that a quiet life with enough to eat, a warm place to sleep, and perhaps even some access to alchemical medicine would keep him alive longer than the few years he figured that he had before his weakened body took him down permanently.

He had secretly hoped that if he earned enough, he might even be able to afford the services of someone who could eliminate his problem, altogether.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear as though that was going to happen, since he couldn’t find the jewel he was sent there to find. Running out of time, Marstin started looking around to find some things that he could take with him that might satisfy Burch and Cheven, the co-leaders of the Guild in Graniton; he highly doubted they would be happy without the stones, but he figured bringing something back, rather than arriving empty-handed was probably the better idea. The problem, he found – when he started looking around with an eye of what he could potentially take – was that he was going to have to escape out of the same refuse chute he had entered the villa through.

As a result, none of the artwork – as expensive as it probably was – would fit. The same with the armor on the armor stands; while he could take some smaller pieces, perhaps, Marstin instinctively knew they would be worth much more if they were part of a full set. The gaudy goblets and other tableware were technically small enough that he could grab a couple of them, but he didn’t think they would be worth a lot; not only that, they were so unique and recognizable that trying to fence those in town could eventually lead back to the Guild and himself, which was desirable to avoid at all costs.

Most of the weapons were going to be problematic, as well, as anything larger than 2 feet long or so would have difficulty fitting through bends in the escape shaft he was forced to use. Swords, axes, polearms, metal-banded staffs, a plethora of exotic weapons: all valuable; none able to fit through the chute. The only thing he found that he snatched up immediately were a pair of beautiful daggers inside gem-encrusted sheaths; despite their audacious exterior, when he pulled them out to inspect them, they were some of the finest-made weapons he had ever seen. Not that he had seen or used many weapons himself, as only an unskilled thief would need to actually resort to violence; regardless, it was inside of a vault, so he suspected that it was masterwork quality, though it was hard to judge based upon his inexperience.

With no other items that he could see that would be worth taking – among the things he could physically transport – Marstin turned to the back of the room…where racks upon racks of gold coins were stacked up. If I can’t get stuff that the Guild could sell, then maybe I can just swipe a bunch of gold. Just one of the gold pieces would keep him fed and housed for 3 to 4 months if he were to go to an inn. Each rack, when he quickly counted them, contained 100 coins; just one rack would be enough for him to live the rest of a normally long life, if not in luxury, then at least comfortably. He didn’t take the time to count the racks, but he estimated that there were enough for at least a thousand lifetimes in front of him.

Marstin had a small cloth sack that he had brought with him, which was likely going to be enough for what he had come for. Just dumping in a rack or two of gold coins inside the sack, however, would be foolish. First, the sack would be heavy and might tear the threadbare cloth; second, it would make entirely too much noise as it jingled around while he carried it. Silence was an ally of a thief and causing an unnecessary cacophony of sounds could get him killed.

Instead of going that route, Marstin looked at the small chests that he had moved earlier. They were relatively plain-looking, compared to the rest of the objects in the room, which made sense; there was no point in creating an ornate-looking chest if all they were used for was transporting currency. In fact, he thought they would be fairly inconspicuous along with a shipment of other goods, which was probably the point; if they could be hidden in plain sight, there would probably be less chance they would be stolen during transport.

He remembered seeing that they had small slots along their inside walls when he had opened them earlier, looking for the special gemstone, which hadn’t made much sense at first. Now that he looked at the racks – which were carved from a strong-but-lightweight wood – he saw how the racks could be securely fitted inside of the storage chests, which he thought would prevent them from shifting during transport. Sizing up one of the chests, he calculated that one of them would be small enough to fit through the refuse chute without getting stuck, and he thought that he could easily drag it after him, perhaps sliding on the cloth bag he had to reduce friction and scraping sounds. Hmm…if I tie it to my front while I’m lifting myself up the wall, I should be able to climb while having my hands free. It’ll be heavy, but I think if I push myself, I can do it.

Without stopping to think any more about it, since he was increasingly running out of time, Marstin fit eight racks of gold coins inside the chest; he was amazed at the ingenuity of whoever had designed the slotting and racking system, as they fit so securely and stacked on each other so tightly that nothing appeared to want to shift when he was placing them in. He closed the top and secured it with a latch…before picking it up.

It…was heavy. He could lift it with a bit of effort, and carrying it for long periods of time would probably be impossible for him; his muscles, which had been average for most of his life that he could remember, were starting to decline in strength lately. To a normal person, possibly even an older adolescent child, the chest would’ve been an annoyance, but manageable; to Marstin, it was all he could do to carry it with both hands straining as he ran out of the vault room, put it down on the rug outside the door, and then close the vault. There was no reason to alert the guards when they woke up to the theft, after all. He was positive that it would be discovered eventually, but hopefully Marstin would be long gone by then.

Marstin almost dropped the chest a couple of times as he made his way up through the different levels of the villa, avoiding the patrolling guards and skirting the various traps in the same way he did when he first arrived. When he got to the storeroom next to the kitchen, he briefly considered pulling out a rack or two to make it lighter, especially when he thought about the climb up the wall while carrying it. He dismissed the idea, though, because it would allow the coins to shift around without the extra racks to secure them in place; he had noticed that it hadn’t made even a single sound as he had transported it that far, and messing with that design was almost guaranteed to cause some noise – and get him caught.

Getting down the chute was much easier going down than up, and he was pleased to see that the chest fit around the sharp bends – if barely. He wished he could seal up the hole that he had made in the storeroom, but there was no way for him to lift the brick back into place while being inside of the shaft itself; supposedly, their informant and inside-person – who had strategically arranged the bags of flour in the first place – was supposed to help with that part, so it was out of his hands. He was able to at least place the brick back in the outside portion, though he was sure that it probably appeared out of place without the mortar, if someone looked close enough.

With that portion of the escape a success, he looked towards the walls to evaluate the guards patrolling upon the walkways. Luckily for him, he only had to wait a few moments before he was able to slowly make his way over to the wall and across the lawn of grass, carrying the chest of gold close to his body. He put it down with a heavy *thud* next to the wall, and he paused as he listened for any indication that someone had heard it. A few minutes went by as he froze in the shadow of the fortification, and nothing indicated to him that he had been heard. He dared to move after that, and he looked up to the walls, only to duck back smoothly as a guard passed above him. He was lucky, though, as the guard was looking outward instead of inside the compound, otherwise he would’ve been seen for sure.

When enough time had passed, he looked again and saw that the wall was clear where he was. Unwinding his wired hook, he copied what he had done from earlier and tossed the hook up onto the walkway, securing it in place on his first try. Marstin picked up the chest of gold and held it against his stomach and, using the slack wire from his hook, started to wrap it – so tightly that it actually hurt – against the outside of the chest and his body, securing it in place. Or at least, as secure as it was going to get.

Lifting and walking himself up the wall was so difficult that he almost gave up, halfway toward the top. It was only through sheer force of will that he kept going, even as his muscles threatened to give out on him. Come on, Marstin!  You can do this!  Only a little farther….

He was nearly to the top when he felt the upper arm and shoulder muscles on his left side spasm and weaken. No!  Not now!  Marstin lost his grip on the wire and fell to his left side, held on only by his other arm’s screaming muscles; in the process of falling to the side, he felt and heard the faint sound of the wire snapping around the chest he had secured to his body. It wasn’t that loud, fortunately, but making a sound was the least of his worries as he saw the entire chest starting to slip. Shaking his hand in order to get it to stop spasming, he managed to twist himself back so that he was facing up towards the night sky with his feet against the wall. Phew!  That was close.

Another few seconds later, Marstin managed to grip the wire again and pull himself up the last few feet towards the top, with his muscles screaming at him the entire time. Just as he was climbing over the edge, he heard another wire snap on the chest and it rebounded against the stone of the wall, striking up a brief spark. That wasn’t the worst, though, as his right leg gave out and he slammed against the nearest merlon on top of the wall, snapping the rest of the wires and cracking the wooden box a little.

Time seemed to slow down as he managed to catch himself from falling by throwing himself onto the edge of the walkway, while he tried to catch the chest with his left arm. Unfortunately, the strain that had caused his arm to spasm earlier made it extremely weak, and all he could do was move his arm slightly as the chest plummeted down below. Horror shot through him as he looked down, watching the heavy chest fall, wincing as it hit the ground and almost seemed to explode with fragments of wood and gold coins. Hundreds of coins hit the wall and *tinked* against it, causing a veritable orchestra of sound that was probably heard throughout half of Graniton.

If they hadn’t heard the wires snapping and him slamming against the wall earlier, the guards certainly heard that.

Precious seconds passed as Marstin stared down in shock into the shadows of the wall, seeing a few glints of coins that had spread out from the edge and into torchlight. It was only when he heard the shouts of the patrolling guards – both inside and outside of the compound, including some he thought came from the villa itself – that he moved. Now that he didn’t have a heavy chest of gold weighing him down, he pulled himself up the rest of the way to the wall’s walkway, undid his hook, and passed over to the outer wall. His muscles almost gave out again as he lowered himself down the wall before dropping, and he felt a twinge go through his ankle as he landed.

Limping away, he managed to avoid any of the exterior patrolling guards, who were nice enough to shout and give away their position in the dark. It felt like it took hours to get back to the town proper, despite the Drestice Family’s villa only being about 1,000 feet beyond Graniton’s exterior buildings and outer stone wall. Sticking to the shadows, Marstin managed to get far enough into the town that he could duck into an alleyway, which would allow him to disappear quite easily, despite the injury in his ankle.

Before he was halfway down the alleyway, a shadowy shape seemed to materialize in front of him; startled, he turned around, only to see another shape directly behind him.

“You seem to have caused a ruckus back there,” Marstin heard the voice behind him say, which he immediately recognized as Burch. “I hope it was just for an impromptu distraction so that you could escape, though; you better not have dropped the merchandise, along with that.”

Marstin realized he was breathing hard and trembling, both from the pain and from the fear of discovery running through his body. Hearing his superior’s voice from the Guild didn’t really help that much, but at least the shapes weren’t guards from the merchant’s compound. “No, they weren’t in there,” he said softly, trying to regain his composure from their surprise appearance.

“Good. Then let’s get back to—” Cheven added, and Marstin shocked himself by interrupting his – for all intents and purposes – boss.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant that the gemstone wasn’t in the vault. I was trying to bring out at least something, so that my efforts weren’t a complete waste of time. I ended up dropping all of the gold I was—”

“GOLD!  Do you think this whole thing was about GOLD?” Burch practically shouted, though it was still quiet enough that anyone outside of the alley would have a hard time hearing him. “You better be lying, boy, because we’ve invested too much into this for any games.”

Marstin didn’t know what he could say that would convince them, so he figured it was better not to say anything. That wasn’t the response they wanted, as it turned out, because after a few moments of silence, Burch abruptly said, “Bag him.”

Before he could figure out what that meant, Marstin felt a bag thrown over his head and tightened, and – despite the special concoction he had used earlier to eliminate smells – he experienced a pungent odor filling up his nostrils. As he struggled weakly against strong arms holding his own tightly behind his body, he lost all awareness of the world around him as his body collapsed into unconsciousness.

Chapter 3

“….Tell us where you’re hiding those stones, boy.”  Cheven’s voice was starting to provoke an instinctual, reactive flinching in Marstin. An hour – or more, it was too hard to tell – of being methodically beaten, while being drilled with the same questions, over and over, made the teen-aged, amateur pilferer automatically anticipate an impact of a fist or foot against his body. When he didn’t answer after a few seconds, the anticipated strike of a foot kicked into his side, and all his damaged body would let him do was groan. Cheven’s impassive eyes continued to stare down at him, cold and merciless, while Burch’s expressions alternated between sadistic satisfaction and annoyance.

After the teen woke with his hands tied in front of him with thin-but-strong rope – in what appeared to be some sort of cave – the interrogation began. Burch and Cheven demanded he recount exactly what had happened, what he found in the vault, what he did afterwards, and how he had escaped detection. No matter how many times Marstin earnestly reiterated it, though, his direct observation did not suffice; their information about the presence of the special jewel was obviously something they held as irrefutable. Before long, Marstin realized that it really didn’t matter what he said, or didn’t say, about the actual existence of the stones in the vault – he was going to be beaten, either way.

“I don’t—” Marstin was attempting to choke out between the waves of pain radiating through his body at the abuse he was experiencing— “know what else…to say…. I’ve told you…the truth….”

The questions stopped coming for the first time since he had woken up, and the beaten-up captive was finally able to open his eyes and look around with something approaching focus. The rough-hewn walls of stone had the appearance of a cave, though upon further investigation, Marstin realized that there were wooden supports running along what appeared to be a long tunnel. Iron sconces at regular intervals dotted some of those supports, and two of those nearest his location were holding torches, providing the only illumination. His furtive glances down both directions of the tunnel, looking for a way to escape, were noticed – and ignored – by the two Guild leaders standing 5 feet away from where he was curled up in pain on the rough stone floor.

Burch and Cheven were staring at each other, communicating…something…wordlessly, before turning back to Marstin. Cheven stepped forward, and Marstin flinched at the inevitable attack, but the lanky, dark-haired Thieves’ Guildmaster only squatted down, so that he was at more of an eye level with him. The guild master was a tall, lanky man whose frame hid a muscular form that would not be out of place at a circus. There was nary a mark on him, a testament to Cheven’s policy of letting someone else do the dirty work for him. “Boy, we’re well aware that you’re telling us the truth. There are a lot of people that can withstand the beatings you’ve been given without breaking, but you…well, you aren’t one of them.”

What is that supposed to mean? Instead of asking that, Marstin just lay there and waited for Cheven to continue.

“But that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to be punished. What were you thinking, trying to steal gold?  You should’ve left everything alone and then escaped, leaving none of them the wiser – so we could try again later. Now, though,” Cheven said with a disappointed sigh, “it is more than obvious that someone broke in and tried to steal something. Not only that, but someone broke into the most secure vault in all of Graniton, which will make the Drestice Family even more paranoid about theft than they were before. There’s no way we’re getting in there, now. All of our money, all of our time, and all of our potential for the future have been lost to us.”

Marstin didn’t exactly know what the Guild leader was talking about, nor did he really care at the moment. All that mattered to him was for the beatings to stop…and maybe get something to eat. He hadn’t eaten in over a day, and now he was both starving and in pain all over his body. “What are…you going to…do with me?”

Cheven stood back up and moved away, looking away from him lying on the floor of the man-made cave – a modified cellar, perhaps? – when Burch moved towards him. The Guild co-leader was a large man, and thus, logistically, unsuited to the thieving profession because of that; however, he wasn’t necessarily there to steal, but to enforce the rules, and to dole out punishments for failures. Marstin had taken a few “punishments” in the past for mistakes, but this was the first time he thought he might die from his failure to procure what he was sent out to get. The visage that stared into his own battered face was marred by a crooked nose and a scar that ran from Burch’s forehead to his cheek, miraculously sparing the eye in what must’ve been a horrific wound at some point.

When Burch pulled out a dagger and brought it toward the bound captive, Marstin pondered the irony that he might be slaughtered with what he recognized was the treasure that he himself had stolen. I guess this is it…  The sequestered teen didn’t even bother to try to get away, because he was in so much pain that having his throat slit would almost be welcome, by that point. The large man crouched down and sent the dagger forward in a quick strike, and Marstin braced for the killing stroke as he closed his eyes….

Suddenly, there was a sharp tug on his wrists as he felt his bonds loosen, allowing him to move his arms freely. Expecting some sort of trick, Marstin opened his eyes, in confusion; and he was momentarily relieved to see both Burch and Cheven staring at him with smiles on their faces. In his pain and surprise, he thought they were happy for some reason. A moment’s gaze sufficed for the captive to realize that their grins were more predatory than anything else. He’d seen those types of looks plenty of times before, in his time on the streets, which meant he was about to be the victim of something he wasn’t going to like. Whether or not it was going to be worse than what he had already been subjected to, though, was still to be seen.

“Up!  We’re going for a little walk, and I don’t want you falling and killing yourself unnecessarily if you can’t catch yourself.”  Burch grabbed one of the torches from the nearby scone, followed quickly by Cheven with the other one. Rather than argue – because that would likely only result in another beating – Marstin slowly and painfully got to his feet, groaning in pain the entire time. He pondered whether the reason Cheven didn’t want him dying accidentally was because they had decided to spare his life, or because they had a very specific way they wanted him to die, to set an example for the other Guild members. When he put weight on his injured ankle, he realized that it didn’t feel as bad as it had earlier; either that, or the painful kicks and punches the rest of his body had sustained were numbing the pain somewhat.

Rather than in a cellar, as Marstin had been expecting, he noted they were above ground, in what appeared to be an empty field. Flickering lights far behind him told Marstin they were away from town, possibly exiting from one of the Thieves’ Guilds escape tunnels. The young boy wasn’t sure exactly where they were, but he spotted a shovel and couldn’t help but think of the closed mine south of town. Not the town graveyard; he would have recognized that...he shuddered at the thought.

Regardless, Marstin followed Burch with a slight limp to his walk, with Cheven following close behind, as they made their way farther into what he quickly confirmed was a mine. Broken and discarded mining tools were scattered along the way, and the obvious marks of pickaxe strikes against the walls were in evidence. With dozens of mines scattered around, and his thief’s ear trained to listen for opportunities, Marstin had overheard enough conversations in town to know which mines were operational and what they held. It took a while for his pain-fogged mind to deduce that they were probably in the Harven mine, which had ceased operation a few months ago when the iron lode they’d been mining dried up. Since night and day didn’t really matter, while down deep in a mine shaft, work crews normally could and would mine in multiple shifts, all hours of the day; yet here, there were no others around.

Eventually, after what felt like hours – but was more like fifteen minutes – they’d traveled across the flat plain below the mine tunnels, climbed up and entered a tunnel, and arrived at a room inside the mine, which contained more broken tools and even banged-up buckets, which Marstin assumed were used during the mining process. Gratefully, he complied with the order to sit in the middle of the room, as standing and walking had begun to become very painful. The two co-leaders addressed him.

“The only reason you’re not dead already is because the absence of the gemstone inside the vault wasn’t your fault – if you were telling the truth,” Burch began, before Cheven smoothly took over.

“However, your failure still requires a punishment. Otherwise, others might think it is permissible to fail. Your beating doesn’t count; that was simply part of your interrogation.”  The tall man waved his hand around the small room they were in, smiling coldly at Marstin at the same time. “Take a good look at your surroundings, because this is your last look before we leave you here. We’re not going to kill you, but finding your way out of this mine will be difficult without being able to see. If you manage to survive, you had better make yourself scarce, because you’re no longer under the protection of the Guild.”

That is…harsh. Even if I manage to survive and somehow find my way out, I’ll have no place to stay and nothing to eat. Speaking of that…  “I…understand.”  He did, too; one of the most important concepts that he had learned while working for the Thieves’ Guild was that the more monumental the screw-up, the worse the punishment. The worst punishment was obviously death; so, at least he was being left alive…in the dark, in a mine located five miles away from Graniton, injured, but alive – and starving. He might be able to change that last one, though. “Is there any way you can spare some food for me, or know where I might find some here in the cave?  I haven’t eaten in nearly—”

“YOU’RE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE!  And now you want some food?  What do we look like to you – a charity?” Burch yelled out, before stomping over to him in anger. “Here, I’ve got something for you.”

So saying, the Guild vice-leader picked up a handful of dirt and stones from the floor, where it appeared as though the previous miners had dropped some of their product, and shoved it into Marstin’s face. “Open your mouth!  You better swallow this, or I’ll kill you right now.”  When Marstin didn’t react, the large man grabbed his bruised face and forcibly opened his mouth, before shoving in the handful of earthen material into it and down his throat.

It was all Marstin could do to swallow it, because every time he choked and coughed some up, it was forced right back down. After a couple of minutes of pure torture, most of the dirt and sediment was inside of his stomach, and he collapsed on his side as Burch stepped back. “We’re out of here. I hope you liked your snack, because it’ll have to sustain you if you want to survive. In fact, I don’t even mind if you eat more, since it seemed as though you liked all that.” Cheven said nothing more and turned away, as if Marstin no longer qualified to be in his sight.

As they walked away, Burch turned back and said, “Remember, we don’t want to see your face. If we do, you better run, boy.”  With that last statement and warning, they left, taking the light with them.

Marstin knew that the smart thing would be to get up and follow them at a distance, as they knew the way out, but his stomach hurt so bad that he could barely get to his knees. As complete darkness fell over him, unshed tears burned his eyes as hopelessness and helplessness descended over his mind. Strangely, as he kneeled there in the dark, a memory that he hadn’t even known he possessed flowed through his mind.

He remembered being a little child, smaller than he was now, if that could be believed; and he was living in a large house. In fact, as his vision expanded outside of what he had directly experienced, he realized that it was the same villa that he had just visited, though it looked much different from how it did today. There were only a few guards in strategic places, no walls, and many people throughout the entire house; not just that, but he recognized them: his parents, grandparents, his older brothers and sisters, and at least two dozen or more extended family. He remembered this particular scene quite vividly, despite not even knowing about it just moments ago.

His family were affluent merchants, earning most of their wealth from the mines around the town where they lived and similar towns bordering the southern mountain range. They didn’t flaunt their wealth unnecessarily, however, but bestowed much of it for public works for the people who lived in the towns where they owned their business ventures. It was such generosity that led them to invite those less-fortunate from the community to their villa on holidays, listening to their stories, and sharing their bounty in the form of a feast; it was so much that they usually ended up sending those they invited home with baskets and baskets full of extra food to share with those who needed it, especially as some of their holidays took place during the bitter cold of late fall and winter, always a time when many needed help.

He remembered turning 6 or 7 years old that year, and their party was another impressive affair. There were at least 100 people in the house, including nearly every member of their extended family; if he remembered correctly, the only ones not there were some cousins that lived far to the south in another country past the mountain range. How do I remember all of this?

That night, the last night he saw his parents and siblings alive, started out festive…but quickly turned deadly. Albeit that none of those whom they invited seemed to be affected, one-by-one, every member of his family started to get violently ill. Except, instead of throwing up just the food that they had eaten that night, they vomited blood that ran across the marble flagstones of the large dining room, turning it into a red pool of nightmarish origins. Marstin remembered the pain of that experience, which rivaled what he was currently being subjected to; that must be what triggered this memory.

His mother, an accomplished healer before she married Marstin’s father, had lamented (between painful rounds of emesis), “Poison!”  Marstin remembered her turning to him – the youngest member of their family at that point, though he somehow remembered some of his other relations being pregnant at the time – and placing her hands on his chest. A powerful blast of something had shot through his body, and he immediately felt better and didn’t feel like throwing up anymore. However, that was the last of his concerns, as his mother collapsed to the floor, in a pool of combined vomit and blood, and quickly stopped moving.

Before he could stoop to help her, shock freezing his body and with tears running down his face at what was happening, he felt his father practically collapse into him from behind. Instead of falling to the floor, he had felt another blast of something else shoot through him, and his head felt funny. “Run, Marstin!  Get away from here, before they can finish you off,” his father implored, before collapsing to the floor, next to his wife…Marstin’s mother.

The rest of that night was a blur, as his father’s last words ingrained themselves in Marstin’s head, echoing over and over again like a command, an imagined spell a dying father placed on his impressionable, young son, which made Marstin obey his last order, and then begin to forget. Over the next few days, the memory of what had happened became slowly obscured, until only the knowledge that he had been poisoned remained. His mother’s magic had neutralized almost all of its effects, but hadn’t gotten rid of it completely; over the years, exacerbated by malnourishment and neglect from living on the streets, the aftereffects of the poison had slowly come back and gotten stronger. Now, it was slowly eating away at his health, degrading his muscles and likely doing unknown damage to his body’s systems that he couldn’t even see – though he almost thought he could feel it happening, sometimes.

Maybe I should just let myself die here; I don’t think I can take the pain of my body’s eventual demise over however long I have left. He knew that it was inevitable that the leftover poison would eventually grow strong enough to kill him, but he was hoping to have another few years before that happened. Oh well, I guess this is it. I might as well save myself the suffering later and succumb to this now….

His resolution was immediately shaken when the face of a girl flashed through his mind. Kyra, the daughter of Graniton’s most prolific baker, Olen Risenflour, consumed his thoughts, even as he held his arms around his stomach as pain shot through him in rising spikes. He wasn’t sure when he had first met her, but she was probably the only angel who had kept him going through all of the years; her secret, free donations of stale bread that didn’t sell had kept him alive through many a hungry night – and the friendly company wasn’t too bad, either. He had been visiting her for years, even when he wasn’t looking for a handout, because she was…good.

Having to break the law to survive on the streets, witnessing and experiencing horrible things that no one should have to experience, and having to steal to survive, made him feel horrible; when he was around Kyra, with her long, dirty-blonde hair braided down her back, distracting him from the way she had filled out in other areas over the last few years, he saw that there was good in the world, and not just the horror he had to live with, day-in and day-out. Her beautiful smile as she joked with him about being all skin and bones, which wasn’t far from the truth, could sustain him for days; he could live with almost anything if he could just see her face.

Olen, himself, had actually cared little about Marstin, until Burch had tasked the young teen with his first job, to steal bread from the bakery. Marstin had succeeded and pleased Burch, but Olen had later deduced the thief had been the boy showing interest in his daughter, and the baker had become enraged. Since then, Kyra’s father forbade her to see him, stating that if she wanted to find a good prospect for marriage, she needed to cease being found associating with a thief. Private conversations with her indicated that marriage to any of the potential candidates around her age was something she wanted to avoid, however – they all were either ugly, abusive to others, or generally horrible people. Marstin had only seen a few of them, and from what he could observe, he had to agree. He didn’t want her to end up with anyone else but him; which was a bit selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel that way.

Clandestine meetups and secret get-togethers were all they could do for the last half-year, and it never felt like enough. They were rarely more than friendly, however, with just a few delicious, forbidden kisses here and there. As much as Marstin wanted it to go further than that – and he could kind of tell that Kyra felt the same – his weakened body made such a thing…impossible. He was too broken to rise to the occasion.

I can’t die here without seeing her face again. Besides, if she never knows what happened to me, she’ll probably think it was my choice to stay away from her. That was the last thing he wanted, as it would hurt her good soul unnecessarily.

Dogged determination thus catalyzed, Marstin stood up and started walking toward where he remembered the exit to the room was located. He ended up tripping multiple times before he even got to the tunnel leading out, but he eventually found it – with his face. From there, while still holding his stomach in pain, he used his other hand to follow the wall as he tried to find his way out of the mine.

He lost track of time as he stumbled his way through complete darkness, tripping over unseen obstacles repeatedly, and one time slicing his hand on a sharp part of the wall on his way down. It wasn’t too bad, however, and pressing it against his side to stop the bleeding sufficed; he wasn’t going to bleed out. The labyrinth of tunnels seemed to go on for miles, however; and at one point he almost gave up and sat down, worried that he had taken a wrong turn and gone even deeper into the mine. Kyra’s face just barely sustained him for another half-hour, but it was enough for light to finally be seen at the end of a tunnel.

Wha-what?  What is that?  He was practically delirious from pain, hunger, and exhaustion as he stumbled out of the mine, only to see that it was just barely light outside. Either I got out quicker than I thought, or it’s already dusk again. Marstin looked out in the dim light, seeing Graniton in the distance. It was only about 5 miles, but that seemed like a cross-country trek to him at that point.

Fortunately, bolstered by his escaping the mine, he found the energy and strength to trudge on. After a while, his body just felt numb as he stumbled his way across the countryside, aiming in what he hoped was the right direction for town. A horrific night filled with stumbles and falls later, he passed the first building on the outskirts of town. Emboldened, Marstin quickened his pace, his feet, like his heart, automatically steering him towards Kyra’s bakery. The sky was already starting to lighten when he arrived, and as luck would have it, the girl – the young woman, really – was outside, just coming back from the storage shed outside with a bag of something in her hands.

Kyra dropped the bag on the ground when she saw him, rushing to his side with shock and concern all over her face. “Marstin!  What happened?”  She sucked in a breath when she finally got a good look at his face and visible parts of his body. “We need to get you some help!”

His throat was dry from dehydration, but he managed to croak out, “No. I have…no money, and your family…can’t afford to fix what’s wrong…with me. I just came…to see you one last time before I…”

Marstin collapsed then, his strength finally giving out as he accomplished his goal: seeing Kyra one last time. Her face appeared above him as he laid on the ground, and he could barely concentrate as she spoke. “—you in the shed. I’ll bring—” and that was all he heard as he started to lose consciousness. Pain shot through him seconds later as he felt someone picking him up and throwing him across their shoulders; when did she get so strong?  A chuckle escaped from his lips as he realized that he probably didn’t weigh much more than a large bag of flour, and he had seen her handle those easily. She didn’t have abnormally pronounced muscles, but her frame held a hidden strength – just like his used to, before it all started to waste away over the last year.

The next thing he knew, he was lain gently in a dark space, surrounded by wooden shelves filled with a variety of supplies. Some part of his mind recognized the cellar of the storage shed, which was a bit cold if he remembered right, but he couldn’t feel anything by that point. He drifted in and out of consciousness as he felt a couple of warm blankets wrapped around him, and then he almost died of pleasure as he was fed some bread dipped in cool water, making it easier for him to eat and chew. Marstin was glad of that, because the effort of moving his mouth with enough force to chew even the crust of bread was nearly beyond him.

Before he passed out, he drank a half-glass of water, feeling full – if painfully so – for the first time in days. “Stay here, I’ll come check on you—” was all he heard from the girl of his dreams, his salvation, and his angel of…goodness, as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Chapter 4

“Well, this is quite the dilemma.”

This was the main thought that filled the mind of the dungeon crystal, self-named Progen, for a month now. Thanks to the vivid and informative memories he’d absorbed from a scatter-brained dungeon pixie, he was well-aware of what he was and what he was capable of achieving. As dungeon pixies were creatures of mana, his full absorption of the fool had granted him everything that pixie had once known. Unfortunately, it had also provided a lucid haze that made it difficult to analyze the contents of those memories. Progen had only been able to access the bare minimum information on dungeons before his life had changed for the unexpected.

Busy with analyzing the memories, after giving himself what he thought was an appropriate name and gender, Progen hadn’t paid too much attention to his dungeon or its surroundings. Thus, he was completely caught unaware when a giant magical shovel slammed through his weak exterior, shattering the small bubble that contained his mana. Instantly, Progen’s dungeon was destroyed in its entirety without a single chance to fight back or protect himself.

Luckily, at least, the destruction of his dungeon appeared to be quite unintentional, and he wasn’t targeted or killed before his time. Instead, it appeared his current location was the site of some kind of excavation; the hole alighting his darkness had revealed many fur-covered workmen using magic and physical labor to mine the area. Reacting quickly, Progen had hid his shine to disguise himself as a harmless crystal. His natural brown color would assist him, and perhaps they wouldn’t notice him.

His plan succeeded, leading to his current predicament. Not noticing the valuable dungeon crystal in the wall, the entire room was dug out and moved, Progen included, to the base of the mine to be sorted. Progen was tossed back and forth with the dirt and stone, taking a few hits to his small and slender body. Using the remainder of his power, he magically manipulated his crystal body to move with the dirt, avoiding the magical sorting as best he could without triggering a magical alert. He made it to the worthless pile of dirt, only to be deposited ungraciously at the bottom of the mountain, to be used as foundation. When the workmen departed, Progen was left near the surface of the ground, too shallow to begin creating another dungeon without being noticed. That had been the first day.

For the next 5 days, Progen had endured many similar close calls. Men digging holes to use the lavatory, dirt being moved by the great forces of magic to patch up the mountain where the ore vein had run out, and an accident where the large magical shovels were dropped, piercing the ground right next to him and almost damaging his crystal body, were all too close for comfort, to say the least. Soon after, however, it had appeared that the work had stopped, for some reason. The workmen had vanished, leaving Progen stuck on a worthless pile of dirt, exposed to the elements. He’d been stuck formulating a plan of action, until a few days ago when a single man arrived. For whatever reason, this magical person had begun to fill in the ore-less parts of the mine, likely to increase the mountain’s stability. Seeing the large amounts of dirt being moved, Progen found his plan. Now, it was night again, and the magic man had left. He would be safe until the sun was ready to rise again.

“I’ll survive this,” he thought smugly. “I’ve survived things no other dungeon has ever gone through so far; I will be destined for great things once I make my dungeon. I know, or will soon know anyway, everything I need to know to become the strongest dungeon!”

Progen suddenly frowned, mentally smacking himself. A small consequence of the dungeon pixie’s absorption had been the unintentional bleed-off of personality. Grandiose dreaming and arrogant words with no action to back them appeared to be the largest issue so far, very unfamiliar feelings to a logical and practical being such as a dungeon.

“Still, this dilemma is something I will overcome,” he resolved himself. “Judging by how they’ve been handling the mountain, the next pile of dirt to be used to patch up the mountain is over there. If I keep up this pace, I’ll barely reach it before those workers return. Hm!”

With a mental grunt of effort, Progen slowly rolled himself in his target location. He’d missed his chances the last few days, but he would succeed this time. Once he was back, buried in the mountain, he could form a proper dungeon, with kobolds, and work himself into a True Dragon dungeon. Then, he’d be safe, secure, and unstoppable. A good three goals for anyone to become.

“Gah, I got dusty again,” he grumbled as his crystal came to halt at the end of his roll. “What a pain.” A small shiver, and the brown crystal was free of the offending dust once again. Satisfied with his appearance, Progen waited for his mana to charge enough for the next roll.

“Hm?” he started. “Someone is coming.” His crystal returned to a plain brown state, blending in with the surrounding rock and dirt. He watched as three figures appeared at the edge of the mine, heading straight for him. They appeared to be heading for one of the tunnels to be closed soon with dirt.

“This is my chance!” Progen thought, elated. Waiting patiently until the three figures were as close as possible, the dungeon crystal rolled over to the closest boot and used his mana to stick fast to it. With a sense of glee, Progen was carried away from the cursed dirt he’d been forced to roll around in for the past month. The three figures seemed to be talking, but Progen cared little for what they were saying. With any luck, he’d never see another human or devil or any other race until his kobolds were armed to the teeth!

Just as he had been hoping, the three figures chose a soon-to-be-buried tunnel and walked all the way to the deepest part – further, even, than Progen’s dungeon had been originally. He would surely be safe here as soon as he was buried once more. With a happy inner grin, Progen released his mana and fell free from the boot, bouncing a little across the floor until he came to a standstill toward the middle of the room.

“Now, I just need to wait for these humans to leave, and I’ll be safe,” Progen thought. He watched carefully as the three figures talked. It seemed the two larger figures were talking to the smaller one, who appeared quite timid. Progen nodded along with the words, not caring what was being said and only hoping that they’d be gone soon.

“YOU’RE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE!  And now you want some food?  What do we look like to you – a charity?” one of the larger humans yelled out, before stomping over to the smaller human in anger. “Here, I’ve got something for you.”

“Hm?” Progen felt odd. “Is it just me, or is that hand getting closer? And, closer . . . ah!”

The larger human picked up a handful of dirt and stones from the floor, Progen included, and shoved it into the small human’s face. “Open your mouth!  You better swallow this, or I’ll kill you right now.”

“Don’t swallow, don’t swallow!” Progen argued quickly. “Let him kill you!” Of course, only Progen could hear himself, as he had no mouth to speak nor voice to talk.

The small dungeon core could only helplessly watch as he, alongside the dirt and stones, were forced into the small human’s mouth. In horror, massive white stone crushers appeared all around him, falling with enough certainty that Progen was sure he’d be smashed into little bits. Reacting to the situation, Progen forced his body to shrink as much as he could, barely surviving in a small space between the white stone crushers as they came crashing down around him. The vulnerable crystal was then sucked back into the darkness to be covered in some kind of weak acidic substance, before being shoved back out again.

“Freedom! Wait, nooooo!” Progen cried out in panic as he was sucked back into the darkness and stone crushers. This cycle repeated itself several times, with the brown crystal touching the light ever so briefly before having his hopes dashed. After a couple minutes of pure torture, Progen was almost relieved when the sucking this time continued, and he fell down through the darkness. A voice echoed through the wind as he fell.

“We’re out of here. I hope you liked your snack, because it’ll have to sustain you if you want to survive. In fact, I don’t even mind if you eat more, since it seemed as though you liked all that.”

“Screw that!” Progen yelled back in anger. “You damn human, I’ll remember your face and take revenge when I get out of her . . . Him? Ahhhhhhh!”

Deciding he was safe, the dungeon crystal had illuminated himself once more, revealing a fast-approaching bubbling horror of what could only be described as hell fast approaching.

“Stick, stick, why am I not sticking!” Progen cried. “Why are the walls so slippery!” To his utter horror, his mana appeared to be worthless inside this fleshy form. He was almost to the bubbling hell, and the fumes that touched him informed him that this acid was much stronger than the one that had previously covered him with the teeth crushers. Progen wasn’t sure if he’d survive the encounter, but it appeared his body’s durability would be really put to the test.

“I’m not resigned!” Progen let out a cry of defiance as he exited the fleshy tunnel, appearing above a bright yellow and orange sea. This room was quite spacious for his current size, though the bottom half appeared to be dominated by the sea of acid.

Suddenly, Progen spied an island of stones below him. Using the last of his mana, he altered his angle of descent ever so slightly by shrinking himself even further, to the size of a speck of dust, managing to land right on top of the safety zone.

Unfortunately, he could do little about the subsequent bounce, which became much greater since his mass had become so dense. After all, shrinking did nothing to density and weight.

“Nooooo!” he cried out as he was launched back into the air away from the island of safety. Twirling uncontrollably, the dungeon crystal sailed through air toward the edge of the sea. Though Progen wasn’t able to see it, as his senses were unable to stabilize, either; he actually was flying toward an opening in the cavern, where the acid sea appeared to be attempting an escape. By the time he noticed what was ahead, Progen was only able to reduce his size slightly more before entering.

Immediately, Progen found himself in a gigantic battlefield. All around him, smaller round things were engaged in what appeared to be a massive fight against things with a variety of shapes, as other round things seemed to be working to repair the hole in the sea. Progen was still in a cavern, but one fleshy and constantly growing and shrinking. Just as he started to get his bearings, he found a contingent of white round things heading his way. He assumed they were not friendly.

“Ow!” Progen cried out as the round things began to swarm him. Shockingly, the dungeon crystal found, to his horror, that the round things appeared to be doing damage to his outer crystal, dissolving pieces of himself within their bodies.

“Stay away!” he roared and attempted to blast them away. Unfortunately, he only possessed enough mana, besides the bare minimum needed to keep himself awake, to push all the round things away from him. However, this surge of mana appeared to be enough to attract even more attention, and to Progen’s horror, he saw even more round things heading his way. Looking around, he spied a group of misshapen things and pushed himself in their direction. As expected, the round things immediately began a fight with the misshapen things, buying him some time to make a plan of action.

“Mana, I need mana,” Progen groaned. “But there isn’t a source here!” His mind coming up blank, and the shock finally catching up to him, Progen finally resigned himself and gave up. Floating in this viscous cavern, he allowed himself to attain the peace of mind of accepting the likelihood that death was coming, in order to observe the situation.

“I wonder, what are those round things . . .” he muttered aloud to himself.

White blood cells.

Instantly, Progen regained full alertness. “How did I know that?” he wondered. His senses wandering, he locked eyes on the misshapen things.

“And, what are those?” he asked himself, hesitantly.

Bacteria, parasites, and fungi.

“And what are they doing?” Progen asked, quicker this time, a plan forming.

Invading the body to use as a nesting ground.

“This, this is the pixie’s memories!” Progen realized finally. “He must have known this . . . how can I get out of this situation?”

Absorb mana.

“Gah, that doesn’t help me at all!” Progen groaned. “Where could I possibly absorb mana from in here?”

From the surrounding body tissue.

Progen paused, not believing his mind’s ears for a moment. “I can absorb mana from this human’s body?”

Yes.

“How?” Progen asked. “And, is it dangerous?”

Dungeons are capable of absorbing mana from other living beings and the surrounding environment. There are two dangers. The first risk is of absorbing too much mana from the current host, thereby killing it, which would expose oneself to dangers of decomposition. The second risk is becoming overly reliant on a single individual's mana.

“Neither of those are an issue!” Progen declared happily. “In that case, I shall take it!” With a hungry growl, Progen’s brown crystal shone brightly as streams of mana poured into him from the cavern walls and fleshy bits. Instantly, his reserves were filled back to the brim, not that his limit was high. This also alerted the white blood cells to his position, and they surged toward him in mass.

“Now is time for reveng- wait no!” Progen growled, shaking away the unbecoming arrogance. “What are the consequences of eliminating these, hm, white blood cells?”

Elimination of white blood cells results in lowered immunity response, bringing the probability of host death higher from infection.

“No good, then. I need to escape,” Progen determined. “How do I escape from here?”

Cut a hole in the blood vessel and follow the current.

“What’s a blood vessel?” Progen asked, dodging through the swarms of white blood cells all intent on killing him.

The tubes that connect the circulatory system to all major parts of the body.

“Tubes, that must be those there,” Progen muttered, locking onto a large tube that seemed to pulse intermittently. “What are the consequences of cutting this vessel? And is it fixable?”

Minor internal bleeding and pain for the host. The cut can be repaired.

“Fine by me!” Progen smiled resolutely and, arriving at the vessel, he used his sharp point to carve an entryway into the vessel. He turned to the swarming white blood vessels. “So long, gentlemen!” With that, he leaped into the blood vessel, and was pulled away rapidly into a sea of red.

Chapter 5

The blood vessel Progen rode was a sea of red in his eyes. Of course, this sea of red wasn’t actually a sea, but rather an enormous crowd of red round things that pushed and bumped against him everywhere, making the dungeon crystal feel like he was once again in the moving dirt.

“Not the most pleasant situation,” he muttered to himself as his larger body was buffeted through the vessel. “What are these things?”

Red blood cells.

Progen felt the urge to roll imaginary eyes. Whatever this memory process of his was, it wasn’t very intuitive to the spirit of his questions. Perhaps an active example of the hazy mist that prevented him from actively searching the memories himself. “And,” he continued, “what are red blood cells?”

Red blood cells are the main component of blood, playing an important role in air circulation throughout the human body, heat distribution throughout the body; transportation of crucial elements throughout the body, including nutrients, chemicals, waste, and immune cells; and healing of the body.

“Hm, well that was more informative,” Progen observed. “Perhaps I should think more on the structure of the question- oof.”

The dungeon crystal had made a sharp turn with the vessel, with his two, pointed ends cutting into the walls and sticking him fast. Behind him, the red blood cells started to get backed up, as they struggled to get around him.

“Hm, is this a bad position to be in?”

Yes.

“Why?”

A blockage within a blood vessel forms a clot, thus cutting off the flow of blood and leading to death of the surrounding tissue. Additionally, white blood cells will soon gather to attempt to fix the clot, if possible.

“Troublesome then,” Progen groaned. “Hm, I’m already smaller than what the pixie was aware of, but perhaps I can remove my edges for now.” With his mana reserves full, the brown crystal concentrated and slowly shrank down his pointed edges until he resembled a perfectly round oval with circular ends. He was freed naturally in the middle of this change, zooming along the vessel. However, Progen couldn’t help but notice that the vessel he was in seemed to be getting narrower.

“Question: Why are my surroundings getting smaller?” he asked himself. “Are there any approaching dangers I should be aware of?”

As blood is sent away from the heart, it is pumped into smaller sections of the body, and thus, into smaller blood vessels. The smallest vessels, known as capillaries, are only large enough to accommodate one cell at a time.

“You mean these little round things . . . I don’t think I can go any smaller without risking injury,” Progen grimaced. “And the second question?”

Yes.

“Elaborate!” Progen groaned. However, this time nothing seems to pop up into his head. “What are the approaching dangers I should be aware of?” he clarified his inquiry, after a moment’s thought, annoyed.

If you enter the capillary zone, your current size will rupture the veins, causing internal bleeding. If you enter the kidneys, you will be forced into the water expulsion channel, alongside hazardous, concentrated uric acid or rupture the kidneys and cause internal damage. If you become stuck in the foot, you will cause a buildup of uric acid and cause gout. If-

“Alright, that’s too much information,” Progen grimaced. “All right then, what is my best choice for survival?”

Reach the appendix.

“Where and what is an appendix?”

The appendix in humans is a mostly inactive organ attached to the large intestine, originally acting as a storage unit for raw meat, among other functions. It currently serves no major purpose other than storage, and it is large enough to accommodate you. As it is part of the large intestine, immune cells do not congregate within the appendix’s interior space under normal function, else be lost to the intestinal flow. The appendix, however, is a base for B-cells-

“Sounds like a perfect spot to hide for the moment,” Progen agreed, interrupting the voice. “How do I reach it?”

You are currently passing from the abdominal aorta into the common iliac artery, which leads into the foot. You must make the jump to the iliac vein before reaching the capillaries in the foot.

“The foot where I could cause gout?”

The same.

“Great,” Progen muttered. “Putting aside what a vein and an artery are, what is the best method to jump between the two without the capillaries?”

Wait until the foot is reached, then slice a hole into the blood vessel and escape. Ensure the slice is clean, and use mana to patch it to prevent an immune system reaction or clot. The iliac vein will be nearby; copy previous actions and enter.

“Can you tell me when to leave the vessel?” Progen asked.

No.

“Why not?”

Memories are not auto-responsive unless in situational recollections.

“That makes sense I guess, since these aren’t my original memories I’m asking,” the dungeon crystal couldn’t help but slightly lament. “In that case. . . Am I there yet?”

No.

“Am I there yet?”

No.

The slightly bored dungeon crystal kept repeating the question as he was quickly sucked down with the red blood cells into the leg. Forced to keep asking the question to himself, Progen didn’t bother trying to extend his senses too far ahead of him.

“Am I there yet?”

Yes.

“Am I- oh, good.” Re-growing his top point, the dungeon crystal used mana to reposition himself, then smoothly cut an exit in the vessel and flew through it, before his other end closed the wound with mana. A few unfortunate red blood cells came with him, but they seemed to not care, as they merely floated in place.

“Where is the, hm, vein?” Progen asked.

Above you, nearer the surface.

“There . . . wow, I can see light,” Progen realized as he floated in the flesh between vessels. “Hm, must be torch light, with how weak it is. How long have I been in this body?

A few minutes.

“What? That can’t be right? We’ve talked so much, it surely must be longer than that, right?” Progen attempted to refute. “How much of my time was spent doing each thing I’ve done in this body? How long does it take red blood cells to circulate, anyway?”

A few minutes being swallowed, less than a minute escaping the stomach, less than a minute entering the vessel, and less than a minute to reach your current location. It takes about 45 seconds for red blood cells to circulate through the body once.

Progen considered it for a moment. “Oh, I guess having a fake conversation with my memories is faster than what is occurring in real life. I guess my sense of time being a dungeon is a bit distorted when compared to living things. That’s actually quite fascinating, in a way.” Progen considered his adventure as he locked onto the vein with his senses and attempted to move toward it. However, he was impeded by what felt like a solid wall.

Sighing, the dungeon crystal once again asked himself about the situation. “What is blocking me, and what is it?”

Muscle tissue. Muscle tissue is responsible for every physical movement made in the body, and is the second-strongest type of tissue, after bone. It is made up of thousands of individual strands connecting bones and flesh.

“What is the best way to move through it?”

The leg muscles are currently tensed in order to support standing. Wait until the foot is lifted and the muscles relax before making a quick move to the vein. The strands will only be loose enough then.

“This body, hm,” Progen muttered. “Judging by the earlier situation, this body should be moving soon enough. So-” As if a prophet, Progen sensed a great upheaval all around him. Behind him, the vessel seemed to slightly inflate as tension of the muscle decreased, and Progen himself felt an odd sense of weightlessness. Acting decisively, the dungeon zoomed through the muscle’s strands, tearing a few by accident, before reaching the vein on the other side. With a quick snip and close, Progen was once again zooming along with the blood.

Curiously, this vein vessel appeared to be much wider than the previous artery vessel, and with what seemed to be valves in each section that seemed to prevent backflow. Progen couldn’t help but feel interest toward this mindless efficiency.

“What is the difference between an artery and a vein?” he decided to ask.

Arteries deliver blood from the heart and lungs to the rest of the body. They are thicker, as they are forced to deal with most of the blood pressure generated by the heart. Veins carry blood back to the heart and lungs, and they are thinner with valves, to prevent any airless blood from being left behind. Veins are closer to the surface of the skin and have a purple appearance, due to the darker-colored red blood cells, while arteries are bright red from the brighter-colored red blood cells.

“Fascinating,” Progen said. “So, a body even color codes itself. It must be very intelligent to plan all this out, right?”

The creation of a body is a mindless recreation of organic blueprints created between at least two separate individuals. The conscious mind has no control over most of the functions of the body.

Progen gaped to himself, as the notion of zero control completely failed to resonate with him. Dungeons were beings of ultimate control, with their minds specifically able to juggle dozens, if not hundreds, of individual tasks together at the same time, to ensure efficient stability and security. Well, that’s what the memories had told him anyway; he hadn’t quite reached that point yet. But still, what a foreign idea, that things worked without direct, conscious control!

His mind considering the possibilities, Progen decided to remain silent and observe his surroundings with greater detail as he followed the red blood cells up the iliac vein. Being a dungeon crystal, Progen was a natural at observing the world around him with a variety of senses: mana sight, echolocation, thermal vision, night vision, and even a limited ability to perceive color if he focused hard enough. He hadn’t paid his surroundings much thought when in the artery, but now his curiosity was in full swing.

What he saw was amazing. Just in this one leg, Progen could see the inner workings of many different cells of various sizes and shapes, located in and around the blood vessel. It helped that the leg seemed to be in use, as well, allowing Progen to follow the coming and going of the process of moving. His mind and senses together allowed him to absorb and analyze everything around him in slow motion. He watched as subtle flashes traveled in waves, up and down long tendrils, energy of some kind arcing between their miniscule gaps. He watched the muscles respond to each surge of energy, contracting and relaxing in similar waves as they dragged bone into place. The surge of blood followed, the red blood cells changing from bright red to dark red as they delivered the air needed for each strand of muscle. Then, Progen noticed the view up ahead was changing.

“Where am I going?” he asked calmly.

The iliac vein will soon empty into the inferior vena cava vein, which combines with the superior vena cava vein at the entrance to the heart. From there, you’ll circulate to the lungs, before returning to the heart. Then the aorta and the rest of the body.

“The heart . . . that’s what the humans were always talking about,” Progen muttered, his memories going back to the snippets of conversation he’d picked up between the miners when they worked. Phrases such as ‘bad for my heart’ or ‘good for my heart’ or ‘put my heart and soul into it’ were common, it had seemed, for these humans to say, not that Progen had paid them much mind at the time. But now, now, he was looking forward to seeing this ‘heart’, this center of the body.

Without incident, Progen entered the inferior vena cava, when he was stuck by a sudden thought.

“What happens when I reach the lungs, at my present size?”

You will encounter capillaries and risk causing internal bleeding in the lungs. This will lead to a state of drowning and body death.

“Gah, that’s not good,” Progen determined. “What should I do?”

The body is damaged in many places and suffering from internal bleeding already. Extend senses to find an appropriate place to exit and re-enter, before reaching the lung capillaries.

“It’s already damaged? I will have to deal with that later. Hm, extending my range is easy enough, but this body is so chaotic that I won’t get a clear image without high mana use,” Progen muttered. “Mm, fine. Using up my mana reserves in this place isn’t the worst thing.” With a thought, Progen’s mana began to decrease as his senses extended outwards around him, covering the entire torso. “Have I found a spot to exit and re-enter?”

Yes.

“Good,” Progen sighed, ending his mana usage. “Where is the best spot to exit and re-enter the blood vessels?”

Internal bleeding was found near the pulmonary artery and pulmonary vein, inflicted from extreme blunt force trauma and weakened bone structure. Use these, and seal the wounds closed behind you, to avoid the lungs.

“Yes, this is the best plan of action,” Progen agreed. “Ensure this body’s continued survival and avoid the lungs. Hm . . . would there be any adverse effects in closing the two wounds with mana, but not healing them, so I may use them again in the future?”

So long as this body does not run out of mana to ensure the spell’s continued existence, there will be no problems.

“Then that’s the plan!” Progen nodded to himself.

He settled himself for the ride as he expectantly waited for the heart to come into view. When his senses did finally pick up on the heart, Progen was not disappointed. “It’s so beautiful,” he whispered. To Progen’s senses, the heart was not an oddly shaped muscle group, but instead a wondrous organ, wrapped in the light of mana, pumping the blue, magical essence throughout the body alongside the blood. It was only now that Progen could see how mana traveled through the body: flowing along the blood, and also a similar system of vessels, which mirrored the blood vessels.

Selfish desire filled Progen’s thoughts; he wanted to be that, to be there in that shining beacon of mana. Every dungeon instinct in his body seemed to be yelling at him to take it for himself, to seize the means of production without regard for anything else. Despite this rush, Progen managed to keep a steady head, so to speak.

“What would be the consequences of taking over the heart for myself?” he asked his memories. “And why?”

Death of the body and loss of mana flow. As an organ made of muscle, the heart operates under strict order from the brain, the hub of conscious and unconscious thoughts. If you were to insert yourself into the heart and control it, the organ would suffer extreme stress, trying to obey two separate minds. Over time, it would deteriorate and eventually break down.

“The brain . . . the hub of all consciousness?” Progen wondered curiously. “. . . I want to see it. How do I get there?”

Follow the aorta up into the carotid artery.

Progen didn’t say another word. He finally made it to heart, observing with some interest the two chambers on the right side of the heart, each opening in time to a steady du-dump rhythm. The exit from the pulmonary artery into the pulmonary vein was easy enough, and now Progen had two convenient doorways to use, if he ever came this way again. He went through the two left chambers without incident, only to be rocketed faster than he’d ever moved before through the aorta. He only barely managed to enter the carotid artery, surging up the neck toward the brain.

Then, there it was; the brain. If Progen had thought the heart to be the most amazing thing he had ever seen, he realized now that he had been clearly mistaken, by a monstrous proportion. His senses picked up the brain as it was: a glowing mass of power, order, mana, and complete control over everything within this body. However, he was blocked by an impenetrable barrier separating him from this amazing creation of life; he was forced to create another set of doorways in order to reach the jugular vein. On his subsequent return to the heart, and taking of the thoracic artery to the gut, he still remained silent and barely observant. He finally found his way to the appendicular artery and arrived safely at the appendix, where he lodged himself snugly without causing a disturbance or inflicting any injuries. The brown dungeon core continued to say nothing for many more moments.

Finally, he said a single thing.

“I want this body.”

Chapter 6

Marstin struggled through nightmarish dreams full of blood, vomit, and dead relatives to claw his way to the surface of wakefulness. Since he had managed to break the fog that had obscured the deaths of his parents and the rest of his family, when he closed his eyes, that was all that his mind seemed to want to focus on. When his unconsciousness slammed into him after Kyra helped to hide him underneath the storage shed, he couldn’t remember dreaming at all; after some time, though, the dreams started, and wouldn’t let up. He was practically tortured with the memories of that night, though after what felt like the hundredth repetition, he began to wonder if he was being shown them for a specific reason.

There was no letup, but by the time he felt his mind and body’s desire to wake, Marstin was starting to become a bit numb to the nightmarish memories. Not that it didn’t hurt him to watch helplessly as the invisible noose of death murdered his family, because it did; however, having been subjected to the horror of losing his parents and siblings over and over made him want to concentrate on something else. He couldn’t stop the dream from happening, but he could sort of look around while it repeated the same 5 minutes of blood and death. It was almost like being able to lift his mind from the body he inhabited and switch his viewpoint away from his mother using all of her strength to heal him, and his father using the rest of his to hide his memories of the incident – along with ordering him to run.

It was a welcome escape from the nightmare to be able to peer around and focus on something else. However, beyond about a dozen feet from where he was in his dream, everything was a bit shadowy and vague, as if something were obscuring it from his sight. Either that, or since he really hadn’t seen it when he was a kid, he couldn’t see more than what was likely in his peripheral vision at the time. Regardless, he was able to see the shock on their guests’ faces, which he had barely even noticed before, and he even thought that he might even recognize a few of them from around town. It was hard to tell, though, because the faces were relatively vague in appearance, and it was probably somewhere around a decade since the night of blood occurred; but some of them might have been prominent figures in the community – at least, they were now. He wasn’t very sure about them back then; he couldn’t remember ever really paying attention to who had come to their holiday feasts, so whether or not they were actually affluent at the time was a mystery.

Looking around at the vague, shadowy environment past his current position, Marstin began to consider for the first time – Why didn’t I even wonder about it before this? – exactly who used the poison to afflict his family. He obviously knew that his family was quite wealthy – that was quite evident, in the newly awakened memories he was starting to comprehend – but it was only when he thought about it some more, that he concluded that they had to have been prominent merchants. Vague memories of his father being gone on long trips that sometimes took months, the large warehouse full of all manner of goods that he had visited once, and the late nights his parents would spend going over lists after lists of merchandise and the numbers associated with them, were just some of the indications of their profession, as well as of the source of their wealth.

So…who would want to kill all of us?  That the specific act of vengeance had specifically targeted his family was also clear to see, since the poison was magically manufactured for anyone of his bloodline – so, it wasn’t just some sort of accident. In fact, in his brief conversations with some of the Guild’s alchemy aficionados – in the hope that they would know a way to get rid of the Curse, only to be disappointed – he learned that the poison was extremely expensive and difficult to produce. It had led to some uncomfortable questions by those same Guild members about why someone would waste poison on Marstin, which he had no answer for, of course, since he couldn’t remember much before he woke up on the streets as a young child.

Given the expense and the difficulty in producing the poison, that narrowed down who could create it and would have a reason to use it on his family. First suspect was the King of Istut, or any of the ruling classes in the larger towns and cities located in the country; they had the means to produce the poison, though unless his parents were aiming to incite a coup of some sort, Marstin couldn’t imagine a reason why the rulers would want them gone. In fact, he specifically remembered helping his father to repair a portion of the road that led in and out of their town that had deteriorated through a harsh winter; his shoveling of a few piles of dirt was basically an act, he recognized now, because it really just symbolized the effort and money his family contributed to public works.

His family…Hardgrove, I think that was my surname…was generous with their money when it came to increasing commerce and the well-being of nearby citizens; happy and healthy people worked harder, produced more, spent more, and consequently made his family more money. Sure, it was all ultimately a selfish act to accumulate more wealth in the end, but it certainly helped out the communities and raised the quality of life for a lot of people.

There was only one other group of people who had deep enough pockets and the clout to produce and use this kind of poison: Merchants. Specifically, merchant families as powerful and wealthy as his own used to be. That it was some peer of their class thus seemed to be the likely case, though even that deduction wasn’t enough to pinpoint exactly who would want them dead…or out of the way. Even though Marstin was relatively confident this was the case, nothing of his memories indicated an answer to his conundrum. If these shadows were gone and everything was a little clearer, then I might see something; as it is, this is just torture to watch; and it doesn’t help to narrow down the suspects.

At some point, Marstin woke to nearly complete darkness, confused about where he was, at first. After feeling the thick blankets wrapped around him, the last few minutes of his tortuous journey to see Kyra came back to him. I’m in the cellar of the bakery’s storage shed. Sitting up cautiously, he felt pain ripple throughout almost his entire body; the beating that he had taken, as well as the long journey on foot, in the dark, had caused his weak muscles to stiffen so much that it was an effort just to sit up. After a moment, he realized that not everything was hurting; he looked down in surprise at his stomach, not that he could see much from the faint light coming down a few cracks in the wooden plank ceiling near the entrance, and was amazed that his insides weren’t hurting anymore. Well, at least in my stomach and bowels; the rest of my insides still feel like they’re on fire.

The blankets had fallen off of his chest as he’d sat up, so his hands were free to grab the stone cup of water he saw sitting next to him; as soon as he realized that his stomach wasn’t hurting anymore, he felt an overwhelming thirst – and hunger. As its coolness felt incredible against Marstin’s dry throat, he desperately wanted to gulp the entirety of the cup of water at once. Fortunately, though, before he could drink it all, he saw a wooden tray, and on it, a large wooden bowl turned upside down. Hoping that it meant what he thought, he picked up the bowl and found some food underneath!

Granted, it was a half-dozen burnt rolls and a large hunk of cheese that had some mold growing on a portion of one side, but it was practically a feast. He was only able to eat about half of it before his stomach started to hurt again, though this was only because he had overeaten for the small size of his stomach. Despite having just woken up, Marstin was still too weak and too tired to stand. He managed to scoot himself against the far wall and prop himself up, while making sure to stay covered up completely at the same time. It was slightly cold inside the cellar and being outside of the blankets for too long could result in uncontrolled shivering, if he wasn’t careful.

Though, after what he judged to be an hour, it was already too late for that. His teeth started chattering at first, followed quickly by chills running through his entire body, until nothing seemed to keep him warm. It was at that point that he was blinded by light coming from the entrance to the cellar, and when Marstin blinked away the afterimages, he saw feet descending the ladder leading above.

“Marstin?  Where did you go?”

Kyra’s voice was like a soothing balm on his tortured mind, and even the chills running through his body started to abate when Marstin heard her speak. “Over here,” he said weakly, managing to say it without his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

“Oh!  There you are,” Kyra replied. Relief graced her face as she brought a lamp down from above. “I was worried that you had gotten up and wandered away, which would not be the best idea, in your condition. I see you’re at least hungry, judging by how you’ve torn into what I was able to leave for you.”  She looked a little sad, as well as tired; there were a few streaks of what appeared to be flour on her cheeks and forehead. “Sorry about that, by the way. I wasn’t able to snag anything other than that; Father would start becoming suspicious. We were going to throw those out, anyway, so he won’t notice them not being in our refuse pile.”

Marstin just nodded and said, “Thank you; I appreciate you doing that. However, maybe I better go—”

“What?!  Why?  You’re in no condition—” she gently admonished, as she sat next to him against the wall of the cellar.

He interrupted her before she could go on, barreling ahead so that he could get it out before his teeth chattering could interrupt. “Because I don’t *cough* want you to *cough* *cough* get into trouble over me. That’s the last thing I want for you.”  Instead of chattering, he felt like his entire set of lungs wanted to escape from his body.

“Don’t be silly. I’m going to hide you down here for as long as I can, or at least until you’re much better than you are now.”  Kyra sat next to him and held her arms close to her chest, as the cold of the cellar was obviously getting to her.

Lifting the corner of his top blanket off, he offered it to her. “Here, warm up with this.”

“Again, stop being silly; you’re going to need that much more than I am. I can’t stay long, though, because Father will expect me back up in a couple of minutes. I know: Let me get inside of those with you.”  So saying, brooking no argument, Kyra lifted up the edges of the blankets surrounding him and slid herself inside, until she was sitting right next to him.

Even through his pain and chills, he could feel her warmth and his body’s yearning to wrap himself around her – and not just so that it could warm up; his desire to be with her hadn’t ever faded, though his lower body’s inability to actually do anything sort of put a damper on that. This is not the time to be thinking of things like that. In fact, never should probably be the right time. I never should have come back here; I can’t saddle her with my problems, and she doesn’t deserve someone so…broken…like I am.

“Marstin!  It feels like you’re on fire!  What is happening to you?” Kyra exclaimed, shock and worry in her voice as she pulled away a little. The act made him a little sad, because he was enjoying her warmth, but he understood it. I wouldn’t want to sit so close to me either, especially since I probably still stink horribly from the failed job. I can’t believe I went through all of that with nothing to show for it.

“Marstin?  Are you ok?  Can you hear me?”  Kyra interrupted his internal monologue, the tone in her voice finally registering as worry and confusion rather than disgust.

“Yes, I can *cough* hear you. I’m sorry; it’s just a little *cough* hard to think right now.”

“Well, no wonder!  You’re burning up with a fever, worse than anything I’ve ever seen before.”  She was silent for a few moments, before tears started to roll down her cheeks. “I…I don’t know what to do!  I don’t have nearly enough money saved up to buy even a weak Healing Potion, and getting a Healer to see you would probably be equally impossible. I’d move you from this cold, dark cellar…but I have nowhere to put you that would be safe from my father’s wrath. Do you know that he threatened to kill you if you showed your face around here anymore?  I don’t think he’d ever do it, as that isn’t like him, but I don’t think you could even take the beating that I’m sure he would dole out if he somehow found you inside the house. Besides…I’m sorry, but you stink; I don’t think I can hide that sort of thing for long, and getting you completely clean is a bit improbable right now.”

Ha!  I was right; I do stink. He couldn’t smell it himself, either because he was used to it or something was wrong with his nose now, but he figured that was the case. “Don’t risk *cough* yourself. If you can just *cough* spare some food every once in a while, and the *cough* *cough* continued use of these blankets, I’m sure *cough* that I’ll be better soon.”  His throat was starting to hurt now, which wasn’t a good sign, and the weak achiness around his body felt like it was increasing. He felt himself starting to nod off as sleep tried to overcome his tired body, and he shook himself a bit to keep himself awake to talk to Kyra. Of course, that just seemed to set off the chills again, and he started to shiver uncontrollably.

“But….”  The young Baker’s daughter looked at him with red eyes, and he realized that she had been crying more than just at that moment.

She really cares about me…that much?  That really shouldn’t have surprised him, given all of the time they had spent together, the stolen kisses where her father couldn’t see her, and the childish fun they had participated in when they were younger…but it did surprise him, nonetheless. They had grown a bit apart over the last few months, because of her father’s rules and his desire for Kyra to marry someone more…affluent. The realization that the girl he liked seemed to like him back, even despite his current appearance and state, made him – strangely – want to run away. I can’t imagine what she’ll do if she finds me down here later, a cold corpse as dead as the rest of my family.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go…. I’ll come see you if I can tomorrow – if you’re awake, of course. I’ll also try to sneak you some more food; water should be much easier, at least.”  Kyra moved away from him reluctantly, and Marstin mourned the loss of her heat against his side. He didn’t say anything as she left, collecting the tray and stoneware cup as she passed by, as well as giving him a quick peck of her lips on his forehead – because only coughs seemed to want to emerge from his throat at that point. She looked back at him as she hesitated on the ladder, opening up her mouth to say something; she turned away just as more tears started to glisten in her eyes.

She knows. It was probably better this way, rather than a tear-filled goodbye. When she came back tomorrow, he’d likely be dead…and that was that. Marstin’s earlier thought about trying to leave to save her from that kind of suffering was cut short when he couldn’t even rise from his spot on the floor. Even if I do manage to get up, I doubt I’d be able to climb that ladder.

Those depressing thoughts were with him as he closed his eyes, ready for the endless sleep of death. Oh well; could’ve been worse, I guess. At least I got a kiss goodbye….

Chapter 7

Unconsciousness was as foreign to Progen as the idea of seeing with eyes. Yet, the brown dungeon crystal had found himself struggling with an ever-growing need to shut his eyes and sleep. This wasn’t anything to him, he’d noticed it after he’d absorbed the dungeon pixie, but the feeling had never been as strong as it had been now. Weirder still, Progen also felt the shocking need to defecate.

“This isn’t even physically possible,” was all the stunned crystal could finally say, after he realized what he was feeling. “Why am I feeling this? How do I stop these weird feelings?” Progen had been speaking to himself rhetorically, not expecting an answer. He was quite surprised, then, when his memories answered the questions.

Absorbing a magical creature in its entirety has led to biological overlap, causing your crystal body to feedback on itself. The overlap can be stopped by ridding yourself of all pixie-related memories.

Progen rolled in his appendix spot as he considered the answer. “How do I rid myself . . . no, that’s not what I want. If I just get rid of the memories, then I’ll lose access to all that important knowledge and be left blind in this body.” The dungeon crystal pondered over his phrasing. “What is the best way to rid myself of the memories and still retain access to them?”

Use another living thing as a vessel for the memories by imbuing it with the mana from the dungeon pixie. The vessel will have full access to all memories.

“Good to know, but there isn’t another living thing in here,” Progen grumbled. “Can I use this body as the vessel?”

No.

“That’s what I thought . . . . What is the best option available as a vessel near me?” he asked.

A nerve cell.

“A what?”

A nerve cell is part of the nervous system, originating in the brain. Nerve cells are responsible for carrying out both voluntary and involuntary orders from the brain or spinal cord, and they can store limited information outside the brain. There are three types: sensory cells (receivers); motor cells (relays); and interneurons (processors). The body is primarily controlled by interneurons, whose responsibilities include the storage of active and inactive memory.

“Then, I need an interneuron. Is there one here in the appendix?” Progen asked eagerly.

No.

“Great,” Progen sighed, though he’d been expecting the answer. “Is there a way to create an interneuron here?”

Yes.

“How?”

Create one.

“Create . . . do you mean, I am capable of creating cells here in the body?”

A dungeon crystal is a highly adaptable organism, capable of utilizing its surroundings to form dungeons, traps, monsters, and treasure. You have absorbed this body’s mana enough to form cells. The more you rely on this body’s mana, the more cells you potentially will be able to create, but also the greater inability you will have to leave the body without losing all strength.

Progen considered this. There was a fork in the road coming up for him: stay or go. Even without the prompting of this new information, the dungeon crystal had been weighing the two ideas inside his mind, ever since he’d seen the almighty and majestic brain. There was nothing waiting for him outside the body; no dungeon, no monsters, and no real future, unless he was buried again. He’d confirmed earlier that, if he followed this body’s digestive system, he’d be easily freed and even have a high chance of becoming buried with the refuse. If he stayed, however, then he would be embarking on a unique challenge, with the goal of taking over the body for his own benefit. He’d never seen anything as majestic as the brain before, and even the dungeon pixie memories possessed nothing to even come close in comparison. If he succeeded, then the full potential of the body would be open to him to study, analyze, and improve. Perhaps, one day, he’d be able to construct a body for himself! Not human, of course; their weaknesses were clear; but a higher level of being! The choice was obvious.

“I wish to create a cell to use as a vessel. How can I do this?” He asked.

With a shimmer, Progen felt his mana collecting outside his crystal and forming a larger, grey surface. Words appeared out of nothing, their magical meaning sinking into Progen’s mind.

Cell Options Available

Available Mana: 100/100

Tier 1

Stem Cell – 10 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

“Interesting. What is a stem cell?” asked the dungeon crystal.

A stem cell is the originator of all cells. It is the most basic type, capable of transforming into any kind of cell, depending on what is required. Original stem cells exist at conception and form the embryo. From then on, lesser stem cells are formed within the bone marrow to become red blood cells, platelets, immune cells, etc.

With his method of improvement created, the grey wall opened up Progen’s powers of creation into full force. He hadn’t been strong enough to do anything beyond expanding his boundaries, back when he was buried; so, this was the first time Progen’s power would be used for monster creation – rather, cell creation. But first, he was curious about how his mana was calculated.

“What does this mean about having 100 mana? Not that I’m ungrateful for that amount, but it seems a bit high for the size of my crystal.”

Because you are working with microscopic organisms, the mana you can use has scaled accordingly. Based on that change, this is an approximation of what your crystal currently has available. In reality, each unit of mana you see is a small fraction of what would be used outside of this body.

“Ah, I see,” Progen said, thinking about the limitations of using such a potent energy such as mana inside of a living being. Using too much at one time might damage the body, which was the opposite of what he wanted to achieve.

With a strong focus, Progen brought forth that scaled-down mana and condensed it outside of his crystal to produce the physical form of his first creation – the stem cell. After spending a tenth of his mana, Progen admired his first creation. As expected from an origin-type cell, the stem cell was uniquely simple, in both appearance and design. It was round, towered over by Progen’s crystal body, with a mostly clear and see-through, gel-like substance, reminiscent of the pixie’s memories of slime. At its center was a very bumpy, round sphere that seemed to pulse intermittently. The stem cell floated in place, requiring orders to do anything.

“Now, I can finally get rid of these urges,” Progen muttered gleefully. Extending out a mental tendril, Progen connected to the stem cell and began the full migration of everything he’d absorbed from the dungeon pixie. The process was simple enough for him, but he hadn’t expected the stem cell to react so violently to the information transfer. Its core shivered and undulated, dividing quickly in response to Progen’s actions. Progen winced as his mana stores began to drain away; but thankfully, he was easily able to use the body’s mana from the surrounding tissue to replenish himself. The dungeon crystal watched with fascinated curiosity as the formerly round stem cell began to sprout tendrils as it elongated, fastening itself to the surrounding tissue of the appendix and integrating with the body. When Progen was done, the stem cell had completely transformed. Deciding to test the cell, Progen used his mental connection with the created thing to communicate.

“What are . . . you?” Progen asked carefully.

There was a short pause as he waited for an answer.

Cell.

“I suppose it was too much to expect the cell to become an individual,” Progen sighed regretfully. “But at least it is working as intended.”

Yes.

The dungeon crystal perked up. He hadn’t asked a question for the response he’d received.

“Are you an individual, one capable of independent thought and action?” Progen asked curiously.

Yes, and no. As your created cell, this cell is capable of responding to any mental communication related to this cell, including observations and off-handed comments. This cell cannot take action without direction.

“That’s all I needed to know,” Progen nodded. He took a moment to admire his handiwork again. “You seem to have transformed; can it be assumed that you have become a neuron cell?”

Yes. The addition of information via mana transfer forced a differentiation process, resulting in an interneuron cell. This cell has integrated into the surrounding neural network but remains mostly free of the commands of the brain hierarchy.

“Mostly? Does that mean I don’t have complete control over you?” Progen inferred, worried.

Yes. However, this only extends to the transmission of information. All nerve cells direct and transfer orders; there is no escaping this fate. There are both advantages and disadvantages to this cell’s status, as a result.

“What are they?”

Advantage-wise, this cell is capable of reading and recording all orders sent in this part of the body. Further growth is required to read orders to other parts of the body. An additional advantage is that this cell can intercept, redirect, or send new orders, as ordered by you. A disadvantage to this is that excess manipulation without a complete understanding of consequence could potentially backfire and cause harm to the body. Please refrain from excess orders unless under emergency, or until this cell has a greater understanding of the surrounding nervous system.

“Amazing! So, as I long as I can get stronger, you will have a greater reign of controlling this body,” Progen noted. “By the way, why do you refer to yourself as ‘this cell’?”

This cell is this cell.

“Right, you aren’t an individual and thus refer to yourself from an outsider’s perspective,” Progen noted. “Well, I suppose I should name you then, since you’re my first monster, and the closest I’ll ever have to a conversation partner. I can’t call you ‘this cell’; there are too many of those already.”

Yes.

“Hmm,” Progen considered. “Well, how about Stemmy? Seems to describe you well enough.”

Yes.

“Great,” the dungeon crystal nodded. “Ah, by the way, should I expect you to die of natural causes? This is a body, after all, and I know humans have an average lifespan of . . . 36-80 years.”

Nerve cells die with the body or after excessive damage; there is no limit to lifespan.

“If you do feel the need to die, inform me at once, Stemmy! I can’t afford to lose the memories I placed in you,” Progen ordered.

Yes.

“Alright, then; since I’ve settled my situation, it’s time we began our takeover of this body. Where should we begin?”

Save the body.

Progen said nothing as he processed the answer. “So, this body is in danger?”

This body is under extreme and extensive stress, suffering from a variety of ailments, physical injuries, localized infections, and a severe energy crisis. If these conditions continue, then the body will perish.

“Perhaps I should make my escape, after all,” Progen considered aloud.

Escape is no longer possible without suffering damage. In Stemmy’s creation, you used the last of your environmental mana and relied on this body’s mana to fill in the hole. You are now reliant on this body’s mana.

Progen let out a groan, realizing the predicament he found himself in. “Fine, FINE! What are the chances this body can recover to a safe point?”

Without dungeon interference and with no lifestyle changes, 5%. With dungeon interference and no lifestyle changes, 40-60%. With no dungeon interference and lifestyle changes, 25-40%. With dungeon interference and lifestyle changes, 80-90%.

“Better odds than I was expecting,” Progen muttered. “Why does the percentage jump so high when I get involved?”

Unlike other methods of healing, you are uniquely suited to searching out for problems within the body and solving them. Human medicine is often too broad to focus on the specific ailment, preferring to treat the symptoms over the cause.

“Good to know. In that case, what should be my first target?

The digestive system. Intercepted neural transmissions have revealed the host body to have consumed nutrient-rich food. However, the combination of weakened body and poor quality of food means that most of the nutrients will be lost, instead of absorbed. In addition, the slow-moving digested food is building up too fast, with a potential rupture in the rectum soon coming. This will result in extreme pain and additional infections, unless prevented. Interfere with the system, to ensure the maximum amount of nutrients can be absorbed.

“Sounds like a plan of action,” Progen smiled happily. “Where do I go, and what do I do?”

You must leave the appendix and travel to the nearby small intestines. The food is currently making its way through there, slower than normal. Stemmy will guide you to the appropriate part of the intestine and give additional orders there once prompted.

“You can speak to me from such a distance?” Progen asked, amazed.

Stemmy can utilize the neural network that permeates the lower torso to communicate with you. Communication will become difficult, the father away you get.

“Alright then, which blood vessel do I need to take?” Progen asked, using his mana to levitate his body above the fleshy wall he’d been resting on.

Do not take a blood vessel; there are capillaries along this route. Cut open a doorway above the intestine, and enter the peritoneal cavity within the abdominal cavity. There should be no serious obstacles within the peritoneal cavity; it is a fluid-filled space allowing for the movement of the digestive tract. Use your senses and head toward the center of the tubular mass.

“Off I go.” With a thought, Progen regrew his sharp point and cut a magical opening in the roof of the appendix, floating free as it closed behind him. The brown dungeon crystal found himself in a new part of the body, one filled with fluid, occasional cells, and no blood. Progen’s illumination traveled much farther in this fluid space, lighting up everything within it and revealing the massive tubular organs that made up the intestinal tract. He marveled at the sight of the undulating organs, reminded very much of the snake creature he’d observed in times past.

“Those must be the small intestines, then,” Progen muttered, as he observed a central mass of tubes. “I guess it’s called the small intestines because of how thin they are in comparison, but it sure is long, next to the so-called large intestine.” Curiously, Progen couldn’t help but notice that the appendix he’d just left was located at the end of the small intestine and beginning of the large intestine.

“I wonder why the best action was for me to leave,” Progen wondered. Reflexively, he waited for a response, only to be left hanging. “Oh right,” he remembered. “Stemmy can’t communicate with me outside the neural network, and this fluid space is empty of that. Best I go to the spot and link back up with it.”

With a controlled surge, Progen sent his dungeon crystal swimming ahead toward the center of the small intestine. As he moved, Progen’s senses analyzed the organ, noting that it appeared to be inconsistent in the rhythm and level of undulations, like a sputtering horse needing rest. There were only a few parts that appeared to be working normally, compared to most of the organ, which twitched by comparison.

“It really does need some help,” Progen grumbled. “Fine, wasting my mana on my future body is appropriate enough. The more it heals, the less I’ll have to do.”

After less than a minute, Progen made it to about the center of the small intestine. From here, he could see the large bulge of what could only be food slowly making its way through. Looking around, the dungeon crystal found a bundle of nerve cells and connected to it with his mana.

“Stemmy?” he called softly.

Yes, came the reply.

“Good, you’re here. Well, figuratively speaking. How do I handle this?”

Use your mana to infiltrate the intestine and break down the food into its base components. In addition, use your mana to reinvigorate the villi within the small intestine.

“What are villi?” the crystal asked.

Villi are small tendrils covering the inside of the small intestine. They are responsible for nutrient absorption.

“Easy enough to do,” Progen chuckled. “If anything, dungeons are the masters of decomposition!”

Yes.

“Not something I needed a response to, Stemmy.”

Yes.

“Never mind.”

Yes.

Learning his lesson, Progen shut his mind-mouth off and concentrated on the task at hand. It was easy enough to create invisible tendrils of mana that pierced into the intestines. Lacking physical form, the tendrils did no damage and invoked no response in the body that Progen could see. Having safely entered the small intestines, Progen got to work.

Thankfully, most of the work appeared to have been done for him, as the majority of the food had been converted into mostly soupy mesh. The issue was the large quantity of chunks, food Progen suspected hadn’t properly met the stone crushers or the sea of acid. Easy enough to fix; Progen wrapped half of his tendrils around every chunk and forcibly dissolved them into liquids. At the same time, the other half of the mana tendrils permeated into the small intestine, latching onto every villus. A small infusion of mana was all it took to revitalize the underused tendrils, and soon Progen was presented with a beautiful sea of waving villi, reminding him of grass under the spring breeze . . . not that he’d ever seen that. It was a holdover from the memories he’d seen and copied; the grass in this case being man-eating grass monsters.

In any case, it only took thirty minutes for Progen to finish his task. The small intestines were more evenly lively now, and there were no obstructions to the body in its quest for nutrients. Progen gave himself an imaginary pat on the back.

“Alright, I’m done,” Progen reported to Stemmy. “I’m heading back now.”

No.

“No? Why not?” Progen asked, confused.

Unsafe.

Progen thought about what the reason could be for not returning for a moment. “Is this related to why you had me leave the appendix instead of staying there and doing this job from there?”

Yes.

“Why is the appendix unsafe to return to?”

The appendix, while a haven for you, is also a base for immune cells, specifically B-cell type immune cells. Your excessive use of mana and subsequent cutting of a door has resulted in a minor immune response, and the appendix is currently swarming in immune cells searching for the culprit.

Progen grimaced to himself. He had no desire to tangle with those destructive immune cells again; his crystal still had a few dents where they’d taken bites out of him.

Progen grumbled to himself. “Right, what should I do now?”

Remain in the fluid space and refrain from using excessive amounts of mana. The immune response will resolve within half a day’s time if they find nothing to fight.

“Guess I’d better practice my backstroke then,” Progen uttered sarcastically.

Yes.

Chapter 8

It seemed to take more than half a day for the immune cells inside of the appendix to retreat, leaving the area relatively free of deadly searchers, as Progen referred to them. Stemmy was monitoring the entire area from the inside, while Progen floated in the fluid, though the dungeon crystal had to keep a distance from the appendix: Whenever he got too close, the interneuron communicated to him later, the immune cells somehow seemed to sense his presence. Therefore, a regular schedule was set up that had Progen connecting with the neural network near the intestines – though it had to be a very brief touch, as he didn’t want to alert the cells to his presence there, as well.

When Stemmy finally reported that they had left, using some sort of “transmigration” ability to slip through the walls of the appendix and into the blood vessels surrounding the area, Progen was impatient. While the fluid outside of the intestines and appendix was relatively safe, it also cut him off from communicating with Stemmy; not only that, but he couldn’t easily tell what was going on inside of the body’s organs from his position.

“This is extremely inconvenient. I can’t be escaping into that cavity full of fluid every time I try to do something. Isn’t there a better way?” Progen asked Stemmy as soon as his crystal was back in the appendix. After cutting a hole through the wall and sealing it up with mana when he was inside, he felt like he was…home. He could now easily communicate with the interneuron cell he had created, and he had a relatively short distance he could see outside of the appendix, which made him feel much better than floating out in the cavity without the ability to do much.

Whenever you affect a change throughout this body, you are going to attract notice. This body’s natural immune system wouldn’t be operating as it should if it left you alone; you are a foreign invader, and they will continue to seek your destruction.

“Yes, I get that. But is there some way to, I don’t know, hide from them?  This will only get worse over time, if I’m forced to flee every few minutes.”  There was silence for a moment, before Stemmy responded.

Create a capsule.

“A…capsule?  What are you talking about, and how will that help me?”

A capsule is a semi-gelatinous layer commonly found outside of a bacteria cell, which acts as a sort of armor to the outer cell wall and cell membrane

“…and?”

And you may have noticed, while you were in the small intestine, the bacteria floating around the gastrointestinal fluid there; they were beneficial bacteria, which help break down what passes through into nutrients, though there were not as many of those beneficial bacteria as there should have been. That was one of the main reasons your help was required, as their numbers had been greatly diminished. However, you can also see some examples of them inside of the appendix, though – again – their numbers are not nearly what they should be.

Progen looked around in surprise, seeing that Stemmy was correct. Located in small pockets, there were very small cell-like shapes, in random clusters near the appendix walls; as the interneuron said, though, there weren’t very many.

“These things here?  They have…what did you call it?  Capsules?”

Yes. Each of those bacteria is entrenched inside of a capsule, the outer shell protecting the outer walls of the cell. Use your senses to analyze one of these bacteria and their outer capsule, and then use your mana to create one exactly the same around your dungeon crystal. This will camouflage you from the detectors attached to the immune cells, as they will think you are some of the necessary, good bacteria found inside this portion of the digestive tract.

“So, this is sort of like…what?  A disguise?” Progen asked, even as he did as Stemmy advised. He extended his awareness until his concentration fully surrounded the nearest bacteria cluster, and it didn’t take him long to see the outer covering of the cell, entirely unlike anything he had seen before. “Huh. It really is like an outer layer of armor, isn’t it?”  He vaguely recognized the term from the memories that he had absorbed, but even those were starting to fade over time, since he had created Stemmy.

Yes.

Ignoring the brief response, he used his mana to form a shell around himself, just above the surface of his crystal, and did his best to copy the elements of the capsule completely. It was actually a bit difficult to do in expanded form, since his crystal was nearly twenty times bigger than the largest of the bacteria, though he eventually thought he had it. Luckily – or unluckily, depending upon how he looked at it – the capsule was extremely thin, so it barely took even a single unit of mana to accomplish. It was also difficult to observe it completely from the outside, so he turned to Stemmy for an evaluation.

“Does this capsule make me look fat?” Progen strangely asked – though he didn’t know why he said that. He figured that a bit of the personality that he had absorbed was still floating around somewhere in his crystal, even after transferring it to the stem cell. There was no response from his previous question from Stemmy, so he tried again.

“Will this work?”

It is adequate for your purposes.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Progen intimated. “Regardless, if you think this will work, then hopefully I can do what I need to do without worrying about being hounded every few minutes.”  From what the crystal could see, his form looked exactly like one of the bacteria – if much, much bigger.

Now that he was relatively safe from being attacked by the body’s immune system that he was inhabiting, it was time to get to work seeing what he could do. Granted, he wasn’t precisely sure what he could do, nor what he needed to do to get the entire body in better shape, but he was ready and eager to begin.

For instance, he knew there was a lot more work to be done inside of the body’s digestive system, as fixing the small intestines was only a small portion of the entire problem. There were still some issues he had observed from the outside of the large intestines – though he didn’t know exactly what they were – and, of course, the hellish scenario of the stomach that he had almost perished within.

“What’s the plan, now?” Progen thought out loud.

Now that the main issue preventing the lower digestive tract has been handled, you need to start integrating yourself into the body itself. That way, you don’t have to physically move yourself whenever something needs your attention.

That sounded ideal because traveling around the entire body himself would be dangerous, time-consuming, and inefficient. If there was one thing Progen hated – and he assumed it was the same for most dungeon crystals – it was inefficiency; they normally sat in a room deep at the end of their dungeon, secure in their position as the lord of their domain, while controlling everything from that location. Looking around, his “room” wasn’t exactly ideal, nor at the bottom of a dungeon…but it would have to do. At least, until he could figure out a way to get into the brain, where all the magic happened.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Progen asked. As soon as he finished his question, though, he realized that an instinctual part of his crystal knew exactly how to do it.

Before Stemmy could explain, Progen reached out with invisible tendrils of his mana, connecting them to the walls of the appendix; as soon as they attached to the lining of the organ, the tendrils started to spread out and disappear, infusing themselves into the cells of his “room”. Normally, if he were in a dungeon located underground or in some sort of mountain, he would be infusing his mana into the dirt and rock of the environment, claiming it as his own. It would be how he could start to change the world around him, shaping rooms, creating monsters, and placing traps that would stop anything from reaching and directly attacking his crystal.

Here, though, while he was “claiming” parts of the digestive system, he didn’t really have control over it. Instead, spreading out his influence allowed him to extend his vision out farther, as well as directing his mana to perform certain actions from afar. Because the body was a living being, unless he spread his influence over the entire organism, he couldn’t shape or change the body itself, other than repair what was already there. So, he couldn’t make rooms or tunnels like his instincts wanted him to – he had to work with what was already there.

The expansion of his influence was slow, but steady, and with a few prompted warnings from Stemmy, he reined in his expenditure of mana, so as to not call too much attention to himself. While Progen had the capsule over his body, which would hopefully prevent him from being targeted, he didn’t necessarily want to test out his disguise unless he had to.

Everything was going swimmingly for the first few hours, as he spread his influence over the majority of the small intestines without too much trouble. Along the way, he paused and repaired the villi in a few spots that earlier he had no doubt of missed – or had been damaged afterwards – again taking his time and doing it slowly, so as to not arouse suspicion. As he continued to disperse through the small intestines, he found that his ability to hold larger amounts of mana increased at the same time – though in relatively small amounts.

“So, the more I can expand and influence, the more mana I can hold?  How does that make sense?”

Yes. If you were anywhere else, your crystal would physically expand, in order to control and contain more mana; as it is, however, growing your crystal larger would have dire consequences – the least of which would be not being able to fit inside this body anymore. Damaged organs, internal bleeding, and disrupting gastrointestinal tracts would be the larger worry.

As a result of your converting the energy from this body into mana for your own use, as well as spreading your influence throughout the body via that mana, you are now intrinsically linked to it. You’re now using the digestive system you have already infused as a storage system for that mana. What that essentially means is that, if you were ever to leave this body, you would essentially be as weak and ineffective as you were when you first arrived.

“Weak and ineffective?” Progen practically yelled through his connection with Stemmy, completely affronted at the derisive statement. A moment later, though, he calmed down; he realized that the interneuron cell was right – he was particularly weak and ineffective, and it was honestly sheer luck…and the help of the voice in his mind at the time…that he had survived as long as he had. He also had to admit that he wasn’t much more powerful than he was less than a day ago, though he could feel his power increasing in very small increments as he went.

Yes.

Rather than argue, Progen ignored Stemmy and concentrated on expanding his influence with the new understanding that he was improving both himself and the body he inhabited at the same time. It was a win-win situation, since he was becoming stronger and would theoretically be able to do more, and he was repairing the body that he eventually wanted himself to control.

Then, just as he thought another few hours would see him completely infuse the small intestines with traces of his mana, his tendrils hit a wall. It wasn’t a physical wall, but it stopped him just the same.

“What’s going on?”

Looking around the part of the intestine that he had gotten to with his mana, he couldn’t see why he couldn’t expand anymore. He had plenty of mana, and from what he could remember, there shouldn’t really be a limit this close to his crystal, especially since the entire system was inside the same body. Nevertheless, it felt like an invisible barrier preventing him from spreading out from that point.

Stemmy has no information. Acquiring information . . . .

Progen didn’t have anything to do but wait, so he did.

There is a problem. The neural network has been alerted to an issue in that section, though Stemmy is not aware of the specific issue.

“What?  Was I detected somehow?”  Progen thought that even if his mana manipulation had been detected, it shouldn’t have prevented him from still infusing the surrounding areas.

No. This was not due to your actions. Acquiring information……

“Uh, ok,” Progen said, feeling an odd mix of expectation and dread.

Stemmy has determined that a bacterial infection has invaded the upper portion of the small intestine. Neural network communications indicate that immune cells have been dispatched by the body to eliminate the bacteria.

“So…what does that have to do with stopping my efforts to infuse the surrounding area with my mana?”

Just as the immune system identifies pathogens as foreign invaders, so, too, does your mana. The pathogens – bacteria, in this case – act as a barrier, a holding force, that seeks to consume the body’s nutrient and mana supply. In order to continue expanding your influence, these harmful, foreign bacteria have to be eliminated.

“Ok…will my existing influence be cut off anytime one of these pathogens appears?”  That was a major concern, because it would defeat the purpose of extending his influence in the first place.

No. Once established, you maintain full influence over any systems, though the presence of foreign pathogens may slightly reduce your ability to gather mana from those sections. Bacteria and viruses consume the same nutrient energy that you convert into mana, so it is imperative that they are eliminated.

If Progen didn’t have another reason to eliminate the pathogens in the body before this, then the knowledge that they were stealing his mana was more than enough.

“How long will it take for these bacteria to be eliminated?” He was impatient to resume infusing the small intestine with his mana, because he needed to be able to reach the stomach and repair the problems he saw there when he first arrived. It was nearly guaranteed that the amount of nutrients and energy being absorbed by the body was being diminished by the war going on up there, the wounds, and the rocks that had been ingested along with Progen’s dungeon crystal. He was positive that a body couldn’t break down the hard stone and dirt like he could with mana, so now that his crystal was intrinsically linked with this body, it was necessary to help that along.

Unknown.

Nothing else was forthcoming from Stemmy, which was unusual. “Uh…how is it that you don’t know?”

Stemmy is unaware of the specifics of the bacteria in question, nor is Stemmy aware of what and how many immune cells are being deployed. Your influence has helped to expand Stemmy’s ability to tap into the localized neural network, but without a first-hand assessment of the situation, the factors are unknown.

“That sounds like I should check this out personally, right?” Progen asked.

Unsafe. Occasionally, the bacteria that can invade a body will be many times more powerful than the weaker immune cells can handle. Your crystal has only encountered these weakest immune cells, the Neutrophils, and you should remember how well that went. Such an encounter, in your present state, could potentially destroy your dungeon crystal.

“I assume that is out, then. What do you suggest I do?  I can always start expanding my influence in the other direction – through the large intestines, I’m assuming they’re called – though if fighting the bacteria infection takes days, then I’m going to be extremely far behind.”

You have expanded your crystal’s influence enough that Stemmy believes you have some additional cell options available for creation using your mana.

Through the link that Progen had with Stemmy, the dungeon crystal felt a familiar trickle of mana flow out from his disguised form, creating a grey window that listed his current options.

Cell Options Available

Available Mana: 125/125

Tier 1

Stem Cell – 10 Mana

Immune Cells – Unlocked

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 125/125

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell – 5 Mana

B Cell – 25 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

“This is definitely new; what does this all mean?  What are these cells, and what do they do?”

These are the immune cells that you can currently create via your mana. As you expand your influence and hit certain mana thresholds, you’ll be able to produce additional cells. For now, you have the ability to form these three cells for the defense of the body.

The Dendritic Cell is an immune cell that coordinates chemical communication from the frontlines to the backlines. They can also activate other immune cells, making them stronger, though they, themselves, do not attack pathogens.

The Neutrophil Cell is the most common immune cell, and therefore the weakest variety. They are the first responders to an invasion, and can easily transmigrate through blood vessels to congregate anywhere in the body.

B Cells are producers of antibodies, which target specific pathogens through the use of proteins. These antibodies are smaller cells that can surround and swarm invading pathogens, taking down larger targets with greater numbers.

Those seemed to be a bit complicated for Progen to remember, as their names didn’t really relay what they did very well. In his mind, the dungeon crystal started to think of the Dendritic Cells as “Reporters”, because they reported what was happening from far away; the Neutrophil Cells as “Newts”, because it was a more fun name; and the B Cells as “Spawners”, since they spawned those antibody things that would attack in a swarm. As soon as those thoughts went through his mind, the grey informational screen changed to reflect those new names.

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 125/125

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell (Reporters) – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell (Newts) – 5 Mana

B Cell (Spawners) – 25 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

“What are those ‘Potential Mutations’ I see on here?”

Unknown. There is a possibility that you may be able to create mutations of already existing cells with your mana; without more information, however, such potential mutations are unable to be classified.

Since there wasn’t anything Progen could do about that, he evaluated what he could create. At only 2 mana, the Reporters were the least expensive – and their niche was exactly what he needed. Information about hostile invaders was paramount to a proper defense, as any dungeon would know; most dungeons only had to worry about being invaded by Adventurers, though there was plenty of variety even within their kind. Progen, though, would need to get information about the specific pathogens he’d be facing, and prepare accordingly.

Pulling out a small amount of mana, 2 units to be exact, Progen concentrated on creating a Reporter cell, basing the information about it on the screen he had been presented. He found that it was quite easy, compared to creating the Stem cell that Stemmy was made from, as information about the cell was passed to his mind directly by the interneuron cell nearby.

After a few seconds, his mana condensed into a small cell that was much smaller than the aforementioned Stem cell, though it was wildly different. Instead of a large spherical shape with an equally large internal nucleus, the Reporter cell almost looked like some sort of bizarre starfish, with a small internal nucleus blob and about a dozen searching tendrils extending from its body. They undulated in the gastric fluid floating around everything, as if trying to find something, which was – Progen figured – exactly what they were designed to do.

Best of all, though, was that the new Reporter cell easily obeyed his commands; not only that, but as he sent it shooting down the small intestine, searching for the source of the bacteria that had stopped Progen’s progress, he found that he could connect with it to get an understanding of what was around his new immune cell. The cell, obviously, didn’t have eyes to see out of, but it formed a picture around it by using its searching tendrils. Progen was able to translate that information into a simple mental image of its surroundings. Unfortunately, that perception didn’t extend very far, only about 20 times its own size, but it was much better than nothing.

It didn’t take long for the Reporter to arrive at the blank spot in Progen’s perception of the small intestines, and the dungeon crystal was glad that he took Stemmy’s advice and stayed put, safe and sound inside of the appendix.  His little immune cell floated right into the middle of a war.

Chapter 9

On one side of the battle his Reporter waded into the middle of, there were white blood cells that Stemmy helpfully identified as Neutrophil cells, or Newts, from the body’s immune system. They were larger than his own immune cell, were more spherical than his mutated starfish-looking Reporter and had a nucleus inside its clear outer cell membrane that looked like three smaller nuclei linked together in a vague “U” shape.

The body’s Newts were facing off against a foe that were smaller than they were, but much more numerous. The bacteria were cylindrical shaped, approximately a quarter of the size of the immune cells, and had thin tendrils extending out from one side of their forms. It appeared as though they primarily used those tendrils to move around quite dexterously, avoiding the attacks by the Newts; those attacks seemed to be entirely about trying to engulf the bacteria and consume it. Progen saw this process happening in a few of the Newts that had been successful, where the bacterium was being broken down and destroyed inside of the larger immune cell, though that occurrence was few and far between.

Instead, the bacteria seemed to have the upper hand, running circles around the larger, slower, and less numerous Newts – and destroying them. “What is happening?  You should be able to monitor what I’m seeing, correct?

Yes. These bacteria are using their flagella – those tendrils you see that can help them move rapidly – and are working together to pierce and tear apart the Neutrophils. They are not supposed to be able to do that, especially working together like they are.

Whether this was normal or not, Progen had no real frame of reference, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. The behavior of the bacteria, while strange, appeared – in some bizarre way – familiar. Whereas the immune cells appeared to be attacking automatically, with no strategy involved other than to consume the bacteria, the bacteria seemed to be employing basic strategies. It was almost as if something were directing them—

“Do you think this has anything to do with the reason we couldn’t access the brain, earlier?”  That had been strange, and Stemmy hadn’t mentioned a reason behind it, so Progen hadn’t thought anything of it at the time; the dungeon crystal had thought that it had been normal to be blocked off like it had, so hadn’t pressed the issue, but now he was beginning to think it was for some other reason.

Unknown. There are too many variables to accurately predict the source of this abnormality, though this certainly does present an additional, unneeded obstacle to controlling this body.

“I’d say so. Anyway, this doesn’t look like it’s going well, so what do you suppose—”

Suddenly, Progen’s awareness of the battle shrunk down to almost nothing, before disappearing altogether. While he had been watching the overall battle from what he thought was a safe distance, one of the body’s Newts had drifted over and swallowed up his Reporter before he could react.

“Really?  Come on – we’re on the same side!  Why did they do that?”

To the Neutrophil, your Dendritic cell was foreign, as it wasn’t recognizable as part of the body’s immune system. You may need to encapsulate all of your immune cells, similar to your dungeon crystal.

That was a pain, but Progen admitted that it made sense – even if it made his job harder. “If they are losing so badly, and I’m sure the body’s immune system can detect that fact, why doesn’t the body send in something more powerful?”

While there are certainly more powerful immune cells, they are usually saved as a last line of defense. Their use can occasionally be destructive to the body, so they are only used in times of dire need; the fact that they aren’t here, when they probably should be based on the range of the infection we saw, means that they are being used somewhere else that has greater need.

That didn’t sound good. Where they were being used could only be a guess at that point, since he couldn’t observe the entire body; so, that meant that it was up to Progen to salvage the situation. To do that, though, he was going to have to get better information on the war going on in the small intestines – which the body itself was rapidly losing. To this end, he used 20 units of mana to create 10 Reporters, as well as approximately 5 additional units to create disguise capsules surrounding them, and sent them out with the basic instruction to observe at a distance. Despite them being simple, single-celled organisms, they understood those basic commands easily enough.

Then, pulling small amounts of mana at a time from the nearby body, which was much easier – and somehow almost purer – in the areas he had cleared of problems and infused with his own mana, Progen created his own Newts, 30 in total. It was a small force of immune cells, granted, but with proper direction and control, he thought he could turn the tide.

To these 30 Newts, he added 5 of the B Cells, or Spawners. The Spawners, compared to the smaller Newts, were approximately the same size, but there was one large difference. While the outsides of the Newts were relatively smooth, the Spawners had small projections that almost appeared like spikes of some sort. “These are strange; are they weapons of some kind?”

Those protrusions on the B Cell are used to identify the type of bacteria present and are then used to stimulate the production of the appropriate protein-based antibody.

“So…they need to touch one of the bacteria in order to create their weapons?”

Yes. The process is a bit more complicated than that, but you are essentially correct.

“That’s all I need to know!”

Progen’s small force of 25 immune cells left shortly after their creation, with capsules surrounding their main cell membranes; he had to leave them permeable, though, because they would be rather ineffective with a barrier in between them and what they attacked. Therefore, at the moment, they were less like armor and more like a thin disguise that hopefully would stand up to the scrutiny of the body’s normal Newts.

The Reporters were already in position, all 10 of them arranged around the outskirts of the battle being waged between immune cells and bacteria. Fortunately, none of the Newts there seemed to notice anything wrong with his Reporters, even when a few drifted a bit too close; as a result, he had them move up until they were evenly dispersed in the constantly arriving wave of white blood cells, and he was finally able to get a better idea of the situation.

It was worse than he thought.

The bacteria close to the front line of the battle, as destructive as they were, weren’t the major issue; from what he could observe. Worse were those bacteria towards the rear of the wall, attached to the lining of the small intestine – in different stages of reproduction. They didn’t reproduce like anything Progen had ever seen before, though; they seemed to reproduce by initially growing longer, before splitting down the middle and creating an exact copy of themselves.

“Um, what are they doing?” the dungeon crystal asked automatically, before he comprehended exactly what was happening.

This process is called Binary Fission, and—

“Not now, Stemmy!”  Progen ignored the interneuron cell as it continued to drone on about the way bacteria split in half and multiplied – which he could clearly see – even as he tried to develop a plan. He wasn’t sure how many of the body’s Newts were coming to assist in the battle, as the flow from what he could only assume was a connecting blood vessel hadn’t slackened, but it wasn’t going to be enough. A quick estimate at their attrition, as well as the multiplying of the bacteria towards the back lines, told Progen that they had maybe an hour left before there were so many bacteria inside that they couldn’t be stopped without some other outside influence.

An outside influence like Progen was just about to provide.

After watching the fights with an eye to what was happening, he realized that the bacteria weren’t all that strong to begin with; no, they just happened to be so effective because they could move quickly and attack the Newts from all sides. Contrary to their spherical appearance that looked almost identical on every section of it, the Newts had a specific spot on their cell body that would open up and engulf the bacteria, similar to how a mouth would work on a monster; if they couldn’t get their mouths around the bacteria, they were largely ineffective. The bacteria obviously knew this, somehow, and they worked together to constantly swarm around individual immune cells and tear them apart.

That fact – the way that the white blood cells called Newts presently failed to work together as part of a greater team – was their downfall. Some got lucky and were each able to swallow a bacterium, but most were picked off by the coordinated attacks of the quick pathogens. There was no cohesion in the defense, which was obviously normally fine, as bacteria didn’t necessarily coordinate together like he was seeing (at least, according to Stemmy); but here, they were getting their cell-butts handed to them.

Therefore, the way to beat something like that was to present a united front, to enact a stable defense that would work together. Such tactics were relatively beyond the simple existence of single-celled organisms that operated primarily upon instinct and nature; but now, Progen was in command of them. “This should be easy, right?”

He spoke too soon, since it was anything but easy.

His commands could only go so far because those instincts that the cells possessed were even harder to fight than the bacteria. Before they even arrived, he easily arranged his Newts into a hollow cubic formation, with all of them equidistant from each other; inside the cube were his Spawners, because they were a little more vulnerable and needed to be protected. He was going to have to capture one of the bacteria and allow the Spawners to acquire the information about the enemy, but he figured that wouldn’t be hard to do.

Of all of the things he had done to prepare for the defense against the bacteria, the one thing that worked perfectly were the capsule disguises on his Newts and Spawners; the body’s own immune cells completely ignored them. Well, either that, or they were so busy being torn apart by bacteria that they didn’t have a chance to pay attention to them.

At first, the cube of immune cells he guided forward worked spectacularly. The bacteria near the edge of the formation were immediately consumed by the abrupt arrival of Progen’s forces, and he even managed to snag a bacteria half-in and half-out of one of his Newts, which brought it inside the hollow part of the cube so that the Spawners could touch it with their exterior protrusions. Progen could see – via his Reporter cells, who were acting as his eyes in the fluidic battlefield – something happening inside of the Spawners, but nothing was emerging yet.

“Why aren’t they attacking?”

It requires a little time for the appropriate proteins to be constructed.

“Ok, but they better be worth it.”  The majority of the bacteria were still attacking the inflowing Newts from the body, but his own forces were slowly making a dent in the pathogens as they slowly moved forward. Apparently, at some point, his little cube went from being a minor annoyance to a full-scale threat, because the bacteria all seemed to stop and then congregate towards his formation…at the same time, as if all directed from some overarching power. “If that isn’t a sign that these bacteria aren’t normal, I don’t know what—"

Within seconds, one side of his Newt cube was entirely overwhelmed; while they could swallow five, six, or even seven bacteria at a time before they were full and had to begin the process of breaking them down, there were hundreds of bacteria tearing into his formation. The enemy didn’t seem to have a care about tactics, this time, just about throwing themselves at his outer cube with abandon. Dozens were sacrificed in the effort of overwhelming the rest, and before he knew it, half of his Newts had been ripped apart.

The destruction was compounded by the complete inability of his Newts to handle the death of one of their own. Their instincts kicked in, ignoring Progen completely as they broke formation and swarmed the bacteria in response, going off on their own, only to be overwhelmed even faster than before.

It was at that moment that the Spawners started to release dozens of their antibody weapons – making long-range strikes with projectiles that were shaped like strangely thick “Y”s. They were fairly devastating, as they struck the bacteria swarming into the broken formation, piercing through the bacteria’s capsule “armor”, sometimes striking something vital underneath, killing off the bacteria within a few impacts. However, it was too little, too late, as the rest of his forces were quickly surrounded and torn apart. Before they could all be destroyed, Progen managed to order one of his Spawners to retreat, as he didn’t want the battle to have been a complete rout. The rescued Spawner quickly sped back through the small intestine, leaving the battle behind.

As for his Newts, they didn’t last long under the onslaught, but at least they had done some good. The interruption in their front line against the body’s immune cells allowed the white blood cells to establish a presence in the small intestine. The native white blood cells immediately went to work gobbling up the distracted bacteria from behind, devastating their numbers at an increasingly higher rate as more arrived from outside of the digestive tract. As soon as Progen’s forces were destroyed, however, the bacteria fought back with a ferocity that seemed entirely unlike what a single-celled organism should display, whipping their flagella back and forth in a frenzy that was disturbing to watch.

Worse than that, though, was the abrupt departure of hundreds of bacteria from the battlefield nearly a minute later; his Reporters watched as they immediately shot down the small intestine, following where his Spawner had retreated.

“Stemmy, can bacteria…track my immune cells?”

No. There is no biological component to them that would indicate such an action is possible.

“Well, regardless of what you believe, I’m pretty sure that is what’s happening.”  Progen had stopped his Spawner immediately after seeing the bacteria move off down the small intestine; there was no way he wanted the bacteria to follow it back to his dungeon crystal. Granted, he could always escape back into the cavity where he was safe before, but he didn’t want to take the chance that they could somehow follow him even there.

Meanwhile, as his Spawner waited for the bacteria to arrive at its location, Progen started to create additional Newts and Spawners near his dungeon crystal. He attempted to create them farther away, such as near his Spawner awaiting its own destruction, and he was successful – but it required an additional cost to create it so far away. The one Newt cell that he created near his Spawner required double the amount of mana to produce; so, he stopped there and concentrated on only making some inside of the appendix, before sending them just outside. He wasn’t going to throw good cells away by sending them to get rolled over by the hundreds of bacteria inside of the small intestine; so, he kept them in reserve in case they reached that far.

Soon enough, though, he started to run low on mana; so, he absorbed energy from the area in the body he was inhabiting. As he slowly siphoned more into him, he was abruptly stopped by Stemmy, who had been tasked to monitor the area and alert him if anything else was happening within the neural network that needed his attention.

Stop. There are signs that you are approaching the limit of what this area can currently provide in terms of mana. If you continue absorbing energy from this digestive tract, it will start to shut down. Waiting until it recovers from your frequent absorptions over the last few hours would be ideal.

Obviously, the digestive tract shutting down was not the best outcome. Neither was his own destruction, but Progen stopped his absorption of energy from the body and looked at what he had assembled already.

24 Newts.

4 Spawners.

2 Reporters.

Granted, that didn’t count the Spawner and the Newt already in the small intestine awaiting their fate, but Progen hoped that they weren’t even needed. Since he was able to watch what was happening in the small intestines in the parts that he already had influence over, he was capable of seeing the inevitable demise of his two immune cells. As the large force of bacteria sped through the gastrointestinal fluid inside the intestine, getting closer and closer to the two, Progen looked back towards where his 10 Reporters were still watching what was happening in the original infection.

With the interruption caused by his forces, as well as the removal of a few hundred bacteria, the white blood cells flooding in from outside were successfully annihilating the large clusters of replicating pathogens. Agile maneuvers didn’t benefit them much when there were hordes of Newts filling a large portion of the intestine in that section, and it appeared as if they would be wrapping up the cleansing within 10 to 15 minutes. There were so many now, in fact, that even when the bacteria turned back after they destroyed his Spawner and Newt, they, too, would be overwhelmed—

—Unless, the dungeon crystal speculated, the invading bacteria decided to stay right there and start another infection. He asked the interneuron cell about that, and he was pleased at the response.

Stemmy can tap into the neural network and alert the body’s immune system to the new infection if that happens.

“That’s good to know, Stemmy,” Progen said confidently. He’d be okay even if the bacteria tried something shady, and he could ensure that they wouldn't be able to get away.

The wave of bacteria finally reached Progen’s two immune cells in the middle of the small intestine, and the dungeon crystal watched their brave last stand. The Newt immediately shot forward, using its entire form to block direct access to the Spawner, sacrificing itself while managing to gobble up two bacteria in the process. At the same time, the Spawner released dozens of antibodies, which propelled from the immune cell like arrows, striking around the form of the Newt, impacting and destroying the vital components of nearly a dozen bacteria, before it, too, was overwhelmed and torn apart.

A heroic end to the two cells…though it turned out that it wasn’t necessary. Instead of stopping for even a brief moment, the pathogens kept going, following the small intestines in the path they had been taking. Either they were somehow tracking the path his immune cells had taken when they had left the appendix earlier, or they knew something was near the end of the tube and were planning on destroying whatever it was.

“Uh…Stemmy?  What do I do now?  Do you think I can hide from them back in that cavity?”  The silence coming from the interneuron cell worried him for a moment, and he wasn’t much encouraged when Stemmy finally communicated.

You can follow a backup plan created by Stemmy. Unlikely.

“A backup plan that you made?” Progen felt confused.

Stemmy has assembled some simple defenses, based on your unique circumstances.

“What do you mean?”  The former Stem cell wasn’t making much sense.

Basic traps, such as what you would have no trouble executing underground surrounded by dirt and stone, wouldn’t work here, even if you were able to alter the basic layout or form of these essential organs. Instead, Stemmy has altered and adapted some of them for use in this current environment; in effect, by using materials already present within this body, you will be able to set up effective traps.

Before Progen could ask what Stemmy meant, another grey screen assembled out of a trickle of the crystal’s mana, manipulated by the interneuron cell.

Trap Options Available

Available Mana: 92/125

Tier 1

Fibrin Net – 5 Mana

Reactive Flush – 5 Mana

Strangling Villi – 10 Mana

“Ah, I see. Thank you, Stemmy; this is more like it.”  With a brief thought of rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Progen began to plan out his defense.

“No one barges into my crystal room without my say so, not even microscopic bacteria. Shall we show them what a dungeon can do, eh, Stemmy ol’ pal?”

Chapter 10

The placement of the traps he had available was surprisingly easy to accomplish. All that Progen needed to do was to concentrate on a trap from his options, look at the area he wanted to fill with that trap, and his mana would stream out from him to fulfill his selection. The amount of mana needed for each trap listed on the grey screen was actually just an average, because he could make them larger or smaller, and the cost would fluctuate accordingly.

The first trap he started with was the Fibrin Net. Stemmy explained it in detail when asked about it, but most of the details about it being the first stage of repairing external wounds to the body weren’t necessary to implement it successfully. What was more important was the knowledge of what it could do for Progen and the defense of his crystal. Basically, the Net was a sticky mesh of fibers that could be stretched across a section of the small intestine, temporarily trapping in place anything that came in contact with it. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be stretched across the entire intestinal tube, because it would negatively impact the flow of gastrointestinal fluid, not to mention the chunks of solid food particles that drifted through occasionally.

Even if it could be stretched all the way across, which would most likely consume most of his available mana, the Net could likely be torn apart by the bacteria’s tendrils, after some effort. In addition, closing off the entire tube wouldn’t really help kill the bacteria, because the Fibrin Net didn’t actually do any damage to those caught against it. Unless he had some of his Newts or Spawners on the side of the Net where the bacteria were – which wasn’t the best idea, since they would be trapped on the wrong side – then the bacteria there would eventually be able to make their way through. Granted, it would prevent them from progressing any further momentarily, but progress they would.

That didn’t mean the Fibrin Net couldn’t be used in conjunction with his other traps and immune cells. The Reactive Flush was a defense that also didn’t cause any damage, but it’s utility could be a boon to his defense. Essentially, the Flush forcibly reversed the flow of any fluid – in this case, the gastrointestinal fluid inside of the small intestine – in a localized area, and it pushed anything caught within the trap a certain distance away. On the surface, this didn’t sound very helpful, because it didn’t do any damage; but that was when the benefit of it being a mana-formed trap, controlled by a dungeon crystal, came into play.

Unlike the Fibrin Net, the Reactive Flush could be turned on and off at Progen’s whim; and once it was set up in an area, it didn’t require any additional mana from the dungeon crystal to operate. Over time, the trap – the same as all of his traps, in fact – would very slowly absorb the ambient energy around its location, repairing or resetting it back to normal. For instance, if his Net were torn apart, it would gradually regenerate over the next few hours until it was back to normal.

“Will the energy it draws from the body be enough to harm it, like I was just doing?”

Unlikely. Over the course of a day, the amount of mana it would acquire from the surrounding energy would be the equivalent of less than a single unit. Unless you had 50 or more set up in a very small area, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.

“Thanks, Stemmy; that’s very good to know.”  The last thing Progen wanted was to inadvertently damage the body he was trying hard to repair.

The last of his available traps was the only thing that could actually do some damage – and it would be the basis for his defense. It was expensive to create, in comparison to the other options, but everything hinged on the Strangling Villi.

Normally, the villi found along the small intestine were there in order to, as Stemmy described to him, “increase the surface area of the intestinal wall to facilitate in the absorption of nutrients”. The trap, on the other tentacle, enhanced the villi in a designated section, so that they were not only much, much longer; they also were able to easily wrap around a small target and squeeze it so tightly that it would be torn apart. The downsides to using them were that any targets needed to be relatively close to the wall of the intestine, and trying to wrap around something as large as – for instance – one of her Newts would be next to impossible. Bacteria, fortunately, were the perfect size to rip apart.

Progen looked at his available mana again and was surprised to see that it had increased by 2, to give him 94 out of a maximum of 125 – and it felt like it was slowly ticking up, as well. “Stemmy; am I automatically absorbing energy and converting it to mana without my knowledge?”

No. The extra mana is from the destruction of the few bacteria that were destroyed within the area of the small intestine that you had infused with your mana. The energy released upon their destruction is not directly proportionate to their numbers or relative size, though it appears as though your infused-mana sections will eventually absorb whatever is released by the destruction of foreign organisms. It is gradual, however; so, it is not available instantly for use.

“So…just like I would receive a boost in my mana if an adventurer were to perish within my dungeon, I’m gaining some from these bacteria?”

Yes.

That was also good to know, as it gave Progen another reason to want to eliminate all of the hostile pathogens infesting what he eventually wanted to claim as his body. They were invaders to his dungeon, after all; so, it was only right that they provide him with something that would benefit his crystal from their destruction.

With all of the information about his traps at his figurative fingertips, and the time until they arrived quickly approaching, Progen got to work placing traps. Rather than try to fight in the larger intestine near the appendix, he decided to make his stand a short way up the small intestine, where he had already assembled his available Newts and Spawners. Instead of blocking off the entire intestine with a Net, the dungeon crystal created a sheet of the sticky mesh that portioned off approximately half of the tube along the bottom section – which required a little over 20 mana to accomplish.

Using another 20 mana, he copied the Fibrin Net and moved it back a little, allowing food particles to travel through the gap – as well as all of the fluid – and still placing the new mesh along the top of the intestine. Overall, the effect it produced didn’t do much; all it really did was force the bacteria to go up and then down to avoid the Net. That really wasn’t the point, however, as his intention was simply for the Nets to slow down the bacteria’s rush, to be more vulnerable to the next stage of his defense.

“Do you think this will work?” he asked Stemmy when he was done quickly placing the other traps, watching his available mana the entire time, and arranging his immune cells to their positions.

Unknown. Against normal bacteria, yes; against the unusual behaviors of these bacteria…there is not enough information to accurately ascertain an assumption.

“I’m guessing from that assessment that you have no idea. Either that, or you don’t want to tell me that I will likely be destroyed.”

Yes. No.

Regardless of the confidence (or lack thereof) that Stemmy had in him, Progen was ready to see what his defenses could do. Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait.

The bacteria rushed ahead through the fluid and around floating pieces of food that had yet to be digested, and a half-dozen bacteria ran into the first Fibrin Net, where they stuck fast to the mesh. It didn’t take long for the other 287 of them to adjust their path, flowing far below the trap. (But it took long enough for Progen to count them, as they finished their approach.) However, because the invading pathogens couldn’t really “see” as well as his Reporters, for instance, another dozen ran into the next Fibrin Net on the bottom, before they adjusted themselves again to flow over the sticky mesh trap. Progen could see that those that had been stuck in either Net were already working to free themselves with their flagella, slicing up the relatively thin mesh of the trap; their release wouldn’t happen immediately, as the sticky Net was at least substantial enough to resist some damage, but they would eventually break free.

Progen estimated he had about two minutes before the invaders could escape.

Meanwhile the rest of the 275 bacteria flowed gently over the Net, only to encounter the main defenses the clever dungeon crystal had set up. First, his Newts were directly in front of the middle of the Net, clumped up as a cluster that was designed to be a tempting target. As soon as Progen determined that the bacteria had noticed them and locked onto them with single-minded destruction as their objective, he had his Newt soldiers split up into six groups of four, floating downwards toward the bottom of the intestine. The bacteria, luckily, didn’t hesitate to split up into six separate lines and followed his Newts without further prompting.

As soon as his Newt clusters passed a certain point, Progen activated the 6 Reactive Flushes he had strategically placed (at a cost of 30 mana), and the incoming bacteria lines were pushed off course. Fluid was violently pushed in two different directions, sending over 100 of the bacteria towards their immediate or future doom. Four of the Flushes sent waves of bacteria back up the intestine, where they were forcibly pressed up against the second Fibrin Net, trapping them in place. The remaining two Flushes shot fluid downwards, carrying dozens of bacteria down with it, where they harmlessly bounced off the bottom wall of the intestine.

At least, the initial bounce was harmless – but they didn’t get very far. Long tendrils, which marked the two patches of Strangling Villi (costing 10 mana each), shot up and wrapped themselves around 31 of the bacteria, where they worked together to squeeze and tear apart the pathogens. Right next to each of the patches were two of Progen’s Spawners, who immediately latched onto the torn-up pieces of bacteria, acquiring their particular type so they could start producing their antigen projectiles.

Shortly after the bacteria were ambushed by the Reactive Flushes, Progen saw them all pause at the exact same time in their actions. It was eerie, seeing them all react like that, as if they were all of one hive mind, without the ability to think for themselves. “This is getting stranger and stranger as time goes on—”

The pause didn’t last long, as the pathogens started moving again – though not in the way Progen would’ve wished. The lines of bacteria leading towards the Flush traps were retracted and condensed into one large group, just above the second Fibrin Net, over 150-strong. As soon as they were clustered together, they moved as a single unit towards the left wall, before they shot straight down towards the cluster of Newts waiting behind the Flush trap there.

The expectation that the large group of bacteria would get swept away into the Net was incorrect, as the group seemed to split in half, flowing by largely unharmed on either side of the trap. Only 3 of the pathogens that quickly reached Progen’s cluster of Newts were swept away, only to end up stuck to the sticky Net along with the previous ones; the rest surrounded the 4 immune cells waiting for them and sliced them apart with their flagella. One unlucky bacterium was eaten by a half-destroyed Newt and was killed along with the white blood cell; but the group of bacteria didn’t hesitate to descend on the next cluster of Progen’s defending cells.

It was too late to move the next unfortunate 4, but Progen could see the objective of the bacteria now: By going around his Flush traps, the group could avoid being swept away – for the most part – and could easily get to his Newts. It was a simple strategy, though it was also something that he had considered when he set up the traps in the first place.

“It’s time for plan ‘B’, I guess.”

Progen turned off the Flushes and quickly moved the rest of his Newts together in the farthest spot away from where the bacteria were just finishing their destruction of his second cluster, and placed them directly in the pathway of the nearest Flush trap. There were only 16 of them, but that was enough to put up a fight when they were attacked. Of course, as soon as one of their number died near them, he would lose control of the others due to their instincts; but by that time, it wouldn’t matter. Progen, with Stemmy’s input, had determined that the distance between clusters had been the only reason the others hadn’t lost control; but now, with all of his Newts together in one group, one death would set them all off.

As predicted, the bacteria cluster flowed directly towards the “last stand” of Newts, for which he’d assembled them, and quickly engulfed those Newts among their numbers, still nigh on 150 pathogens. Being in a larger cluster, his Newts being able to defend each other’s “backs”, so to speak, the first few seconds went remarkably well, with over a dozen bacteria being swallowed up by the Newts for decomposition. As soon as the first immune cell was destroyed, though, the others went nuts and broke formation. Luckily, the Newts were pressed so closely together by the invading pathogens that they couldn’t really drift apart.

This was a good thing, because that meant that the entire group was still compacted enough to be affected by the Reactive Flush that Progen turned back on.

The trap pushed the entire battling group – other than a few straggling bacteria – downwards into the field of Strangling Villi down below, where just over 30 of the pathogens were immediately snatched up and started to get torn apart. Unfortunately, there were entirely too many of the bacteria to grab hold of them all, and there were over 100 left to continue their assault on the Newts that had been shot down with them.

That was when his Spawners, whom he had sent away until they were ready, approached from the rear and open fired with their antibodies. Dozens of “Y”-shaped projectiles drifted through the gastrointestinal fluid on their flight towards the struggling combatants, who were still being generally held down near the bottom of the intestine, near the Villi. When the antibodies entered the Reactive Flush, they picked more speed than they were originally meant to, and they turned into high-velocity missiles that slammed into the outer ring of bacteria down below.

That kind of speed and impact wasn’t necessarily what they were designed for, but they did their job – even as they broke apart. Instead of just piercing the capsules around the bacteria, damaging the different components within the pathogen, they hit so hard that they practically split the pathogens in half, destroying both of them almost immediately. Two of Progen’s Newts were the unfortunate recipients of an antigen to their nucleus, as well, and those soldiers were destroyed, even as they were each ingesting another bacterium; but the collateral damage was worth it.

Another wave of antibodies was released and entered the Flush before the bacteria could really react. Before long, there were only just over twenty of the bacteria left to cause trouble – along with a single Newt, with half of a bacterium hanging out of its “mouth”. Two more pathogens were snatched up by the deadly Villi below before the other ones scattered, before regrouping in between traps. As one, the bacteria raced ahead towards the nearest Spawner, easily avoiding the next wave of antigens launched in their direction. Even as they missed their targets, the projectiles curved around in mid-flight and followed them – though at a slower pace. The antigens were interesting that way, because they homed in on the enemy, so they wouldn’t stop until they were either destroyed or impacted their targets.

Progen had one more trick up his metaphorical sleeve, and that was the two Reporters he had waiting near the edge of the battle. As soon as he saw the bacteria heading for his Spawners, he had them quickly converge on a spot halfway between the pathogens and their proposed target, acting as a pseudo-defense. They weren’t really designed to do anything other than be a brief bump in the road that the bacteria would likely be inclined to flatten, and so it proved to be.

The fourth volley of antigens came out, staggered, from his Spawners, as they raced to hit his Reporters at the same time the pathogens would arrive; and they slammed into the bacteria with abandon. The enemy weren’t exactly torn apart like they were before, but 3 or 4 antigens piercing their capsules were usually more than enough to destroy them. His Reporters ended up being destroyed, as well; but it was a necessary price to pay.

Just as the rest of the free-floating bacteria were destroyed, the first of the pathogens caught in the Net managed to break themselves free, where it immediately turned to help those near it stuck to the trap escape. Within a few seconds, over a dozen were free, and they started to help more and more extricate themselves from the Fibrin, before regrouping in between the two traps for what Progen assumed was some sort of counterattack.

Unfortunately for them, they were slammed by another wave of antigens launched by the Spawners, who were quickly running out of proteins to send out as projectiles. The front ranks of the enemy were destroyed by the unexpected attack from such a long distance away, and the rest – all twenty of them – scattered as a result, before freezing in the strange display of abnormality Progen had seen before.

The dungeon crystal halted the release of the last and final wave of antigens from the Spawners – until they had a chance to resupply, at least – as the bacteria fled the battleground, racing back up the small intestine. About halfway to the spot where the body’s Newts were finishing off the rest of the original bacterial infection, Progen saw the fleeing bacteria settle against the intestinal wall and start their dividing process.

“Stemmy, alert the authorities of the second infection spot there, and we’ll wrap it up for the day.”  Progen imagined letting out a breath of relief at the success of his defenses, even as he watched his mana count start to increase again. Having earned 6 total mana from the destruction of the initial dozen invaders he had slain, the dungeon crystal had then spent all but 8 of his mana to set up the traps. But now he was hoping to get all of that – and then some – back, when the mana flowed in from the current battle against the bacteria.

Confirmed. Stemmy has alerted the immune cells near the original infection, and half of them are already breaking off to eradicate this new location.

“Good; thanks, Stemmy.”  A few moments later, a large wave of white blood cells, in the form of hundreds of Newts, entered the border of his influence, quickly streaming through the fluid in their hunt for more bacteria. There was more than enough to handle the pathogens creating the second infection spot, even given the bacteria’s penchant for unusual behavior.

Meanwhile, as the mana started to slowly flow into his crystal from the victorious battle, Progen began the process of building his own forces back up before he expanded his influence again. Now that he understood the dangers of calling attention to himself – at least, better than he had before – he wanted to be prepared to defend himself, without having to try to scramble for resources.

Chapter 11

Although the destruction of the secondary infection spot was basically a foregone conclusion, Progen got an obscene satisfaction from watching the body’s white blood cells annihilate the bacteria, nonetheless. The infected site had managed to replicate itself – twice! – turning the 20 that had arrived there into 80 pathogens; but they couldn’t stand up to the Newts that washed over them like a wave. Contrary to what Progen thought was going to happen (i.e., leave the digestive track and enter the blood vessel near it), they continued on down the small intestines with an obvious purpose. It took the dungeon crystal a few moments to realize that the purpose was him.

“Why are they still coming?  Can you tell them to leave? And that there isn’t anything here to be worried about?” he desperately asked Stemmy. Their numbers, size, and perseverance were enough to alarm Progen, until he again thought about fleeing.

No. Stemmy is unable to give them direct orders; this cell can only alert them along the neural network to a problem that they can help resolve. In this case, the problem was activated by the immune system itself, as it likely noticed all of the mana you were using and the drop in energy levels around the area.

Unfortunately, what the interneuron said was true – he had used a lot of mana lately to create all of his immune cells, not to mention his traps. They probably hadn’t arrived before because, well, there was a serious bacterial infection that seemed to take precedence; but now that that situation was resolved, they were heading towards his location to investigate.

“Ok, then I guess that this is the opportunity to really test whether or not my capsule is working properly. I’m going to stay near the wall, in case I need to flee, though I hope it doesn’t come to that.”  He was fairly confident he would be fine, based on how his immune cells had been ignored before this…but he still brought all his replenished forces near him for defensive purposes.

It turned out that he had nothing to worry about; they passed through the traps he had left in the small intestines without a hitch, as Progen had deactivated the Flushes, and none of the white blood cells got anywhere near his Nets or Villi along the bottom of the tube. When they got to the appendix, they appeared to bounce around interestedly, peering through every corner as if looking for something – but finding nothing, thankfully. One even bumped into his dungeon crystal before bouncing off, and Progen almost fled right there; he held his ground, though, because there was no reaction to the contact. A few minutes of clogging up the appendix was all they needed, apparently, because they left quickly after that.

“That seems strange. Last time, it took hours for them to leave after detecting my mana usage; why was this visit so short?”

Unknown. Potential reasons could include your camouflaged state; or the presence of your mana in the nearby area has normalized your efforts more than previously thought. However, Stemmy has determined, through faint signals through the neural network, that they were desperately needed in another location. Where that is, or why, is still unknown.

“That…worries me a little, because it means that this body is still under serious threat and in need of repair. Once I spread my influence enough, I will start to do what needs to be done to ensure this body doesn’t perish before I can completely take it over.”

To that end, Progen resumed his gradual expansion of his influence, infusing small amounts of mana into the small intestine, easily passing the site of the original bacterial infection without trouble. The dungeon crystal found that he could refine and condense down the mana he sent forth from his crystalline form, and still obtain the same results, even while the mana he used from his storage was reduced significantly. In five hours, he only spent just under 50 mana on his expansion, and he finished his infusion of the entire small intestine, stopping just below what Stemmy told him was the stomach. That was certainly going to be his next challenge, but thinking about what a nightmare it had been before, he was almost positive that he needed to be fully prepared before going in.

What that meant, in the end, was that he needed more mana; more mana meant more immune cells he could create. However, to get access to larger stores of mana, he needed to continue his expansion in the other direction – the large intestine. Progen had already increased his maximum mana to 150, up from 125, due to spreading his influence over the rest of the small intestine, so he was hoping to repeat that feat by taking over the larger organ.

Luckily, by the time Progen started that process, the body had recovered enough that he could start slowly siphoning energy from the areas he had already influenced, as long as it was done cautiously. The additional mana equated to approximately 3 mana per minute, at that point, which meant that every 2 minutes, he could easily create another Newt; or every 4 minutes, he could create another Spawner. The extra mana thereby gained, he used on periodically creating more Reporters and to spread his influence along the much larger intestinal organ, which started near the appendix and led across the body and down to what Stemmy called the rectum.

The expansion was slow. Despite the large intestine being shorter, it seemed to require more mana infused into the entire area to influence it properly. The size difference wasn’t just a small matter, though, because while Progen would equate the small intestine with the size of a long 6 X 8-foot tunnel in a normal dungeon, the large intestine was a 200 X 200-foot tunnel that seemed to be full of various things. First, there was food still being broken down and then turned into waste, though there wasn’t a lot of that, fortunately. Second, there were harmless bacteria floating around the area, which gave the dungeon crystal a scare, at first. After he saw that they were natural parts of the environment there, he settled down and put them out of his mind.

Lastly, there were areas where harmful bacteria had started to take root and cause an infection, though none of them seemed to be quite as aggressive and adaptable as the ones that Progen had fought before. They also didn’t look exactly the same as the pathogens inside the small intestine; these ones still had a shape like an ovoid cylinder, but none had the deadly flagella that had served the deadly bacteria so well. In fact, the bacteria he encountered were so tame in comparison that, when the dungeon crystal had Stemmy use the neural network to alert the immune system to their presence, the pathogens tried to run away, rather than fight.

To speed up the process, since it didn’t appear to be too dangerous for his own immune cells, Progen sent in a force of 50 Newts to help with the cleanup, which was extremely beneficial when the bacteria ran away from their infection site and ventured into his influential territory. So, he received the benefit from their destruction in the form of additional mana. After the first few of these exterminations that occurred, the dungeon crystal sent out dozens of Reporters to sweep through the large intestine, identifying small clusters of bacterial infections that his own immune cells could wipe out on their own, while alerting the body’s systems to the larger colonies of bacteria scattered around.

That was the main reason his expansion was so slow, because Progen took the time to eradicate everything he could find, while reaping the rewards of their extermination. More than a full day had passed – marking a little more than two days since he had arrived inside the body – while he expanded throughout the entire large intestine and rectum, building up his force of personal immune cells, as well as increasing his maximum mana. His “relationship” with the body’s immune system seemed to be strengthened, as well, at least according to Stemmy, when the dungeon crystal asked about the quicker response times towards the end of his expansion.

That is correct. With your ability to identify potential invaders before they become too much of an issue, less time is spent by the local immune system searching for threats; as a result, the immune cells operated by the body are able to respond much faster, especially in areas where you have your infused mana. Communications with them are sped-up and streamlined, as well, so this cell is able to monitor the network with better alacrity.

“I’m not exactly sure what all that means, though I guess that the results are what matters most.”  The increased communication and response times were very beneficial for areas where bacterial infections seemed to spring up of themselves throughout the entire lower digestive system, and Progen was able to identify them almost instantly. Most of the time, the locations of these infections were a bit distant from the crystal’s own forces, but there always seemed to be some of the body’s white blood cells in nearby blood vessels that could be there within a minute or two, once alerted. All in all, it was very efficient.

By the time Progen completely finished, his personal immune cells were more of a standing army, instead of a small strike force. He had gone from just over 50 Newts at the start of his expansion, to just under 500; his Reporters had expanded from a handful at first, to over 100 that constantly roamed over the entire large intestine. The observant immune cells weren’t really necessary anymore, once the dungeon crystal expanded his influence, because Progen could see in the areas where he had infused his mana; but he kept them moving, regardless. He knew he would need them once he assaulted the stomach, which was his next step.

As for his Spawners, he now had over 50 of them, though only the one that had fought the deadly bacteria from earlier could actually launch its deadly projectiles. The rest of them were essentially blank canvases, as they hadn’t yet gotten a sample from an enemy.

“Is there a way to, I don’t know, transfer the information from this Spawner to the others?”

Yes. No. Possibly.

“Uh…so which one is it?”

Due to your unique status as a dungeon crystal, you can force your B Cell that is imprinted with that bacteria’s specific criteria to expel some of its antibodies, which the others can then absorb and then copy. If all of your B Cells containing those antibodies are destroyed, however, you would lose access to that particular protein formation made for combating that specific bacteria. Those same antibodies will not work on other pathogens; so, such an act may not be necessary, unless absolutely needed. Additionally, any new samples for antibody production will write over the previous formation, as only one type of antibody can be produced at a time.

“Let me get this straight. These antibodies that the Spawners produce can only be used against a particular pathogen, and if they start producing a different one to combat something new, the previous one is lost…forever?”

Yes.

“That seems very limited. I wish there were a way to, say, record those different types of pathogens, so that I could equip my Spawners with something before they go into battle. Is such a thing even possible?”

Yes. You simply do not have access to the type of cell you would need for that.

“Oh. Ok.”  There wasn’t much he could do about that factor, then, but he was hoping that would change before he assaulted the stomach.

As it turned out, nothing so fortunate happened. Instead, when there was nothing left of the digestive system for Progen to spread his influence over – except for the stomach and anything above – the dungeon crystal found that he had only increased his maximum mana to a disappointing 195. He couldn’t be sure, but he felt like getting to that 200 threshold would mark a change in what he was going to be able to do. But without expanding into the stomach, he wouldn’t get to that point. A brief thought and question to Stemmy about trying to expand his influence into the neighboring systems to gain that extra mana was quickly shot down.

Until you influence at least 90% of an entire system, you won’t be able to start on another of the body’s functions.

“Why?”  That seemed strange.

Your mana is limited to the point that you can only infuse one system at a time, until you acquire the vast majority of that system under your influence. If you were to start trying to influence another system before you hit that minimum threshold, the body’s natural defenses would instantly start to reacquire what you have already infused.

“I’m glad I didn’t experiment before this, because that would’ve been extremely disheartening.”  The knowledge was another reminder that Progen needed to communicate with Stemmy more, especially before the crystal took any more actions. The interneuron cell wouldn’t offer up any information unless prompted, so he needed to make sure his questions were relatively specific.

So, it was with an army of 450 Newts, 45 Spawners, and 70 Reporters – after leaving a small contingent of immune cells behind to protect his dungeon crystal – that he ventured into the stomach again. It was a straight shot up the small intestines to the entrance of the stomach, which was an interesting experience.

“What is this doing?” Progen finally had to ask, worried that the body would somehow squish his immune cells. The small intestinal tube, already relatively tiny compared to the large intestine, condensed down to a small opening which seemed to open and close of its own volition. Luckily, the closure didn’t seem absolute, as there was enough room for his entire force of immune cells to fit through.

That is the pyloric sphincter. It regulates the passage of partially digested food from the stomach down to the small intestines, so that it doesn’t all flow down at once.

“As long as it’s not doing that because of my immune cells’ presence there, then I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

It only took a small amount of time for Progen’s cells to get through the sphincter opening. At that point, things started to get a little more difficult – at least initially. Once in the stomach, the gastrointestinal fluid basically stopped, other than the acidic fluid that he had seen when he had first arrived, meaning that it was hard for his cells to get around. Not only was his Reporter unable to see very far as a result of stagnation; but also, moving his Newts and Spawners over what was essentially the open ground of the stomach was next to impossible. They could stick to the surface of the stomach lining and roll themselves, though that was hampered by the fact that the lining was ridged, creating hills and valleys that made it difficult to traverse.

Added to that, waves of partially digested food would occasionally be pushed towards the sphincter, where they would slowly be filtered down below. It was just happenstance that his immune cells had arrived in between pushes, so they weren’t carried away by the food particles as they were pushed down.

“How am I supposed to move in here?”  While his army of immune cells was gradually moving further into the stomach, Progen had already started to infuse his mana into the new area. It was slow-going, however, as the digestive organ was about half the size of the entire large intestines; it took him a few hours to move his immune cells to the edge of the lake that was full of stomach acid, while his influence just barely reached that far around and above them.

Use your mana.

“What?  What do you—?”

Again, Progen answered his own question when he considered what his mana could do. It wasn’t just there to help create immune cells, place traps, and repair the body around him in areas that needed it; his mana had also created a capsule around his cells to disguise them; and even that still wasn’t all he could do to them. With a little flexing of his mana (using nearly 50 mana in the process), he infused those capsules surrounding his immune cells with the ability to levitate, based on what direction they were sent to go. Normally, the amount of mana needed to do that with a land-bound dungeon monster would be astronomical and prohibitive; yet, with single-celled organisms, the cost was dramatically lower because he was using the barest fraction of the mana that a normal dungeon would.

It took a little adjustment for control, but after a few minutes of sending his immune cells flying through the air in different directions, he was able to congregate them all in one central group. They didn’t move very fast, despite the levitation, though it was comparable to how quickly they could navigate through gastrointestinal fluid. With the Reporters orbiting around the group as they floated above the acidic liquid below them, Progen had them make a circuit around the perimeter of the stomach, to look for issues that needed to be addressed.

It didn’t take long to discover the first problem, and it made the dungeon crystal wonder if he brought enough help.

Chapter 12

There was another bacterial infection that had literally eaten into the lining of the stomach, and the number of participants in the battle was frightening. White blood cells were pouring into the stomach from the open wound, where they would attack the bacteria there for a while before breaking up after a few minutes in the stomach acid down below the damage. There were at least a few thousand of the body’s Newts falling to their deaths while trying to gobble up the bacteria, and they were relatively successful – but there were at least six times the number of invading bacteria in that area, and they were growing more numerous as time went on.

As for those bacteria, they were similar in form as the ones that had caused so many problems in the small intestines, though these ones were half again as large. Not only that, but they had flagella on both ends of their ovoid-cylinder shape, as opposed to just the one side. Luckily, while they appeared to be just as deadly, with their flailing tendrils, towards any of the Newts that got near them, they couldn’t maneuver as fast as they could through the gastrointestinal fluid down below in the intestines. Instead, they “walked” around slowly on one set of flagella, while striking out at the incoming white blood cells with their other set.

It was, obviously, a losing battle, which looked to have been going on for an indeterminate length of time; but the outcome appeared inevitable. The bacteria were continuously eating away at the stomach’s lining, replicating themselves at the same time, while suffering horrendous casualties from the body’s immune defense – but it wasn’t enough.

“Stemmy, what will happen if this wound becomes too large?”

First, leakage from the stomach will allow the bacteria to spread, while at the same time, damaging other internal organs due to the acid normally safely contained within the stomach. Catastrophic failure of the entire body will result, due to internal damage, as well as a poisoning of the bloodstream from the unsafe components of food yet to be broken down and absorbed.

“So…very bad. Got it.”

That catastrophic failure did not appear to be happening right that second, nor would it likely happen within even the next day; but the event was inevitable if something wasn’t done soon. Before Progen committed his forces to an attack, he sent a dozen Reporters to scout out around the rest of the stomach just in case there was somewhere else he needed to contribute his efforts. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it), there wasn’t anything else worse than what he was already seeing near him, though there were three other bacterial infections of smaller sizes, in different areas of the stomach.

At the same time, his Reporters also observed that there were still some small and large stones from when he was forcibly swallowed a few days ago, which also likely were wreaking havoc on the entire digestive system just by being there. Progen thought that he could easily dissolve them with his mana, though that would require expanding his influence enough to reach them. His progress in infusing the surrounding stomach area was still slow-going, but it was gradually spreading out.

The dungeon crystal figured he would wait until his sphere of influence expanded enough that it bumped up against the bacterial infection he was observing from above – but that would take another 5 hours. It was a risk, letting the infection continue to grow in size, but he rightly wanted to reap the harvest of whatever he could entice to venture into his influence. If his immune cells destroyed the pathogens outside of his mana-infused territory, then he wouldn’t gain anything from the process.

While he was waiting, though, he used the time to create some more immune cells down near the appendix: 100 Newts, 10 Spawners, and 20 Reporters, by the time he was ready to attack. Instead of sending them up, the dungeon crystal kept them nearby – just in case these bacteria somehow destroyed all of his immune cells and decided to swarm in his direction again. It probably wouldn’t be enough yet to save him, but he thought that he could easily add more traps and additional immune cells, before they arrived.

Progen was going to have to be strategic about his attack; based on how sneaky and abnormal the previous bacteria had acted, he wasn’t going to take any unneeded chances. He was banking on the fact that the infection hadn’t seemed to detect him there, which made sense because he hadn’t gotten close enough to alert them to his army’s presence. Therefore, he was going to rely on tactics other than charging into them blindly, like he had before, and to keep them away from his heavy hitters – his Spawners.

First, he split up his large group of 450 Newts and 45 Spawners into 9 equal groups of 50 and 5, respectively; separating them from each other was a priority, as he didn’t want the death of a single Newt to send all the others into a suicidal frenzy. Then, utilizing 5 Newts from each group, he sent them down to the battlefield and had them snatch up a single bacterium, holding it halfway inside of their cell bodies, before bringing them back up to his waiting, levitating immune cell groups above the fight.

The bacteria that were snatched up understandably didn’t like that, and whipped up a frenzy with their flagella, slicing up the fronts of each of his Newts, though it wasn’t nearly enough damage to destroy even a single immune cell. The pathogens worked better acting as a team, and a single bacterium – unable to use fluid to maneuver quickly – against a single white blood cell was always going to be a losing battle.

Progen just realized something. “Hey, Stemmy; what happens to the antibodies that are released from my Spawners, when there isn’t any fluid for them to swim through?”

Since the antibodies are not part of the effect you placed on your immune cells to cause them to levitate, they will fall straight down.

“…That works.”

The dungeon crystal had been planning on shooting the projectiles down from a distance away, letting them home in on their targets; but that didn’t seem to be a viable plan anymore. First of all, despite being completely enclosed inside of a body, the stomach was moving around enough from natural movement that it was causing a fluctuation in the air inside, which would likely knock the antibody projectiles way off course if he dropped them from a great height. That meant that he was going to need to have the Spawners stay closer in order to be accurate, which also meant a higher amount of danger.

After the Newts shared a portion of their meal with the Spawners, allowing the antibody-producing cells to start the process, Progen waited until they were ready to go. As soon as they seemed primed for destruction, he placed the 50 Newts from each group just below the 5 Spawners, acting as a floating shield, but also leaving a circular space in the middle of their formation, so that the Spawners could drop their loads on the unsuspecting bacteria below. When everything was in position, he started the bombardment of antibodies upon the enemy, moving the groups in slow, circling, strafing movements, to ensure maximum casualties.

His objective was to gain their attention, while doing a bit of damage at the same time, and that seemed to do the trick. The antibodies, in their unique “Y”-shapes, dropped down straight, for the most part, but a few drifted off course. Yet, the clusters of bacteria were so thick that it didn’t really matter. Fortunately, the lower, pointy end of the “Y”s was heavier than the rest of the antibody, so they impacted with enough force to pierce through almost all of the bacteria they hit, killing all but a few from just glancing strikes. That death and destruction was enough for all of the bacteria to creepily pause again, before turning their attention to the figurative skies.

That was what the stealthy dungeon crystal was waiting for, however, and he pulled all of his groups back to the area where his influence covered the stomach. The initial attack killed hundreds of bacteria, and he wasn’t going to get any mana from it; the next phase of his assault would change that, though.

The bacteria started to move towards where his groups were assembling, in a line that bordered his mana-infused territory; keeping separate, of course. That wasn’t a surprise; what was a surprise was how quickly they seemed to move, when they had revenge on their simple minds. Instead of “walking” on one set of flagella, they fell on their side and used both sets of tendrils to practically flow over the ground at a much higher speed. A few hundred of them were so consumed with following his immune cells –  strange, how they seemed to focus on them, despite not being able to detect them so far away – that they passed through the area where more white blood cells were flowing out of the wound. Naturally, they were swallowed up, only to fall, shortly thereafter, into the stomach acid down below.

Once they swarmed over his influence border, Progen started the process of attacking – when he was surprised again. He thought that,  by keeping his immune cells at least the size of 10 Newts stacked together above the battlefield, his army would be safe; on the contrary, that distance wasn’t nearly enough as he watched the bacteria do things they probably shouldn’t be able to do.

First, the pathogens crawled on top of each other, forming a ladder that quickly stretched high enough to start attacking his Newt shield. His immune cells fought back, gobbling up the topmost bacteria – but there was a problem. The bacteria had twined their flagella together so tightly as they made the ladder, that the Newts were forced to try to pick up and swallow the entire ladder. As soon as the first bacteria was engulfed, those bacteria on the bottom released their hold on the ladder and swarmed up their companions to reach the rest of the Newt shield.

Orders to completely release the top-most pathogens were largely ignored, as it completely went against the Newts’ natural instincts; Progen could get them to half-swallow them, like he had before, to benefit his Spawners; but once they were in there, it was almost impossible to get his immune cells to spit them back up. As a result, the dungeon crystal was forced to break a few of his Newts out of formation, to swallow up the approaching bacteria on the ladders, even while instructing each group to rise another 10 Newts’ lengths into the open air.

Naturally, when the formation was broken and the Spawners started to drop antibodies on the bacteria below, the pathogens changed up their tactics. Somehow, scarily even, the pathogens figured out how to jump by bunching up their flagella and then straightening them out. Quite a few fell short, but hundreds managed to reach his forces. Luckily, his Newt shield was largely intact on all of the groups, and those that managed to get that high were immediately swallowed up. But it soon became apparent that the onslaught wasn’t going to slow down anytime soon. Raising the groups up helped to avoid a lot of the attacks, but the antibody attacks were affected almost as much; some projectiles managed to hit the approaching bacteria, but more than two-thirds of the waves were blown off course and ended up hitting the stomach lining below.

By the time there were only about 2 waves of projectiles left inside of his Spawners, thousands of bacteria had been killed – but there were thousands more that had adapted to the far-falling antibodies and were somehow able to avoid them. Basically, they were at a stalemate, with neither side able to effectively attack each other.

That was, until the body’s immune system finally got its act together and streamed forth from the wound; now that there weren’t thousands of bacteria corralling them near the stomach acid before sacrificing themselves to send them into the pit, the white blood cells were able to get a figurative “toe-hold” on the outer wound, and they immediately flowed over the stomach lining in their pursuit of the bacteria that had held them at bay for so long.

The pathogens were more than aware of this, however, and once the stalemate was achieved, they immediately turned back to regain their advantage…but it was too late for them. While they still had numbers still on their side, they were in no position to take advantage of being near the stomach acid pool and knocking the swarming immune cells in.

“Plus, you know, they still have me to contend with.”

Distracted by the body’s immune cells sneaking up on the invaders, Progen didn’t let the opportunity go to waste. Bringing his groups down temporarily, two more bombardments of antibodies blew massive holes in the bacterial forces, of which the Newts on the ground took advantage, with no problem. When the pathogens were down to just a few hundred, the dungeon crystal sent in his own Newts to help with the cleanup, and he made sure to look everywhere with his Reporters to see if he had missed anything.

A few bacteria were trying to hide amongst the folds of the stomach lining, in various places; but with the help of the Reporters, Stemmy was able to alert the local Newts to their locations. Progen probably could’ve taken care of them, himself, but he was retreating to a safe distance, to allow his Newts a chance to finish digesting the bacteria they had swallowed, and to grant his Spawners time to regenerate their antibodies. Throughout the entire attack, he only lost a single Newt from his army, when it got swarmed over towards the end of the battle when he got a little overzealous in their attacks; overall, though, it was a very successful battle.

It only took a few minutes for Progen to infuse the area with mana, when the last of the bacteria was destroyed. He used some of the mana that was starting to rush in from the confrontation to repair the wound once he had enough influence over the area. With the rest of the mana, Progen started to mass produce more immune cells, set more traps in the small intestine, and continued to extend his influence, speeding up the process a little by spreading a little more than usual. The immune cells in the stomach were busy enough that the dungeon crystal didn’t think that it would attract too much attention, especially after he fixed the wound without the Newts reacting in any way.

In fact, as soon as the last of the bacteria around the area were destroyed, most of the white blood cells disappeared into the lining, returning to the blood vessel nearby; Progen assumed they were going to the other sites of infections via a faster route. That was basically what the dungeon crystal did, though he waited until his territory expanded up to each infection site before helping to exterminate the rest of the bacteria he could find in the stomach – which was much easier than the first site, as there were far fewer pathogens to have to deal with. Those that were there used the same tactics as the first infection, and they were relatively easy to finish off because of that.

Another ten hours passed before the stomach was completely free of hostile bacteria, and Progen was able to extend his influence over the entire digestive organ. When he was able to safely look inside the stomach acid, using his influence over the area, he saw that the stones inside the lake fluid were actually worse than he thought; they were pressing down and rubbing along the bottom of the stomach, causing almost as much damage as the bacteria had done. Fortunately, now that he had the ability to use his mana inside of the area from afar, the dungeon crystal was able to dissolve and absorb the hard stones, and then repair the damage that had been done below.

As a result of eliminating all of the bacteria in the stomach, Progen was able to build his reserve force of immune cells significantly. Apart from the ones he still had in the stomach patrolling around in case there were any more bacteria wanting to start infecting – which was entirely possible, as more food would occasionally drop into the acid below, splashing the liquid everywhere – he had managed to accumulate just over 2500 Newts and 250 Spawners, along with an additional 100 Reporters. The number of them seemed impressive, until he remembered how many immune cells the body had contributed to all of the battles his forces had been a part of…and that didn’t even count how many had been destroyed before he arrived.

What he didn’t receive, however, was his hoped-for increase in what he would be able to create, as far as immune cells and traps went. Progen thought that hitting 200 maximum mana would do it, but that came and went inside the stomach without any indication of a change. When he hit 250…still nothing. When the stomach was completely infused with his mana, he ended up at 260 maximum mana, and there continued to be the feeling that he was just on the cusp of acquiring an upgrade to his available options.

“What gives, Stemmy?  Shouldn’t I have been able to make something else by this point?”

Unknown. Not enough information is present in your particular circumstances to accurately predict when such an occurrence would manifest.

“Uh…is it just me, or are you deliberately trying to sound like you’re smarter than I am?”

Yes. No.

“Whatever. I understand what you’re basically trying to say: ‘I have no idea.’  Thanks for nothing,” Progen replied, sounding annoyed, but he was far from that. He was actually still quite pleased with his progress so far, and other than a few hiccups towards the beginning, his takeover of the body he wanted to control was advancing well. In fact, after the stomach, the dungeon crystal wanted to complete the full infusion of the digestive system, which included the tube running up to the mouth, where he was originally swallowed. That part went off without any issues, but there was something troubling when he got to the point where the throat part of the body branched off into another tube, which was constantly opening and closing in a hypnotic rhythm.

Progen could sense that something bad was going on down there, and Stemmy had some answers, once the dungeon crystal asked about it.

That is the trachea, which leads to the bronchial tubes and then to the lungs, which are all a part of the respiratory system. Stemmy is starting to acquire some communications within the neural network nearby, and it appears as though there are some major issues there, though the exact nature of these issues is currently unknown. This cell intuits that this is where the majority of the body’s stronger immune cells are located, which is why you hadn’t seen them before.

“I guess that means that’s our next target.”  It almost needed to be, since there seemed to be spasms coming from the organs, followed by abrupt passages of air throughout the mouth. It wasn’t only air being expelled out of the mouth; once Progen’s influence had penetrated that far, he could see that hundreds or thousands of cells were being blown out with them. They were moving too fast for him to accurately see what they were, though; so, that was still a mystery.

A pleasant surprise awaited him when he finished the complete infusion of the digestive system: a subtle change in his perception as a dungeon crystal, and a vague indication that he had improved something significant.

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 300/300

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell (Reporters) – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell (Newts) – 5 Mana

B Cell (Spawners) – 25 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 2

Naïve T Cells – 50 Mana

Eosinophils – 25 Mana

Memory B Cells – 100 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

“Yes!  Finally; it’s about time!”

Chapter 13

The respiratory system is responsible for taking in oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide; this process is primarily done through the lungs, though there are different components that work in tandem with these organs. Oxygen is an important part of normal cell health and functionality, while the carbon dioxide is a waste product of that cellular function. Any significant disruption or termination of the respiratory system can have severe consequences, including the death of the body within minutes.

All Progen had asked was why it was important that they concentrate on the tube adjacent to the digestive system, but he supposed Stemmy was just trying to be thorough. Regardless, since it seemed as though some of the worst issues within the body were in this respiratory system, that was where he was going to concentrate his help – and the expansion of his influence, of course.

But first, he needed to know what kind of new immune cells he could create. The best source of that information was, naturally, Stemmy.

Eosinophils are rarer types of white blood cells that specialize in locating and destroying parasitic organisms within the body, as well as mediating inflammation. While they can be marginally effective against other pathogens, their specialty is hunting the larger parasites that occasionally infest the digestive system and beyond.

Naïve T Cells are potentially powerful immune cells that have never fought a pathogen before, and which are therefore relatively ineffective until they are activated with a specific type of antibody. Once activated, these immune cells attack their targeted pathogens, sometimes with an overabundance of force. Since this can cause serious damage to nearby uninfected cells, T Cells are usually the last line of defense of the immune system. In addition, unlike the antibody-producing B Cells, once they are activated by a specific antibody, they are unable to switch their particular target.

Memory B Cells record data on different pathogens, for use in assisting other immune cells in the production of antibodies. They are non-combative, however, and they only exist as a way to store information for expedited immune response. Each Memory B Cell can store data on up to 4 different pathogens for retrieval later. Potential other uses for recorded pathogens are possible, but unknown at this time.

“That’s…that’s it?  I was expecting something a little better.”  It was actually a little disappointing, to tell the truth; all his work expanding his influence and increasing his maximum mana, and he basically received three seemingly useless immune cells in return. The Eosinophils, which he was mentally dubbing Hunters, seemed to be only useful towards something called parasites, which he hadn’t seen any sign of in the body so far; they were also a bit more expensive, and likely less effective, than the Newts he could already create in larger numbers. While the dungeon crystal was sure they would come in handy at some point, they were essentially useless to him for now.

The Naïve T Cells, which by their description he decided to call Novice Killer Cells, were useless unless they were “activated”; they sounded a lot like the Spawners, of which he already had plenty, which were equally useless until they had a sample from a specific pathogen to combat. Progen could see potential in their use, because Stemmy said that they were powerful, but they were also extremely expensive at 50 mana each. It was hard to tell at the moment if they were actually worth investing in, because he hadn’t seen them at work – and because they wouldn’t actually be tested until they were in the thick of battle.

The last, and most expensive, immune cells to which he newly obtained access were the Memory B Cells, which appeared to be a different version of his Spawners. Since they recorded information for use by the other immune cells, Progen thought of them as Historians, preserving the knowledge of the past for the future. Also, like the Reporters, they were non-combative, so they wouldn’t really help with actual fights; nonetheless, the dungeon crystal could see their worth in arming his other cells with foreknowledge. That, and the “potential other uses for recorded pathogens” that Stemmy had mentioned were intriguing, though the interneuron cell had no other information, when asked to explain.

Regardless of the expense, Progen decided to create at least one of each, to see what they looked like – and he was surprised, to say the least. The Hunters were of a similar size than his Newts, but had a smaller, two-part nucleus inside of them; the reason for that wasn’t entirely clear, until he looked closer at the inside of the immune cell. Tiny spots inside of the main body of the cell took up most of the space, which were interesting and completely unlike anything he had seen before.

“Stemmy, what are those?”

Those are tiny molecules that attack a target, which are specially designed to be more effective against larger parasites, especially compared to the protein strains released by B Cells or the consumption techniques of Neutrophils. Those molecules are only marginally effective against other pathogens, however.

“Good to know.”  So, they weren’t completely useless, but it seemed as though they wouldn’t be much help against anything but a parasite, if one ended up invading the body.

The Novice Killer was a bit different from all of the others, mainly because of the fact that it was at least twice the size of the Newts, and the nucleus was large inside of it – about the size of a Newt by itself. Overall, it looked rather innocuous, other than having its big size; Progen couldn’t see how it would attack, other than maybe ramming into something, but that didn’t seem very effective. “Maybe I was a little quick to call this a ‘Killer’.”

The Historian immune cell was surprisingly the same size and general shape of the Novice Killer, though the nucleus was a little smaller inside the cell. When Progen looked at it, the Historian appeared almost…deflated, if such a thing were possible. “I’m assuming that it has room to store information, and when it is full, it will look a bit more normal?

Yes.

“Ok. Well, I guess that’s it.”

With the look at his new immune cells, as disappointing as they were, Progen started to move a large portion of his forces up through the digestive system, which included an additional 2,000 Newts, 200 Spawners, and 90 Reporters, adding to the ones he already had up there, waiting to move onto the next area. He kept a comparatively small contingent of immune cells back near his dungeon crystal, because he was still a little paranoid at the possibility of another attack by hostile bacteria; while it probably wouldn’t happen, he had invested too much in the body, at that point, to want his campaign to end because he was foolish. The new Novice Killer and Historian went with them, as he figured he might as well try them out, though he kept the less-useful Hunter back with his reserve, for the moment.

In order to get his new army there, the dungeon crystal had to spend an additional 300 mana to get them to levitate, as once they were past the intestines, they would be slow, relatively helpless, and liable to be coughed out by the rapid exhalation of air from the respiratory system. His current force already up there was maintaining their position, despite the rapidly moving air, though it took some corrections to keep them from slamming against the walls of the body’s throat. Luckily, he didn’t have to do the levitation bit all at once, and through the gradual absorption of mana from the body while they traveled the distance up there, he was able to fully equip them all with the appropriate levitating effect on their capsules.

A few hours after taking over the digestive system, Progen started the process of infusing his mana into the first part of the trachea, the upper part of the system that funneled the oxygen-rich air into the lungs, before breathing the waste air out shortly afterwards. It didn’t take long before his expansion was stopped, and by bringing a dozen Reporters up from his trailing, levitating army, he found out why: more bacteria.

“Do these things ever give up?”

No. Their very nature is to invade, infest, and expand as rapidly as possible.

“That was a bit of a rhetorical question, but I can certainly see that.”  The bacteria he encountered was different from the one in the intestines, different even from one in the stomach, in a few different ways. First, instead of multiple flagella waving around everywhere, there was only a single tendril that seemed to help the pathogen attach to the wall of the trachea. Secondly, its size was actually half of that of the original bacteria he had encountered, which seemed like it would make it a bit less dangerous – if it weren’t for the third difference.

The reproduction rate of the bacteria cluster he saw was downright scary. Instead of taking 10 minutes or more to complete the Binary Fission that he had seen the others use to essentially clone themselves, Progen could see these bacteria multiplying in less than a minute. There were some more coughs from the body while he observed the bacteria cluster at work, doubling their numbers; the forced air caused a small number to be ripped off the wall and shoot through the trachea (and, he assumed, out of the body), but it was only a few – and the bacterial cluster held nearly a thousand of the pathogen.

Another difference between this infection and the others that Progen had seen was the absence of any type of immune cells nearby. Either it was so new that the body hadn’t been alerted to its presence yet, or the immune system was so overloaded that it couldn’t spare anything to combat the infection. Rather than wait, since the dungeon crystal wasn’t sure how long it would take the immune system to respond – and every minute waiting meant that the number of pathogens doubled – he decided to take care of the bacterial infestation himself.

It turned out that the smaller bacteria weren’t defenseless, after all. Instead of flailing their flagella to attack the Newts that Progen sent in to start gobbling them up, these bacteria instead did two things to fight back. The first was to batter their thick, capsule-encased cells against his immune cells, like they were trying to bludgeon them to death, all while holding on to the wall with their single tendril. Without the thin disguise capsule surrounding the Newts’ forms, that probably would’ve been enough to destroy his immune cells within a few seconds. Luckily, the capsule “armor”, despite being thin, was enough to stop most of the damage – but not all: A few Newts were lost, when the capsule was damaged enough to leave holes in it, where they were quickly beaten to destruction.

When that method of defense was proven to be largely ineffective against his immune cells, a large portion of the cluster changed tactics. Instead of defense, they went on a suicidal attack that was devastating on both sides.

“What?  How?  Why?”

It appears as though they are releasing their hold on the wall of the trachea, letting their forms be expelled by the rapid exhalation of air, and then stiffening up their single flagellum into a piercing weapon of some sort.

“I can see that, Stemmy!”  Over 400 of his Newts, as well as nearly 30 of his Spawners near the back of his army, had been slaughtered, in a matter of mere seconds. The bacteria were impaling themselves into his army with devastating effect, though it also destroyed the suicidal pathogens in the process.

“Ok, time to back up and regroup.”

The front line of his forces had been severely depleted, though a few of his Newts had managed to acquire some of the bacteria for his Spawners. Moving them out of the line of sacrificial bacteria in case they tried to do that again, Progen spread them among a dozen of his Spawners, so that they could get started on producing projectiles. He still had another one left that was half-eaten by the Newt carrying it; so, he also presented it to his Historian, which thankfully hadn’t been near enough to the devastating attack to be destroyed by it.

The Historian bumped up against the bacteria, ignoring the flailing flagella on the end, and paused for a moment. After a few seconds, it backed off, and Progen could see something at work inside of its cell; in less time than it took his dozen Spawners to complete their production of their antibody projectiles, there appeared to be a few antibodies inside of the Historian. On a whim, figuring that he might as well make use of it, he brought the Novice Killer over to the Historian.

The two immune cells bumped together, and a few of the antibodies seemed to merge through the cell and capsule walls separating them; as soon as they entered the Killer, Progen could see it start to shrink, and he began to worry that it wasn’t working.

“Did I do something wrong?”  He didn’t think he did, but it was entirely possible, he supposed. He was starting to get used to how things worked inside of the body; but at the same time, everything still felt so new.

No. The Naïve T Cell is now activating. Watch.

The Spawners were still finishing up their production, so there wasn’t anything else to do but watch and wait. Nothing seemed to be happening other than the initial shrinking, though, and his Spawners were ready before the Killer was finished with…whatever it was doing.

So, rather than worry about it, he sent in his Spawners above the bacterial cluster and had them drop their initial wave of protein-based projectiles, timing it so that it coincided with an inhalation of the body, and then moving rapidly out of the way before the pathogens could retaliate with another suicidal release. It didn’t work perfectly, because it was hard to aim the projectiles along with the rushing air, but a few dozen slammed into the bacteria, killing them instantly. Unfortunately, because the cluster was on the side of the trachea, a large majority of the antibodies released from his Spawners missed their marks, passing by them harmlessly.

Missing some pathogens on that first wave was disappointing, but the exhalation, as well as a cough, made up for it, a little; the proteins shot back up the throat with great speed, slamming into the bacteria from below, killing another few dozen in the process. Progen was fortunate that he had moved all of his immune cells from nearby the cluster, though, because they probably would’ve been shredded from the returning projectiles if he hadn’t. Still, an unlucky Spawner hadn’t yet made it to safety, and it was impaled by its own projectile. Fortunately, that impaling didn’t kill the immune cell, but its capacity for releasing more antibodies appeared to be diminished.

By that time, the Novice Killer had finally finished its change – and what a change it was. Instead of the smooth exterior that used to surround the immune cell, there were now dozens of sharp-looking protrusions sticking out, all around its form. If Progen had to equate them to something, he would say they were spikes of metal, attached to the head of a mace. Whatever the spikes were made of was hardened, to the point where they appeared permanently attached to the cell membranes of the Killer, almost like…teeth of some sort. The only problem with that, however, was that those protrusions had pierced through the capsule disguise it was wearing. The dungeon crystal briefly thought about covering them back up with additional capsule material, but he thought that might reduce the effectiveness of its attack – whatever that might end up being. It would only really matter if there were some of the bodies of other immune cells nearby, which there weren’t.

Before he could ask Stemmy about it, or even give orders to the activated Killer cell, it shot forward towards the bacterial cluster, which was still attempting to divide and replicate itself at an impressive rate. Progen tried to stop it. But just like the instincts of his Newts as they reacted when one of their own was destroyed, it didn’t seem to listen to them. Instead, it certainly lived up to its name: The Novice Killer started to slaughter the bacteria indiscriminately.

One thing the activated Novice Killer cell had going for it was its speed: at least twice as fast as any of his other cells. Progen watched in shock as it literally slammed into the gathered infection, burrowing deep within the pathogens stacked on top of each other. He wasn’t sure how many of them were destroyed in that impact, but it had to have been at least a few dozen; the nearby bacteria not hit by the immune cell tried to beat it up with their bodies, but ended up just hurting themselves on the Killer’s spikes.

That was when the Killer started to grind up the bacteria around it, turning quickly so that its protrusions scraped up against the pathogens in its path as it started to move. Some of the bacteria were only partially damaged from various scrapes as they moved out of the way, which was when Progen realized that it wasn’t just the spikes doing the damage – they were also injecting some sort of antibody poison into the pathogens’ capsules, which was destroying them from the inside.

“Wow.”  Progen was thoroughly impressed, and he could barely articulate a thought as he watched the Novice Killer go on a killing spree for all of five seconds. That was, inevitably, when the bacteria counterattacked with their suicidal release from the wall and impaled the Killer with a half-dozen stiffened flagella, as they were rocketed into it by a violent cough from the body.

Despite being a large, deadly killer, the immune cell couldn’t withstand too much in the way of an attack.

Before the invading bacteria could recover from the destruction of over 100 of them from the Killer’s efforts, Progen sent in his army of Newts from the side, giving the invaders less opportunity to suicide, killing them as they swarmed into the infection site. The dungeon crystal estimated that there were only about 500 of the pathogens left, and his 2100 Newts were more than capable of reducing that down to nothing within a minute.

It was only when the infected area was clear that Progen realized there was a drawback to using a Naïve Killer cell: As Stemmy had cautioned him, they were sometimes overly destructive in their attacks. Great against the bacteria, of course, but not so much on the trachea wall beneath it. The spinning attack of the Killer had scraped away the upper layer of the long breathing tube, and there was enough of a tear in one section that he could see a few ovoid-shaped, red blood cells squeezing through the opening from underneath.

It only took about a minute for Progen to infuse that section with mana, so that he could extend his influence over it. Once that was done, he spent a little more mana to repair the damage, making it look as good as new. Too good, in fact, because when he compared it to the rest of the trachea around him and further down, the walls of the tube appeared old and somehow worn-out.

“Wait a moment. Is this body about to keel over due to old age, or something?”  That would be just his luck; being stuck in a body that was old and about to die from reasons completely unrelated to bacteria.

No. Estimates from around the body puts this body in its younger years. The state of this respiratory system indicates that trauma over a prolonged period of time, as well as unnatural stunted growth of unknown origin, are the causes; this, in turn, has prematurely aged and weakened the entire system.

“Well, I can at least do something about that.”  Using more of his mana, which was slowly ticking up from the destruction of the suicidal bacteria that had left their cluster, Progen repaired what he had already had influence over. The difference was dramatic; the dividing line from what he had fixed and the worn-out portion he could observe from his forward Reporters was a marked change, and as he extended his influence further, he continued to repair the walls. At the same time, he spent some of the incoming mana on replacing some of the Newts and Spawners lost from the last battle, sending about 150 Newts and 15 Spawners from his reinforcements up through the digestive system, to add to the ranks.

Meanwhile, Progen found another cluster of the same bacteria, though a larger infection than the first, farther down the trachea. Using what he knew of their tactics, he kept the casualties to a minimum by bombarding them with an initial wave of projectiles from the now two-dozen Spawners, having armed the extra dozen by utilizing his Historian; and then sending his Newts in from the side, starting from the bottom. Since there was nothing above them, any coughs that forcibly exhaled air were rendered relatively harmless, and the bacteria were unable to take advantage of their suicidal attacks. Still, despite his caution, he ended up losing about 75 of his Newts in the process, from the barrage of bacteria capsules against his immune cells, as well as from instinctual reaction to the destruction of their fellow Newts.

To gain at least a little mana from the assault, and to keep casualties to that minimum, he had his Newts go down in small waves, where they would attack from below, swallow a few bacteria without completely digesting them, and then float back up to his territory as they finished their meal. It didn’t always work, since the “death” of the pathogens happened relatively quickly inside of one of his Newts; but at least a fifth of those picked up were able to be harvested for their mana. Not too bad of a haul, especially considering that he didn’t lose much in the way of his immune cells – and reinforcements were soon to arrive from down below.

A third, fourth, and then fifth cluster of bacteria were found, the farther he went down the trachea, as well as two more when he went a little way down towards one of the two branching paths he discovered. Using the same techniques, the bacteria were unable to effectively fight back; Progen eventually replaced all of his immune cells that he had lost, as well as adding more from the mana that was trickling into him. By the time he got to the branching tube, he was at 3,000 Newts, 300 Spawners, and over 200 Reporters.

“Where am I going, Stemmy?”

This is the left bronchial tube, leading to the left lung.

“That means I’m almost there.”  It felt like it had been weeks, instead of just under half a day, that Progen had been fighting his way down the respiratory system, and he was beginning to worry he would be too late to help fix whatever was wrong down in the lungs. Granted, the dungeon crystal assumed it was the lungs that were the problem, based on the confused neural network communication Stemmy was receiving – and for one other major reason. Even after destroying 7 clusters of bacteria, some of which were quite large and had likely been there for a while, he hadn’t seen a single immune cell from the body fighting them off.

After another two hours – and another singular cluster of familiar bacteria – his army of Newts, Spawners, Reporters, and one Historian finally reached the left lung. He couldn’t see far, at first, because the lungs were reportedly very large; so, he sent out his entire group of Reporters to get information on what was happening.

Within minutes, he discovered where most of the body’s immune cells had ended up – and they were, as seemed to have become the norm, fighting a losing battle.

Chapter 14

The faint rays of the morning sun broke through the cracks above, shining down on Marstin’s sleeping face. With a twitch, the young boy roused himself under the morning glow, steeling himself, to prepare for an onslaught of pain. Yet, strangely, he felt different today. In fact, Marstin felt like he could even possibly say that he felt – dare he think it? – better, perhaps.

He’d actually been somewhat expecting this, though even now he could scarcely believe his luck. Both he and Kyra had been shocked at his continued survival, the morning following her rescue of him three days ago. She’d tried to pretend that she’d expected him to be okay; but between her blubbering sobs, and her clumsy attempt to hide the shovel she’d brought with her, Marstin couldn’t help but chuckle. After all, he hadn’t been expecting to wake up either.

After comforting Kyra, at a safe, no-smelling distance, the young girl had wiped away her tears and scurried away, only to return a few minutes later with burnt bread, a cracked bowl of water, and some lightly molded cheese. After peeling away the mold, she’d left him the plate with the promise to bring more after the bakery closed. Marstin, body aching and still withering in pain, thanked her and waited until she’d left to stare at the plate in front of him.

He’d debated with himself for a long time about eating the food. He’d eaten the previous night because his body demanded it, desperately struggling to live despite its condition, and he had not been in any mindset to resist this urge to live. But right then, Marstin took a hard-long look at what his future would be.

He was an orphan, a failed thief banished from the Thieves’ Guild, heavily injured and sick, and had no connections or friends to rely on besides Kyra. Whoever assassinated his family was still out there, waiting for him to die. Even if his body healed, he would be subject to the immense pain of healing, for Goddess knows how long. His body’s condition made it impossible to find work or properly learn new skills.

Was this a life worth living? Would it not be easier to allow death to take him?

His eyes wandered around the basement area he was in, focusing occasionally on any object sharp enough to be used as a weapon. It wouldn’t take much to inflict enough injuries on himself to cause death. A small cut on his wrist, neck, or inner leg would do the trick. A little more pain, and he would slowly drift away. No more pain, no more being a failure; no more a mockery of life’s whims. He’d be free. No one would mourn him.

But unbidden came the memories of the baker’s daughter, who wept in happiness at seeing him alive. Kyra’s tear-ridden face; how much worse would it become if she were to find him dead here, her food uneaten and her kindness unappreciated? How much pain would he cause her?

‘Always repay your debts’, his father’s motto to instill in him. Upon that recollection, Marstin’s thoughts had finally settled. “If I can’t find a reason to live for myself, then I’ll live a little bit longer to pay her back,” he whispered softly in the morning light, echoing the words he had uttered three mornings ago. Resolved, he ate the food and relished it. Kyra had returned in the evening with more food and water and did the same the following two days. She hadn’t brought the shovel back.

Marstin lifted a trembling arm and rested it on his belly, looking thoughtful. He knew the food he’d eaten was atypically good, compared to the scraps he was used to. He’d been prepared for the growing cramps, but now it seemed that he’d managed to digest it all without too much issue. Though his lungs still burned faintly, causing the occasional cough, at least the pain had fallen to a bearable level.

Unfortunately, that also meant he was beginning to feel new, inconvenient needs. Marstin’s face lit up red in humiliation as he recalled the previous day when he needed to go, coinciding with Kyra’s food delivery. The poor girl had given him an empty cup, her face a bright tomato. The young boy wasn’t quite sure how he’d ever live down the experience, but perhaps he was about to one-up himself. He would need more than a cup for what his bowels were ready to release.

Glancing around the basement, it was clear that going here wasn’t a solid option. The ground, while dirt, was a solid piece and would be quite difficult to dig into with anything, even were his body less debilitated. He needed to reach the outhouse.

With a cough-ridden groan, the still-injured teen flung out one arm, leaning forward with his momentum and managing to scramble onto his hands and knees. Crawling like a beast, the young boy managed to reach the ladder leading up to the ground level. Marstin counted each excruciating movement: Reach out the right arm and grasp the ladder, pull the right leg forward, pull the left leg forward, stand while grabbing the ladder with both hands. He’d done it, he was standing. Now the hard part; at least the ladder was leaning. One arm and the leg on the opposite side together, now lift, soreness and pain, now the other, continue, almost there! Place one hand on the floor, now two, now lift each leg onto the next step; finally, push up and roll forward.

Made it.

Taking deep, coughing breaths, Marstin lay on the floor with a faint smile. He’d done it, the first step! Now he needed-

With a sickening bang, the door in front of him was slammed open in such a violent manner that the entire building shook. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the morning light, was Kyra’s father, Olen Risenflour. As a professional baker and former guard, Olen was a hulking man, with broad, thick arms and well-shaped muscles from years of molding dough and fighting. A perpetual scowl seemed to decorate his face, though perhaps this was because Marstin had never seen the man talking to someone besides himself. At this moment, his entire face was thunderous with fury.

“You street rat! How dare you trespass here!” Olen roared. It didn’t take much effort for the man to reach down, grab, and lift Marstin by the scruff of his old, dirty shirt. Marstin could only cover his mouth to stop coughing, not wanting to infuriate the monstrous man before him even further.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he sputtered, coughing.

“I told you to never come back here! I hate thieves like you!” Olen growled, before turning and physically hurling Marstin out of the room. The boy reflexively curled up and rolled along the ground, the pain increasingly exacerbated by the rough treatment.

“Daddy! No, Daddy! Don’t hurt him!” came Kyra’s shrill cry from somewhere. Marstin’s eyes rolled around as he tried to orient himself. He could hear the approaching heavy stomps of Olen stop, before he felt a warm figure embrace him from the front.

“Get away from that vagabond, Kyra!” warned her stern father. “Don’t touch that filthy, thieving street rat. He’s here to steal from us again! I found in him-”

“Stop it, Daddy! I put him there!” Kyra interrupted. “I found him, bleeding and dying, three days ago. Don’t hurt him, please, Daddy! It’s my fault, okay?”

Olen let out a grunt of annoyance. Marstin opened his eyes, finally reoriented. Kyra was in front of him, arms outstretched in a feeble effort to separate her father from Marstin. Thankfully, it appeared that Olen had no desire to mistreat his daughter as he had Marstin; the baker appeared incredulous and conflicted.

“You brought him here? You fed him, I take it then, and dressed his wounds?” Olen questioned.

“Yes, I did,” Kyra said, defiantly. “Marstin’s still really hurt and sick! You always tell me to help those who need it, right, Daddy?!” the adolescent girl pleaded. I couldn’t just let him die in the street. And he’s not a thief, not anymore!”

“Oh?” Olen asked, crossing his arms. “He intends to pay for the bread he took from me?”

Though only a part of Kyra’s face was visible to Marstin, he could still see her trembling lips. “He can’t right now, Daddy, but-”

“Then he’s still a thief in my eyes,” Olen retorted. “I know the brat has been hanging around the Thieves’ Guild lately, so I’m guessing it’s them that did this to you, right boy? Don’t lie!”

Coughing, Marstin forced himself into an upright position. “Yes sir,” he answered. “I, I failed them.” Marstin felt the shame rise to his face and bowed his head, not willing to meet Kyra’s gaze and see the hurt in her eyes.

Olen let out another grunt but remained standing with his arms crossed as he observed the two in front of him. After a few more moments, the large man let out a sigh and uncrossed his arms. He rubbed the back of his head and turned around to leave.

“Do what you need to do here, and get out,” the baker said. “Understand this boy, you are not allowed to talk to my daughter or come here again, unless you have brought coin to pay back what you stole. If I see you again here without any money, I’m kicking your ass over to the guards, understood?”

“Yes sir, **cough**,” Marstin managed to say with some measure of gratefulness. “Thank you, sir, for your kindness.”

Olen grunted a third time and returned to the inside of his bakery. Once the large, intimidating figure was gone, both Kyra and Marstin let out a sigh of relief.

“Are you okay, Marstin?” Kyra gently inquired, sounding a bit guilty. “I saw Daddy throw you; are your wounds hurting again?”

Marstin’s entire body felt like it was on fire again, but he managed what he thought was a convincing smile. “I’m fine, Kyra; it’s just a few more bruises for the collection. But, could you please help me over to the outhouse.” He blushed after making his request, but Kyra merely smiled gently before hoisting him up onto his feet like he weighed nothing. With her support, Martin hobbled to the outhouse and successfully relieved himself. The feeling was pleasant, and he felt lighter afterwards. When he opened the door after cleaning up, he was met by surprise with a small basket of food. Kyra was holding it, a smile on her face.

“Daddy insisted that I “throw out” this bread and cheese. He said it was “old”; but I helped make this just yesterday,” she explained. “Please don’t hold anything against him; it was a thief that killed Mother, and he’s always hated them ever since. He’s really a kind man at heart.”

“I understand, Kyra; no worries,” Marstin smiled in response. “Please tell him I’ll keep my word, and the next time you see me, I’ll have enough coin to buy your bread myself.” Marstin choked up a little, as moved by his companion’s kindness as by the cough threatening to escape his lips. “Can—may I buy bread made by you then?”

Blushing, the young girl nodded her head shyly before thrusting the breadbasket into his hand and running away. Marstin watched her flee to the safety of the back door, where she turned around and called. “I’ll be waiting!”

When she was gone from sight, Marstin let his smile vanish, replaced by a grimace of pain. His stomach, it hurt. Something had been broken, when he had landed, earlier. He’d played it cool in front of Kyra, but the pain was slowly starting to build, and he needed to leave. Moving as fast as his limp allowed, the young boy exited the bakery’s backyard and walked toward his home.

To call it a home for Marstin was a stretch of imagination. Over the years, he had carved out a place for himself near the trash yard of the town, which had been his main source of food and supplies. His home resembled a rabbit burrow in the woods next to the trash, dug out and built with broken pieces of lumber from destroyed houses. The hole was only large enough for him to slide down or crawl out of, leading to a room not large enough for him to stand but long enough to rest without curling. It was an old grave that had been dug up by looters, expanded and given a mostly waterproof roof by Marstin after finding it. Unfortunately, both it and the trash yard were located outside the town, and Marstin could only get there via the backroad, so as to not be seen by anyone from the Thieves’ Guild. By the time he reached the trash yard, his belly seemed to be threatening to split. He was tempted to drop the bread and fall, but his stubbornness refused to dirty the food he’d so lovingly received from Kyra.

“Hm?” Marstin reacted, as something shining in the trash had caught his eye. Setting the breadbasket down carefully, he hobbled over to check. To his surprise, he found three vials of bluish liquid. “Healing potions, what luck,” Marstin said with a weak smile. Of course, these healing potions were obviously failures to have been dumped here, but Marstin was willing to rely on anything at this point. Without hesitation, he downed all three potions, grimacing at the bitter and sour taste; they were most definitely failures. But, he noted, at least the fire in his belly seemed to be calming down, leaving only the raw pain of, something. Suddenly, Marstin felt a wave of tiredness threaten to take him; perhaps a side effect of the failed healing potions? He quickly grabbed the breadbasket and limped to his home, sliding in feet first. Feeling safe, finally, Marstin managed to place the breadbasket above his head before unconsciousness took him.

Chapter 15

The walls of the lung were not what Progen was expecting, with their constant expansion and contraction, as air was pulled into and pushed out of the stretchy organ. Constant movement didn’t seem to matter to the all-out, nightmarish war, waged between bacteria and immune cells, within the massively large area. The bacteria were the same type the dungeon crystal had seen in the other areas of the respiratory system. The immune cells were the largest and most powerful immune cells he had ever seen. The problem was a simple one of numbers, something that the body couldn’t hope to combat against without some help.

Progen could only guess, but it appeared as though there were millions of bacteria covering the inner layer of the lung. It wasn’t a complete blanket over the lung’s lining; at least half of it was thick with the capsule-covered pathogens. Looking closer at the tissue of the lung itself, the dungeon crystal could see that it looked just as worn out and old as the trachea and bronchial tube leading to it. Here, though, the extended damage was worse, leaving deep valleys in the lung’s inner surface that the bacteria had buried itself into, deep enough down that it seemed almost impossible to root them out.

Not that the body’s immune system wasn’t trying. There were hundreds of thousands of white blood cells all around the lung, doing their best to keep up with the rapidly replicating bacteria; but it was a losing battle. The majority of the immune cells that Progen saw were Newts, constantly streaming in from dozens of places around the entire organ, rolling out of the tissue and falling into massive nests of pathogens. While they munched up a half dozen of them, another 20 bacteria would beat them up with their bodies until they literally fell apart, melting into the assembled mass.

Joining them were some that he recognized as Hunters, mixed in seeming at random, doing very little other than acting as an unintentional distraction while the Newts did their work. Progen witnessed many of them releasing the molecules inside of their cell bodies, only for them to bounce against the thick capsule covering each bacterium. To the pathogens with some damage to their capsule, the molecules were able to slip inside and wreak havoc on the organism, but that was few and far between.

There were also quite a few Killers around, though they appeared a little larger than his Naïve Killer he had used to look, not too long ago. “What’s the difference?”

Those are Memory T Cells, which have knowledge of past conflicts with particular pathogens. So, they are larger, deadlier, and more destructive.

“Ah, so instead of Novices, they’re more like veterans, I would assume.”  Stemmy didn’t respond, which was probably because Progen didn’t actually ask a question – just making a statement. Regardless, the dungeon crystal could certainly see how destructive the larger “Veteran” Killers were, as they tore into the bacteria clusters; there was a benefit to the pathogens being so thick along the lining of the lung, because no matter how much the Killers churned into the bacteria, they never got close enough to the actual organ to do it any more damage than it was already suffering from the infections.

Of course, this also meant that there were plenty of pathogens acting in defense, and many of them broke off their contact with each other to stab their single flagellum into the large immune cells. Each Killer probably killed 1,000 or more of the bacteria, by the time they were finally taken down; but that barely made a dent in their numbers. Plus, there were relatively few Killers in relation to every other type of immune cell; so, it really didn’t make a difference in the long run.

With the deaths of so many bacteria and white blood cells, there was a thin layer of fluid coating most of the lungs. The Spawners Progen saw took advantage of this, to send their antibody projectiles out to assault the enemy. Those Spawners were probably the second-most effective immune cell that the dungeon crystal saw combating the pathogens (the first being the Killers). The Spawners stayed back from the main conflict, for the most part, but the bacteria seemed to target them once they started launching their payload. The bacteria didn’t last long enough to send out more than three or four waves.

“Ok…what are those?  I want one!” Progen excitedly exclaimed when he saw the largest immune cell he had ever seen before.

Those are Macrophages, and they act as cleaners for all of the destroyed pathogens. They don’t limit themselves to those organisms that are already deceased; so, they are an effective second line of defense, when the body is under strong pathogenic assault.

That description wasn’t as…fun…as he was expecting, for the massive immune cell that was at least three times larger than the largest Killer cell he saw. Still, the…Cleaner…was fun to watch, the large ovoid shape with a massive nucleus, basically sucking up whatever was in front of it, digesting it quickly inside of its large body, and then leaving the remains in a small trail behind them. Their cells were so large, and their cell membranes so thick, that there wasn’t much that the bacteria could do to stop them.

Actually, that wasn’t entirely true, because Progen watched one of them get completely engulfed by a large cluster of bacteria and pierced by nearly 100 flagella at the same time; most didn’t do enough damage to kill the Cleaner, but one managed to slip far enough inside to puncture the nucleus inside; and that was the end of the giant immune cell. Despite that, most of the others plodded on, unconcerned by the pathogens ineffectually damaging them.

Were it a battlefield full of the Cleaners versus the bacterial infections, then the fight would’ve been over a while ago. As it were, the large cell was just barely represented, with perhaps only 150 over the entire lung that the dungeon crystal could see; their low numbers, coupled with their slow but deadly advancement, meant that they didn’t really make all that much of a difference.

“Why are there only comparatively few of those things?”

Now that you have extended your influence to this point, the nearby neural communications are clearer; from what Stemmy can determine, there is an equally dangerous number of bacterial clusters located in the other lung. Separating the immune systems’ forces, like it is doing, is the logical choice; but it also means that there isn’t enough in either organ to fully recover.

“Great. Just great.”

There were a few other scattered immune cells that he didn’t recognize around the area, but as only a few of them actually attacked the bacteria – and poorly at that – he didn’t bother asking about them. Instead, he concentrated on what he was going to do, because as of this point, it looked hopeless.

Progen used his Reporters to get a fairly good idea of the odds he was facing, and looking at his own forces…well, it wasn’t good. He spent a couple minutes trying to figure out the best way to help, and in the meantime, he started to equip the rest of his Spawners with the appropriate antibodies via his Historian. He had been keeping approximately half of them blank, in case he encountered something different while venturing through the respiratory system; but now it was obvious that the entire lung was filled with the same bacteria as before.

Given enough time, Progen thought he could build up enough of his own immune cells to make quite a difference in the fight; something like that would probably take two or three days, though, and at the rate the bacteria were slowly winning the battle, the dungeon crystal doubted the body had more than a day before at least this lung was entirely infested. When that happened, the organ would likely stop working; that would lead to less of the valuable oxygen coming in, which would then lead to other vital organs shutting down in a cascade of failures, resulting in the death of the body. His body – which he wasn’t going to let happen, if he had anything to say about it.

There was no overarching strategy, no powerful effect he could create or manipulate with his mana, and no expectation that the body’s immune system would somehow summon up hordes of reserve immune cells from some magical place; no, it was going to just be a straight-up slog to defeat the bacterial infection – there wasn’t any other way around it.

Dropping projectiles from height wouldn’t really work, because of the sheer amount of air moving around; they were more prone to damaging his own cells than making much of a difference against the bacteria below. Not only that, but they might impact the body’s immune cells, as well; and while they might not kill them directly, friendly fire was the last thing he wanted.  However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be strategic about his attack.

His infusions of mana into the organ stopped right at the edge of the closest infection site, and that was where he went to work. Progen sent in waves of 10 Newts each, along the spreading edge, where his immune cells would cautiously swoop down and swallow 3 or 4 bacteria before falling back and finishing off the bacteria where he had influence. After a few minutes, the rhythm of the constantly moving organ – as well as the occasional coughing spasms –became practically normal; and it moved slowly enough, most of the time, for the dungeon crystal to send in multiple waves along different points along the edge, to speed up the process of eliminating the pathogens.

Once he had gained a little “toehold” along the leading edge of the infection, Progen found that there was just enough fluid flowing around the surface of the lung that he sent his Spawners down. Once they landed in the viscous layer, he had them send out two brief waves of their projectiles, and the antibodies shot out and crashed into the pathogens, destroying thousands of bacteria in a short amount of time. The dungeon crystal wouldn’t receive any mana from their destruction, but the more important thing right then was significantly reducing the size of the infection.

Knowing the enemy’s tactics, though, the savvy crystal kept the bulk of his army close to the lung’s wall; the few times that entire sections let go of the lung for a suicidal attack, most of them passed harmlessly over his forces, doing very little damage. For every immune cell that he lost from those attacks, nonetheless, he was able to replenish his troops with at least a dozen more, from the mana that was quickly starting to trickle in from those bacteria his Newts were able to snatch up and bring back to his influenced territory.

Within an hour, the dungeon crystal’s efforts were starting to show, as he was able to incrementally infuse mana into the organ as he progressed. His original army of a few thousand immune cells was rapidly increasing, until he was now the proud owner of nearly 100,000 Newts and approximately 5,000 Spawners. As soon as they were created, he sent them in large groups through the digestive tract, infusing their disguise capsules with the levitation effect at the same time, and reinforcements were arriving on a regular basis. In fact, the mana was spilling into him so quickly that he was forced to create 50 Novice Killers and a few Historians, which he sent to the front to help with the war efforts.

With Progen’s superior tactics – not to mention the ability for his immune cells to levitate in, snatch up a bunch of bacteria and retreat, or drop off a few waves of projectiles – he was helping the body’s immune system defeat the infection. In this lung, at least. With how much his forces had pushed back the infection all over the edge of the organ, as well as his indefatigable ability to constantly replenish and increase the number of his immune cells, he estimated that it would be clear enough, in about 6 hours, that he could start making his way to the other lung to start work eradicating the issues over there.

Out of nowhere, the entire body seemed to flex and compress upon itself, leaving Progen a bit disoriented. When he was finally able to take stock of the world around him, he saw that there were some obvious problems within all that he had influence over. Starting along the closest areas to his dungeon crystal, he was pleased to see that the appendix was fine, but the small intestines were far from being normal. There were multiple tears in the tube in different spots, which were causing them to leak partially digested food and gastrointestinal fluid into the nearby cavities. Half of the 5,000 immune cell reinforcements he had running through the tube had been squished and essentially “popped” when the small intestines had been compressed.

The stomach appeared to be even worse, as one half of the organ seemed to have caved in somehow, swirling around the stomach acid inside and completely coating the large contingent of approximately 3,000 immune cell reinforcements that were traveling through. The acid rapidly ate away the capsules protecting them, destroying all but a handful within the next minute. Not only that, but there were a few shallow tears in the stomach lining, as well, though Progen was relieved to note that those didn’t appear to be horribly serious.

The lungs and the rest of the respiratory system seemed to be largely unaffected, fortunately, and his army was still there, though they had paused their efforts with Progen’s inattention. He reinitiated their activities, while he concentrated on figuring out what went wrong.

“Stemmy, what just happened?”

Exact details unknown.

“Ok, what’s your best guess?”

Through the evidence of injuries, Stemmy concludes that there is a 70% probability that there was external trauma transferred inside the abdominal area, resulting in moderate damage to the digestive system.

“External, huh?  I really need to get control of this body, so that I can avoid things like this in the future.”  Not being able to prevent threats outside of one’s area of control was a common dungeon crystal problem, because they could really only dictate what happened inside of their dungeons. Normally, it didn’t matter too much, as the defenses established within their domain would be enough to handle most issues. With his dungeon being so fragile, however, it was hard to react to potential dangers for which he could not plan, nor even know what they might even be.

Nonetheless, he had the ability to fix some of those issues with his mana, which he started on right away…or at least, he tried to. For some reason, the damage done to the body had negated part of the mana he had infused into those sections, so he was forced to reinfuse those places with his mana again. It took just under 10 minutes to completely extend his influence over those spots, and then another chunk of mana was expended to repair the damage done to the intestines and stomach.

“If I hadn’t had all of this mana coming in from fighting that bacteria, I have no idea how I would have been able to fix all of this myself. Is this a common occurrence?”

Based on the damage that Stemmy has seen, it seems as though damage and wear to the body is common enough that it has affected many of these systems. That was why this cell had mentioned that a lifestyle change would be ideal to help prolong the health and life of this body.

“Yeah, well, I can’t really do anything about that…yet. Hopefully that won’t be too far out, though.”  Once he had complete control, he was planning on staying away from everything dangerous.

There was a sudden disturbance in the digestive system, and for the first time since Progen had taken over the intestines, he saw the food waste finally expelled through the rectum. That was a good thing, because although it hadn’t caused any lasting damage, storing all of that waste had been starting to back up the entire system; now that it was gone, and all of the repairs in Progen’s capacity were enacted, things were starting to get back to normal.

Which meant continuing the fight against the bacterial clusters in the lungs. The setback, the loss of thousands of his immune cells, wasn’t significant enough to cause any major problems, at least, though the mana used in repairing everything delayed his reinforcement plans a bit. Still, Progen estimated that he only lost about 30 minutes in his plan of lung pathogen eradication.

Then, inevitably, something had to screw that up.

A sudden deluge of a strange, glowing blue liquid rained down the digestive system from the mouth, as the body ingested something that the dungeon crystal hadn’t seen it digest before. Something about it looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. After it hit the stomach, it just seemed to pool there for a little bit, appearing quite harmless; there was still something that bothered Progen about the liquid, however.

“Stemmy, do you know what this stuff is?  Is it harmful?”

Yes. Maybe.

“Explain.”

This blue liquid you see appears to be some sort of healing draught, though the signals coming from the cells in the stomach in contact with it leads Stemmy to conclude that there is something different about it.

“A healing draught?  Like a healing potion?”  Progen knew about those from the lingering memories from the entity that now inhabited the interneuron cell, and the dungeon crystal had to agree about the appearance of the liquid. Adventurers were supposed to be able to use those to heal themselves from damage sustained inside of a dungeon, which was a valuable resource to have.

Yes. Though, as Stemmy had mentioned, there is—

“Never mind that, Stemmy!  This could be great; the potion will heal all of the wounds on the body, and perhaps even eliminate all of these bacteria. When that happens, I can rapidly expand throughout all of the systems, taking them over one-by-one, until—”

Progen was cut off in mid-thought, as the blue liquid in the stomach suddenly started to glow brighter, bathing the entire organ with a bluish light; however, instead of a pure blue light, the illumination was tinged with a little red along the edges, like a halo of some sort.

“What is it—?”

The light flashed once, brighter than before, and it seemed as though a giant wave of magical force shot through the entire body, slamming into Progen’s crystal and knocking him farther down the appendix. Fortunately, even though all his senses were blinded from the flash, there wasn’t anything hard for his form to impact against other than tissue, so he didn’t suffer any injuries to his crystal.

When he was able to look around again after reorienting himself, Progen immediately looked inside of the stomach to see that all of the blue healing potion was gone. Peering around at the everything else, he realized that a lot more was gone as well: The bacteria Progen’s immune cells were battling inside of the lung were quickly dying, their forms collapsing in on themselves as they melted into a massive puddle of goo that quickly turned into a viscous, but ultimately harmless, liquid. The dungeon crystal couldn’t see inside of the other lung quite yet, but he suspected that it was the same, there, as well.

He was ecstatic, as the infection was eliminated…until he saw a lot more than just the invading bacteria going away. The body’s own natural immune cells were rapidly melting away, the Cleaners collapsing in mid-consumption of bacteria remains, the Killers slowing down their attacks and deflating, and the Spawners falling apart, leaving their protein-based projectiles to dribble out of their destroyed cells. The body’s Newts started to die off as well, though it appeared as though about 40% were completely spared.

In other spots in the digestive system, the beneficial bacteria that inhabited the gastrointestinal tract were also severely devastated, with more than two-thirds of them stopping all movement and dissolving into cell components. The appendix seemed to become the sole haven for the beneficial bacteria. The entire immune system seemed to be affected, though it was hard for Progen to know, since he couldn’t see everything – but it was almost a guarantee.

Then his own immune cells started to collapse, as their cell membranes disappeared, though most of their forms were contained in the thin capsule surrounding them. At first, it was just a few; but after a few seconds, it was like a wave of destruction passed through his army, as well as all of the reinforcements and reserve force he had near his crystal. Thankfully, about 10% of his immune cells were spared, including a few Historians, Novice Killers, Spawners, and Reporters – unlike the body’s cells. Excluding the massive casualties in the lungs, Progen estimated that the body had lost 30% of its immune system.

“What…what just happened?”

Chapter 16

Consciousness returned to Marstin with a bang. His eyes shot open as he leaped up, banging his head on the ceiling before he realized what he was doing. With a pain-filled groan, the young man fell back down onto his back, rubbing the small bump he’d given himself.

“Ow,” he muttered. “But, that dream . . .” He broke off, struggling to recall his dream – rather, nightmare – through the pain in his head. The nightmare had been the same as always. Shadows, leaping at him and his family. All relatives falling, their faces warped in pain. His father crying out, his mother reaching out, and the red color of blood filling his sight. Marstin shuddered, his arms reflexively hugging himself as the nightmare played through, distracting him from the pain of his injury.

“Wait, pain,” Marstin realized, unlocking his arms. He quickly patted himself down; the pain was gone in his chest and belly, and his arms weren’t throbbing, and, and, and even the persistent cough was gone!

“I can breathe,” Marstin whispered, a smile threatening to overtake his face. “I can, I can smell . . . oh, gross.” The young man’s smile vanished as he took a whiff of himself. Kyra had been right; he really did stink. Kyra, the bread! A gurgling stomach aligning with his thoughts, Marstin turned around to look at the basket of bread and cheese waiting for him. His mouth wet with drool, the young man fell upon the bread like a hunger-ravished frost lion upon a shivering wildebeest. His hands tore into the bread and cheese, stuffing his face with the delicious taste of day-old bread and ripened cheese. In Istut, bakers and cheese-makers had mastered the art of their craft by creating bread and cheese that could remain edible, during the many cold months, without spoiling or losing their inner softness. Beneath the hard, crunchy exterior of either food was a vaguely sweet filling that complimented each other perfectly, as the inner soft cheese was perfect for lathering onto bread. Marstin couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten such a feast, and it wasn’t long before he began to choke from scarfing it all down so fast.

A quick retrieval of his water flask, the most valuable thing he owned besides his clothes, and Marstin was breathing easy again. As the homeless teen continued his meal, at a much slower pace, he began to ponder his future, now that it seemed he possessed one.

“In order to live, I need coin: bronze, silver, or gold,” Marstin muttered while he chewed. “I’m not strong enough to live in the wilderness by myself, so I must make coin to live in this town. I could go back to stealing . . ..” Marstin quickly shook his head. His thievery skills were only at a moderate level, and if worse came to worse, his activities would be picked up by the Thieves’ Guild, and he’d be harshly punished, or arrested, or beaten – to literal death this time. “Besides,” he continued, pausing mid-chew, “I’d be letting Kyra down if I went back to thieving.” He swallowed, letting a little smile play across his lips.

“So, another job then. What skills do I have?” Marstin thought it over.

Nothing. He had no other non-thievery skills besides being a warm body. He didn’t know how to cook, beyond sticking meat over a fire, which took forever to light with sticks or the rare flint. He knew how to read and write, but with his thievery background, no one would trust him enough to use these skills. His weakened body was sure to be a poor choice for anything physically labor intensive.

“I guess I really am worthless, aren’t I,” Marstin chuckled darkly. “Will I really have to resort to stealing for the rest of my life?”

His mood ruined, the brown-haired young man wrapped up the remaining cheese and bread as best he could and crawled out of his grave hole. The harsh summer sun blinded Marstin for a moment. He raised his hand, to block out as much light as he could. After blinking a few times and adjusting to the sunlight, he looked ahead toward the large trash yard.

The giant pile of garbage was the common dumping ground for the mining town. Anything that was broken, old, rotten, or dead was thrown there. Every month the resident Earth Mage would come by to bury everything deep in the ground. The trash yard was Marstin’s best friend; the provider of his clothes, supplies, and even armor that lasted for a fight or two. The previous night’s failed healing potions were another good example of how the trash yard had saved him. By habit, Marstin folded his hands and bowed toward the trash, giving thanks and praying for something to be there today for him to use.

“Now, it’s time to dig,” Marstin said. He walked over to a nearby tree and removed a false bark cover, revealing a hidden hole containing a somewhat usable bag. Marstin smiled as he rummaged through his treasures, the various things he’d retrieved from the trash over the years. He eventually pulled out a pair of thick work gloves, though they possessed small holes where the leather had worn thin, and slid them on, his fingers not quite large enough to fill in the space. He’d learned early on that the pile had many hidden sharp things that would hurt if no precautions were taken. Carefully removing his other treasures, Marstin pulled the bag over his shoulder and returned to the trash yard.

Getting on his knees, the young man began the laborious task of sorting through the previous day’s junk. The end of the month was fast approaching, which meant the townspeople usually began to rid themselves of things of a more embarrassing or illegal nature, which also meant occasionally that some things were accidently left behind in the trash not yet meant for it. The bag was a good example; when Marstin found it, it was being used to hide a severed head. After a brief stint of vomiting, Marstin had retrieved the bag and thrown the head far away before cleaning his new bag out as best he could. Still, this incident hadn’t made him any less nauseous when it came to body parts.

“Please no heads today, please no eyes today,” Marstin muttered as he sifted through the pile. “Let’s see: broken glass, broken glass, moldy bread, broken table, oh a dagger- no wait, just a broken sword.” Marstin let out a sigh; the crack in the sword told him it was an Eastern sword, not made to deal with the harsh winter, and thus, easily fracturing. It would be worthless to use.

“Do I need a new blanket? No, not enough holes yet to replace,” Marstin continued speaking to himself as he examined an uncomfortable-looking wool table blanket, stained badly by what looked like . . . fire? “Hm, how about this shirt . . . no, the chest is too big, must be a girl’s. Pants, I could use a new pair of pants. Ah ha, just need a belt and they’ll fit perfect.” Marstin smiled happily as he set aside a pair of leather pants two sizes larger than him. His luck continued, with Marstin discovering two socks of similar length and material, though not color; a shiv; a good 2 feet of rope, tied around some firewood; and even some more bread, with only a light color of mold.

“A good haul today,” Marstin grinned. “I love the end of the month.” He whistled softly as he began to pack away his new treasures before pausing. Something glistening in the pile had caught his eye, reflecting the morning sun. Curious, Marstin readjusted his gloves and reached gingerly into the pile, face tensing as he struggled to reach the curious object. Grinding his teeth, he thrust fingers just a little farther – Almost there! Got something! Pulling his arm out, Marstin looked down to examine his new find.

In his gloved hand rested an odd-looking collection of tools, all tied together by a metal ring. Though a couple eluded Marstin’s knowledge, he did recognize the rest as common thieves’ tools: lock pick tools, trap arming and disarming tools, poison-detecting silver needles, etc. Though Marstin had never owned a set of thieves’ tools before, the Guild had lent him a pair when he was needed on certain missions, such as his previous failed mission. That set hadn’t been near as luminous as this set, though, Marstin noted.

“It’s so shiny,” he muttered, examining the set closer under the sunlight. “Not a sign of rust anywhere, even after being exposed to the elements. Perhaps . . ..”

Reflexively peeking around for anyone watching him, Marstin huddled himself into a ball, before rubbing his index fingers together. After a moment, the two fingers began to glow, alight with mana. Marstin, contrary to his looks, had learned magic in his distant childhood; but since then, his body had never been strong enough to cast a single spell. What he was doing was an old sorcerer trick his father had once taught him: concentrating mana in his fingers, to detect magic or mana in other things. Reaching out, he touched the ring with both glowing fingers. To Marstin’s delight, the tool set glowed in a soft blue light, an indicator of enchantment work being done.

“A magic set of thieves’ tools!” Marstin whispered in delight. With this, he was sure his skills in the art of thievery would double, at least.

His smile fell, though, as he remembered he’d promised his girl he’d forsaken thievery as a lifestyle. Marstin sighed, disappointedly.

“It’s too bad I can’t be a legal thief,” he sighed aloud.

Suddenly, Marstin cocked his head. Actually, there was a method of thievery that was legal. In fact, it was such an easy and obvious, yet dangerous, option that he’d forgotten all about it. After all, it wasn’t too common that a thief joined the Adventurer’s Guild to work.

“Yeah, yeah!” Marstin enthused, the excitement building on his face. “Adventurers have to deal with traps and pick locks, on occasion. My skills and this tool set can do this kind of work, no problem. Adventurers get paid a lot of coin too, and they always have work to do. I’ll do it!” Marstin raised his new treasure into the air. “I’ll become an adventurer!”

With his plan now set in stone, Marstin returned to his tree to change. Stripping down to his bare essentials, Marstin grimaced as his nose picked up the stink of death on his clothes, and person. With a strong feeling of reluctance, Marstin pulled out his one bar of good soap and sighed.

After returning from the forest river, dripping wet and shivering slightly, Marstin felt he was finally somewhat presentable. He pulled out some older clothes from the tree and wiped himself down until he was dry. Then, he put on his best clothes, the least damaged ones, and slid on his slightly ripped leather chest-piece. After a moment’s hesitation, he even removed the one good dagger and placed it into his belt for easy access. The magic tool set he slid into a hidden pocket inside his pants; their larger size allowed for such things, with some handiwork with a scrap of cloth, thread, and needle.

After preparing himself as best he could, Marstin couldn’t help but feel nervous. After all, the Adventurer’s Guild was located closer to the middle of town, in the open. He’d never walked down the streets without having to suffer withering stares, looks of mockery, or the open scorn of being a child of the streets. Just imagining the looks, the eyes, made him want to curl up. But, he wanted to live, and he wanted to eat. So, he needed to go. He’d pay back the bread he’d stole and come clean to Kyra; or he’d die trying.

Taking a deep breath, and another, Marstin slapped his cheeks. “I have to at least try,” he murmured.

Hiding his treasures behind the false bark, Marstin left the trash yard and headed back to town. Getting through the gate shouldn’t be too hard: The guards knew him well enough to not need any form of identification; just as well, since he didn’t have any. Not after ridding himself of anything that might tie him to his childhood. As he approached, the guards gave the young man a cursory look.

“What are you doing here, street rat?” the right guard asked promptly. “It’s not like you to enter the town through the gate. Do you want to be arrested again?”

“No, I have some food now,” Marstin said quickly. When winter came, he’d often allow himself to be caught and thrown into the town jail. The jail was warmer than his grave hole, and he even got a hard roll and water. As such, he was relatively familiar with the town guard. “Um, I’m going to register as an adventurer, to make some coin.”

The two guards shared a funny look, a mix of incredulity and understanding. “Hm, well that’s better than working for the Thieves’ Guild,” the left guard admitted. “Tell me, boy, have you thought that out well enough? Adventuring is hard work, and sometimes fatal, too. I doubt they’d even let you join, with your background.”

Marstin faltered, a look of pain on his face. Would his past continue to haunt his future forever?

The right guard cleared his throat. “Well, that isn’t to say it’s impossible to join. Not like we guards know anything about adventuring, really.” He subtly poked the left guard with his spear end.

“Ah, yes,” the left guard started. “Looking to get a real job is an admirable thing for a street rat. I wish you good luck and good fortune. Head on through.”

“And don’t let us catch you stealing anything, boy, understood?” the right guard warned Marstin. “Adventurers have their own rules when it comes to thieves; err, that’s what I’ve heard, anyway; so, be sure to give up the thieving life, or you’ll be thrown out, understood?”

“Yes, Sir; I understand,” Marstin nodded quickly. “Thank you!” Feeling a little more hopeful, the young man hurried down the main road toward the center of town. The two guards watched him leave before turning their attention back outside the town.

“Think he’ll make it?” the left guard asked curiously. “The two guilds don’t exactly have the best relationship here in town.”

“They’ll test him,” the right guard sighed. “It’ll be up to him if he can rise above the streets or not.”

Marstin didn’t hear their conversation as he joined the loose cue of people traveling up and down the streets of the town. The town had a proper name, but Marstin didn’t remember what it was, off the top of his head. It was a mining and forestry town, with most of the townsfolk working either in the surrounding mines or the forests cutting trees. Plenty of people came and went every day, though the level of activity was nowhere near the level of a city. Marstin controlled his urge to pickpocket as he made his way through the throng of the crowd; it would be so easy . . .. No!

Marstin was almost sweating by the time he reached the Adventurer’s Guild. He stood in front of the somewhat ordinary building, denoted only by the large sign above the doorway and the coming and going of strong-looking men and women. Marstin gulped a little and waited for a lull in the crowd, to follow and enter.

Inside, Marstin found that the ordinary-looking building was anything but. The room, for the most part, was large and spacious, covered in tables of varying sizes, surrounded by chairs. A tavern appeared to be set up along the left wall, with the right wall holding what appeared to be a large clerk’s counter, divided into several stations. The back wall was covered in a large billboard, itself covered in all manner of paper leaflets and postings. The rest of the wall was covered in stuffed monster heads and other trophies of all sorts. A second floor could be seen above, its floor held up by large wooden pillars, with balconies separating the floor from nothingness.

As Marstin looked around in curiosity, he was bumped to the ground by a large, muscled warrior.

“Beat it, brat!” the man yelled at him before continuing his way. Marstin quickly scrambled to his feet and shuffled to the wall and safety from the traffic. Catching his breath, Marstin made his way over to one of the open clerk sections. An older man was waiting, and he smiled down at Marstin.

“Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild, lad. How may I be of service?” he asked kindly.

“Um, hi,” Marstin said nervously. “I, I want to become an adventurer, please.”

“Do you have an ID card or other form of identification?” the older man asked.

“No sir,” Marstin shook his head.

“Understood,” the older man nodded. “In that case, I’ll need you to place your hand on this orb to begin the registration process.” Reaching under the counter, the older man extracted a peculiar-looking orb, resting on an odd contraption of some sort. “Speak your name, after the orb begins to glow.”

Marstin did as directed. “Marstin,” he said.

The orb glowed brighter, and a series of clicking noises rang out from the contraption below. Marstin watched, fascinated, as a card was seemingly woven out of mana. With a small ding, the card popped out.

Marstin

Current Profession: None

Level: N/A

Country: Istut

Apprentice Mage: Lvl 3

Trained Thief: Lvl 8 (Warning)

Str: 9

Int: 11

Con: 9

Dex: 15

Cha: 10

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Marstin exclaimed, delighted. “What do all these numbers mean?” However, after a moment, Marstin didn’t hear a response. “Sir?” he asked, looking up.

The older man looked down at Marstin, no longer with a smile but instead now a frown, tinged with scorn.

“A dirty thief!” the older man snapped. “How dare you show your face here! Go back to the Thieves’ Guild, where you belong!”

“No, I’m not part of them!” Marstin protested. He could hear that the overall volume of the room had gotten quieter, and that eyes were turning to look at him. He could feel their stares. “I want to become an adventurer! Please!”

The older man scoffed and leaned back away from Marstin.

“This little twerp giving you trouble, Rob?” a voice came suddenly from behind Marstin. Marstin turned around to find a trio of ruffian-looking gentlemen towering above him. Dressed in lighter clothing that did little to hide their muscular frames, Marstin could quickly tell these were woodsmen skilled in the axe.

“Just a little thief who thinks he can hide his past,” Rob explained coldly. “I guess no one told him of how bad thieves are thought of here.”

“But I’m not a thief anymore!” Marstin protested. “I want to be an adventurer!”

The leader of the trio snorted. “Yeah, and I want to be the king. Sucks for both of us that neither wish can come true. Now, come on kid, let’s go.” An arm reached down and seized Marstin’s shoulder. Reacting instinctually, Marstin turned to deadweight and fell to the ground, escaping the woodman’s grasp. He then quickly rolled away and got back up.

“Tricky fellow aren’t you,” the woodsman observed, cracking his knuckles. “Well, one way or another, you’re going out that door.”

“Not until I become an adventurer!” Marstin argued. He felt anger, indignation, and despair. How could he have a future, if he were judged solely by his past? It wasn’t fair, IT WASN’T FAIR! As the woodman barreled toward him, arms outstretched, Marstin let his anger overtake him. He dived into the man, his arm punching upwards as he went through the woodman’s legs, hitting the groin squarely. The woodsman groaned and collapsed, suffering unspeakable pain.

“You brat!” Suddenly, the other two woodsmen dove toward Marstin. Marstin kicked himself away and rolled under the closest table. Getting into a kneeling posture, he hugged the table’s central support. The two woodsmen ran over and tossed the table aside, Marstin flying with it. Other adventurers protested, as the table made a mess of the room, knocking drinks to the ground alongside food and supplies. Marstin leapt to his feet and began lobbing anything he could reach at the woodsmen: mugs, cutlery, chairs. The second and third woodsmen backed down under the sudden onslaught.

“Grab that brat!” the first woodsman cried out, having recovered from the blow Marstin had given him.

Marstin, sensing two figures leaping toward him, rolled aside, avoiding two additional men who banged heads as they landed, groaning. Marstin continued to roll until he was under another, longer, banquet-style table, connected to others. He then crawled quickly along the ground, avoiding legs and feet as he escaped. The sounds of crashing behind him told Marstin that the tables to his rear were being flung out of the way. He reached the last table and waited near the beginning of its lip until the crashing reached him. With a sickening strength, the table above him was lifted away, but not before Marstin made his move.

“Got you now, brat!” the woodsman roared, lifting the large table high above his head. But to his shock, there was nothing there. Behind him, Marstin took a deep breath before punching out with all his might at the back of the woodsman’s knees. Even his mediocre strength was enough to trigger the fatal weakness of knees: back attacks. With a cry, the woodsman fell awkwardly forwards, the table landing atop him.

“Got him,” Marstin celebrated, only to suddenly realize he was surrounded by a crowd of Adventurers. He gulped, suddenly less brazen, more fearful.

“Ha, Harold got knocked down by the pipsqueak!” someone shouted, and soon the entire hall was roaring in laughter. To Marstin’s shock, the woodsman got back up a moment later, looking none the worse for wear, if not a little sheepish.

“Little bastard pulled a sneak attack,” he complained. “I had him!”

“Doesn’t look that way from up here,” someone called from the second floor, eliciting another round of laughter. Marstin attempted to stealthily leave the crowd, only to be seized by three female Adventurers, dressed in hunting furs.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the middle girl smiled mischievously. “Can’t have the star of the show making an exit, now can we?”

Marstin let out a sigh of resignation and held up his arms in surrender. At least he’d tried his best. He let out a cough; he must have pushed his body too much in the fight. He could feel the familiar tell-tale burn from before.

“What’s going on in here?!” a voice suddenly roared from the second floor. Instantly, the laughter ceased, as every adventurer tensed up. Marstin looked up.

Gripping the railing overlooking the central room was a large man, easily four times Marstin’s size. With deep bronze skin, a full beard of black hair, and a full leather armor, the man was already intimidating, without the large scar crossing his left eye from forehead to cheek. Marstin thought he could even make out a quivering, black tail, much like a rat, from behind him, as well.

“Ah, chief,” one of the adventurers began, “Uh, well, this boy here you see-”

“ARE YOU TELLING ME A BOY DEMOLISHED MY GUILD HALL! HUH? YOU THINK I’M AN IDIOT!” the man roared, his voice echoing the building. “HAROLD! YOU AND YOUR BOYS ARE PAYING FOR THE DAMAGES! AND YOU LOT, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST LAUGH OFF YOUR ASSES WHILE A BOY MAKES A FOOL OUT OF YOU ALL? HUH? YOU LOT BETTER PAY OFF YOUR TABS BY MONTH’S END, OR I’M CLOSING THE BAR!”

Anguished cries of ‘Noo!’ echoed all around Marstin, who was quite bewildered by the situation at hand. He froze up when the large man locked eyes on him.

“BRING THE BOY UP HERE! I WANT TO HEAR HIS STORY!”

Chapter 17

Marstin squirmed in his seat, feeling the urgent need to hide himself under such a harsh and strong glare. After the previous debacle in the guildhall, he’d been lifted and carried under one of the adventurer’s arms like a sack up to the guild master’s room and deposited onto a somewhat comfortable couch before the room was emptied, save for Marstin and the guild master. The guild master himself was sitting on a similar couch across from Marstin, an ornamental table separating the two, with his arms crossed. His intense stare seemed to last forever, causing Marstin to continue to sweat.

“I have a lot of questions I want to ask,” the guild master suddenly said, interrupting the oppressive silence. “But first, would you like some tea?”

“Tea? Um, yes, please, Sir,” Marstin stammered.

Nodding, the guild master stood up and walked over to a far wall, opening a series of cabinets and revealing a mix of ingredients, cooking supplies and tools, and books. As the man perused through his collection, Marstin noticed curiously that his eyes hadn’t been wrong earlier: The guild master did really possess a rat-like tail. It even acted like a third arm, wrapping itself around things as the guild master worked on the tea.

The man appeared to be quite adept at the process, despite the visual clash of his muscular form against the delicate-looking teacups. A small flame on the tip of his tail was used to heat the tea kettle, while his hands gracefully prepared the tea and cups. It barely took a minute before the kettle whistled, and the tea was prepared. The guild master returned to the couch, holding a teacup in each hand and the kettle on his tail.

“Here,” he offered, handing over the teacup to Marstin. Marstin thanked him politely, before waiting until the guild master had taken a seat to blow on his tea. Likewise, Marstin waited until the guild master had taken a sip before following suit. The tea was warm and tasted of the cherry leaves found commonly in the Istutian forests. Marstin smiled softly as he enjoyed the nostalgic taste; it had been his father’s favorite tea, as well. The young boy measured his sips slowly, taking the time to enjoy the fragrance and the soothingly warm feeling building up in his stomach. The guild master said nothing, only continuing to watch the young man in front of him as he, too, sipped his tea.

“You’re not scared of me,” the guild master suddenly observed. “Well, not of my non-human nature, anyway.”

Marstin started, his tea reverie broken by the remembrance of his situation. “Um, no, Sir; you are correct; I am not scared of that aspect. In fact, I was admiring the dexterity and grace of your use of your tail with the tea preparation. Should I have been scared?”

The guild master snorted, a dry smile on his face. “Well, folks being afraid of me is more common here than closer to the border with the devil country. After all, devils and half-devils like me don’t exactly leave the country too often, and the stigma from ancient times persists in small places like here. I’m rather surprised such a young boy like yourself is free of prejudice.”

“My . . . I had some devil friends, once,” Marstin murmured sadly.

“I believe you,” the guild master revealed, unexpectedly. A sly smile played across his face as he watched Marstin’s reaction closely. “After all, what kind of beggar brat is familiar with the taste of tea and the proper way of drinking it? I didn’t even have to warn you of the heat before you blew on it, nor did you react to the taste. Cherry leaf is an acquired taste, after all.”

Marstin’s face paled as he realized it had all been a test.

“Relax, boy,” the guild master waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not inclined to have you spill the beans on your past. I’m here to see what your future could be.”

“Sir?” Marstin asked nervously.

The guild master waved his hand, and Marstin’s adventurer ID suddenly appeared in his grasp. He placed it onto the table, facing Marstin so he could read it.

Marstin

Current Profession: None

Level: N/A

Country: Istut

Apprentice Mage: Lvl 3

Trained Thief: Lvl 8 (Warning)

Str: 9

Int: 11

Con: 9

Dex: 15

Cha: 10

“Most people,” the guild master began, “when seeing your card, will only focus on your thief level. It’s not common to see a trained thief at your age, after all. A smarter person, on the other hand, will focus here,” he pointed at Marstin’s empty current job slot, “and here,” he then pointed at Marstin’s low-level mage job. “Even without my little test, I doubt any normal boy or girl off the street would be able to use magic; Istutian mage training requires silver and gold, after all. And the card here reads your most current professional actions to determine your current job, which tells me that you haven’t done anything thievery-related in quite some time. Thus, it supports your claim that you are no longer a thief.”

“Though,” the guild master’s voice suddenly hardened. “That doesn’t mean the system is fool- proof. After all, we don’t have one of the fancier card devices you’d find in a big city, and there’s a spell for everything in this world. So, that leaves you being one of 2 kinds of people, in my eyes.”

“One,” the guild master announced, holding up one finger. “You are, as you say, a street rat, and a former thief who wishes to change his future by becoming an adventurer and working a . . . well, a somewhat honest job.”

“Two,” the guild master raised a second finger. “You are a very crafty spy, working for the Thieves’ Guild, who has used his little talent in magic to somehow trick the guild’s card system for some nefarious purpose.”

“Silence,” the guild master ordered as Marstin opened his mouth to protest his innocence. “There isn’t anything you could possibly say to me that could reasonably change my mind. Unless you wish to reveal your past history and family origin?” He watched Marstin quickly shake his head. The guild master chuckled. “Heh, thought as much. Everyone has secrets, and that isn’t anything worth judging. What is worth judging is your current character, and I think this is the most worthwhile course of action.”

The guild master leaned forward onto his hands, his fingers crossing as he examined Marstin even closer. “Whether you’re a spy or a boy seeking purpose, I don’t really care. Really, in most other towns the Thieves’ Guild and the Adventurer’s Guild share a more harmonious, if muted relationship. Were it not due to certain . . . events, that had taken place in town, I doubt there would be any problem with you joining. Now, there is; and as you are now, I cannot allow you to join as an adventurer.”

Marstin slumped into the couch, feeling hopeless and despondent.

“That doesn’t mean it’s time to give up, boy!” the guild master suddenly shouted, startling Marstin. “You idiot, don’t give up so quickly! If you want a good life, then you must fight for it! Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” Marstin quickly answered, his pulse racing. He suddenly began to cough, a fit brought on by the stress of the situation. He quickly took another sip of tea to help calm his nerves. The guild master watched with an oddly concerned gaze.

“You alright there?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Marstin said, putting the tea down. “It’s an old cough I’ve had for a while.”

“Hm,” the guild master muttered without comment. “In any case, I’m going to offer you a chance. Just one,” he repeated for emphasis. “I’m going to announce you to the Guild as an Adventurer-in-Training. You won’t be a full adventurer, meaning you can’t accept quests on your own, and when working, you must be monitored by an adventurer ranked D or above. They will review your work after each mission you take with them, and they will submit their report directly to me. You work hard enough, long enough, and build up enough trust with your fellow adventurers, then I’ll give you your adventurer license. What’s more, I’ll bump you up from G rank to E rank, which will mark you as a competent beginner in the eyes of society. Will you accept this test?”

“Yes, Sir, I will,” Marstin agreed, coughing once again. “So, I have to join a group of adventurers?”

“Aye, and that will be your first test,” the guild master smirked knowingly. “You put on quite a show earlier, didn’t you? On the bright side, you showed your strengths; but on the downside, you also made yourself highly memorable to every adventurer in the hall. After my announcement, I’m sure everyone will know you as “the former thief”, current or not. It’ll be up to you to find a party willing to trust you enough to bring you along.”

“Bah, stop getting down so easily,” the guild master snapped as Marstin’s face began to fall again. “A boy like you shouldn’t be as sensitive as a hairless cow. You’ll need to work on growing more of a backbone. My men and women are tough folk – good folk, too. So as long as you try your best and show your worth, I’m sure someone will take you on.” The guild master got up, setting his teacup aside. “Now, follow me, boy.”

Marstin obediently followed the large man out of the room to the balcony overseeing the main floor. Down below, Marstin watched as the last of the cleanup efforts seemed to be finishing up. It had only been a few minutes, and yet the hall looked almost back to the state he’d seen it upon first entering.

“LISTEN UP!” the guild master suddenly bellowed, causing Marstin to cover his ears. “YOU LOT DOWN THERE! THIS IS MARSTIN, AND HE’S OFFICIALLY AN ADVENTURER-IN-TRAINING! HE’S ONE OF US FOR NOW, SO NO FUNNY BUSINESS. UNDERSTOOD?”

“YES, GUILD MASTER!” the crowd roared back. A number of the adventurers craned their heads up to get a better look at Marstin, causing him to blush and pull back. The guild master promptly picked him up by the scruff of his neck and held him over the balcony, with Marstin instantly paling.

“NOW, BEGIN THE TRUST FALL!”

“Huh?” Marstin gaped, and then he was thrown down like a spear. “Ahhhhhh!” He flailed helplessly for a moment, before his instincts kicked in and he rolled into a ball with his eyes closed. Thankfully, he felt his body being caught by a pair of soft, muscular arms and not the floor like he was expecting. He opened his eyes to find two of the lady adventurers who had caught him before, catching him again with a smile.

“We need to stop meeting like this, kid,” one of the ladies winked at him. Meanwhile, the third lady looked thunderously up at the guild master.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING, YOU CRAPPY MUSCLE HEAD!” she bellowed. “WHO JUST THROWS A CHILD LIKE THAT?”

“ME!” the guild master chortled. “NICE CATCH, LADIES!”

With that being said, the guild master returned to his room. The lead lady adventurer let out a sigh and rubbed her head before turning to look at Marstin, whom the other ladies had placed gently on the floor.

“Sorry about that, kid—err, Marstin,” she corrected herself. “He means well, but sometimes his old habits come through. He likes to call it ‘the family touch’,” she air-quoted. “But I think he just likes to make a scene for entertainment’s sake. Nice to meet you, I’m Olivia. And they,” she pointed, “are Jules and Emilia.”

Covering his slight cough, Marstin looked the three ladies over. All three were dressed in fur- covered leather and wearing a bow and quiver of arrows on their back. Olivia was the tallest, with white hair and white skin covered in elaborate tribal markings. A three-clawed scar marred her face but did little to hide the wild beauty she seemed to exude. Similarly, Jules and Emilia also had white hair and white skin, though the tips of their hair were black, and their tribal markings were much simpler.

“What, never seen a true Istutian Polar Hunter before?” Olivia chuckled at Marstin’s curious look. When he shook his head, she grinned. “Well then, Marstin, it seems you have a lot of learning to do. Here, grab a seat with us.”

The young man followed the three huntresses to their table. He tried to not cower as other adventurers set their eyes on him, a mixture of looks all around, ranging from disgust to curiosity. He took his seat with the ladies and twiddled his fingers nervously.

“Relax, kid; Olivia doesn’t eat anything that scrawny,” a nearby male adventurer chuckled. “Now, you grow up to be like me, and she’ll definitely want to take a piece of you, if you know what I mean.”

The surrounding crowd let out rancorous and vulgar laughter, but Olivia only grinned.

“You, Lloyd? I hear your wife caught you with that Eastern man again. Can’t handle a good, strong Istutian woman?” she laughed.

Lloyd instantly turned red as the laughter was now on him. “I didn’t know he was a guy,” he muttered in defense. “And it was only one time.” The laughter only continued, to his chagrin. Olivia chuckled evilly as she turned her attention back to Marstin.

“So Marstin, a former thief,’ huh? Were you good at it?” she asked.

“Well, kind of,” Marstin admitted, shame-faced. “They mainly used me when they needed someone small. I’m better at mechanisms than actually stealing, though . . .” He broke up, shuddering at the memory of his many beatings.

“Ah, sorry,” Olivia apologized. “Didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories. But you’re going to hear that question a lot, you know. There aren’t too many here now with thief skills.” Her mouth curled in a disdainful sneer. “Not anymore, anyway. So, you want to be an adventurer. Got a good reason?”

“I want to live a better life,” Marstin muttered, still feeling shy in front of these ladies. “And I don’t want to steal for a living anymore.”

“Ha, that’s the best reason,” Emilia chortled, slamming her fist onto the table. “We work to eat, and we live to eat. That’s the way of the hunter, and that’s the way of the adventurer!” Around her, other adventurers raised their mugs and glasses and cried, “Cheers!”

“Good enough for us,” Jules nodded. “Not that we’re willing to take you on; sorry, kid. We’re a B- ranked team, and our missions would likely place you in danger. Not to mention, I doubt your skinny frame has the endurance for long treks into the wilderness; ah, no offense.”

“None taken,” Marstin nodded good-naturedly, feeling better and opening up more. “Is that what you ladies do, then: Go into the wilderness?”

“Well, it’s both for work and as a way of life,” Olivia explained. “We are true Istutian Polar Hunters, of the Black Pines tribe, native to the far north of Istut and on the border with the devil country. Our tribe is one of the few left that practice the old ways of the hunt: Following the goddess Normid.”

“Isn’t Normid a God of Chaos, and male?” Marstin asked, confused. “I thought religion wasn’t openly tolerated. Or, something like that,” he quickly said, recalling his father’s belief’s being the cause of several arguments he could barely remember.

“It isn’t in the other Northern countries,” Jules admitted, “But the devil country is very big on worship, and all tribes of Istut have little time to bother with a centuries-old conflict that barely involved our peoples. Even the royal family’s secret worship of Leo is an open secret; it’s already hard enough to survive the winter without faith, after all. And Normid is the fluid goddess, so she isn’t always one way or the other. She’s whatever is best suited to survive; and her godly title is of no importance to us.”

“In any case,” Olivia continued with a proud smile. “Istutian Polar Hunter” is a job title reserved only for the people in tribes that become one with winter. We accustom our blood over time to slowly meld with the cold, with the snow, and with the forest to become one with it. As we grow deeper in our bond with the polar winter, our hair will turn white, and our tattoos will grow until they cover our skin. This allows us immunity from frost, the ability to move through snow and ice like phantoms, and a higher endurance: Not requiring food for many weeks. We hunt the polar creatures and monsters, such as polar buffalo, ice worgs, and even snow drakes, if we can track them.”

“That sounds amazing,” Marstin exclaimed, his eyes alight in wonder. “That really, truly sounds amazing, to not feel the frost or go hungry. Could I become a polar hunter, too?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Olivia sighed regretfully. “You would require the bloodline to attempt this, and it isn’t a free meal waiting to be eaten. Once the bond becomes deep enough with the Winter, we will slowly lose our human forms, and we shall become winter spirits of the hunt; or, we shall die and join Normid in her eternal hunt. Such is the cost for great power, and the tribes grow smaller each generation.”

“Your only options are to become a Winter spirit monster or die?” Marstin gaped in shock.

The three huntresses grimaced at his words. “No, we do not become monsters,” Olivia corrected him. “We become winter spirits of the hunt. We do not grow monster cores. We become one with Winter, coming and going with the season. On the Equinox, we can visit our families and share a meal with them, and they can summon us in times of great need. Even as Winter spirits of the hunt, we will eventually pass, one day, and join the god of seasons, Equinox, in his realm, or Normid in her hunt. This is a great honor, and all Istutian Polar Hunters look forward to earning this fate.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Marstin quickly apologized.

“Your words were of ignorance, not malice. There is nothing to forgive,” Olivia smiled. “Of course, since our fate is to become one with Winter, this means the tribe becomes smaller over time. To combat this, hunters like ourselves are sent to other parts of the country to seek out strong blood to meld with our own and leave behind offspring. Perhaps, if you become a strong man, someday, one of our sisters will visit your bedroom,” she winked.

Marstin flushed quite red, inciting a round of laughter from the ladies.

“Fu fu,” Olivia chuckled. “Well, enough of the history lesson. Since you were patient enough to learn about us, I will return the favor and help you find an adventurer group to work with for your first job.” She turned her head, looking around the floor. The nearby adventurers all avoided her eyes, causing her to frown.

“Hmph,” she snorted. “Cowards.” Her eyes locked onto a distant figure, and she smiled.

“Oswald, over here,” she called. Marstin turned his head and watched as an armored man approached. The warrior was dressed in thick, iron armor and carried a large shield on his back, with a standard short sword on his belt. His head was covered in short black hair, and his skin was pale. Oswald greeted the ladies with a smile.

“Hello Olivia,” he greeted. “Jules, Emilia. How can I help?”

“This is Marstin, an adventurer in training,” Olivia introduced. “I heard your party was going to be checking out some ruins in the mountain, right? Take him along with you; he can carry your supplies and free you from hiring a porter.”

Oswald smiled awkwardly as he examined Marstin, scratching his head. “Well, I guess I do owe you a favor, Olivia. Um, Marstin is it? Do you need to do anything?” Marstin could tell Oswald had heard about him already.

“No sir, I have everything I own already,” Marstin said quickly. As Marstin looked down to double check his words, he failed to notice the sympathetic looks on the faces around him. Oswald sighed and put his hand down.

“All right, then you can come along,” he said with a weak smile. “I was about to meet my group outside, anyway. Are you alright carrying a day’s worth of supplies?”

“That’s no problem, Sir!” Marstin quickly affirmed, a hopeful look on his face.

“Well, then,” Oswald said, holding out his hand, “Welcome to my adventurer team, The Iron Yaks.”

Marstin shook his hand happily.

Chapter 18

It appears that healing draught was not of the best quality. While all the harmful bacteria were destroyed, and the faint distant communications through the neural network are indicating that most, if not all, of the body’s injuries have been healed, the effects from the liquid have also killed off many of the body’s immune cells. Stemmy does not have access to origination centers of the immune system, however; so, the ultimate toll is unable to be calculated. Regardless, the immune system has been weakened substantially.

It was more than obvious what had been done, though why anyone would choose to ingest a potion that would do that to them was beyond Progen. Just like the defenses he had put in place to protect his dungeon crystal; the immune system was like the monsters and traps for a dungeon – and the dungeon was the entire body. A body and dungeon that would soon be his, of course, if it didn’t kill itself before that happened.

Consuming something that basically called off all your defending monsters didn’t make a lot of sense, even if it killed the invaders at the same time. The only reason Progen could think of to do that would be as a difficult choice to prevent complete destruction, because getting rid of all of your defenses just meant that the next invader to walk into the dungeon would be able to traverse it without trouble, looting all of the rewards with no opposition.

Which was exactly what started to happen, just mere moments after the potion sent its effects out to the entire body. Small particulates in the air brought in by the lungs contained chunks of bacteria, though it was different from what had just been infesting the organ. As soon as they landed on the inner wall of the lung Progen was observing, they immediately melted, like a snowflake landing on a hot rock. The reason for that was easily explained: The beneficial effects of the potion were still active – though he doubted they would last long. Fortunately, the harmful effects (such as the destruction of so many immune cells), didn’t seem to linger at all; so, there was that at least.

“Stemmy…what do I do?  I can only imagine that this situation will go from stable to horrifically deadly as soon as that potion wears off completely.”

Yes, you are correct.

“Great, now what do I do?” Progen groaned.

There is only one thing that you can do: Become a substitute for the immune system.

“What?  I can’t do that!  There’s no way that I can field that many immune cells, especially since there isn’t a constant flow of mana filling me up from the deaths of the bacteria anymore.”  Granted, that wasn’t entirely true; he could see his mana filling up slowly, from those bacteria that had been barely in his territory before they were all wiped out. That wouldn’t last long, though.

You must. At least until the immune system can replenish its numbers and take over for you.

“And how long will that take?”

Unknown. Conservative estimates, based on observations and neural network chatter, would put the bare minimum of acceptable immune cell restoration at…three days.

“Three days!  How am I supposed to protect this body for three days?!”  The task seemed impossible.

Expand. After the respiratory system, start controlling the circulatory system so that you can travel to most parts of the body.

“Yes. Fine, I can do that.”

Now that he had a goal, as unlikely as it was that he would achieve it, Progen got to work. First, he took stock of how many of each of his immune cells he had left, after most of them were wiped out from the potion. It was hard to get a completely accurate count of the Newts he currently had left because they were spread out, but he estimated that he had approximately 10,000 – which wasn’t a small amount, but was woefully inadequate to help protect the entire body. He also had just over 400 Spawners, 120 Reporters, 6 activated Novice Killers – of which they were all attuned to the lung’s previous bacteria – as well as 2 Historians and his single Hunter immune cell, which amazingly survived. It was, at least, a start.

One thing that he did have going for him, luckily, was a wide-open body through which he could easily spread his influence, with no pathogens there to stop him from expanding. He quickly restarted infusing mana within the lung in which he had been fighting the bacteria clusters, as well as starting down the other forked bronchial tube leading to the other lung. He sent half of his Reporters to check out the other organ, just to confirm that it was clear of any infections; after a thorough inspection, it revealed itself to be just as filled with the remains of so many bacteria and deceased immune cells, if not more than the first. Again, there was a small regiment of the body’s Newts still there, but they all seemed to have scurried back into the blood vessels connected to the lung’s walls after about an hour of wandering around and finding no more of the enemy to combat.

The expansion seemed to take less time to complete, though Progen thought that could just be because there were no stoppages along the way. In fact, within 5 hours, the entire rest of the respiratory system was completely under the dungeon crystal’s influence, and he waited expectantly for something monumental to happen like it did when he took over the digestive system: namely, gaining access to Tier 3 immune cells. While that unfortunately didn’t happen, something else…positive?...did.

Another shift in his perception alerted him to something new, details of which Stemmy immediately informed him, upon inquiry.

Trap Options Available

Available Mana: 455/500

Tier 1

Fibrin Net – 5 Mana

Reactive Flush – 5 Mana

Strangling Villi – 10 Mana

Tier 2

Pepsin Acid Pit – 50 Mana

Suspension – 75 Mana

Localized Compression – 100 Mana

While it was nice to unlock new trap options, he wasn’t sure what they would be good for. It wasn’t like he was expecting to be attacked anytime soon, though the enhanced trap options would likely be nice for the future. “Why did I get these now?  How will they benefit me?”

Based on your advancement in mana capacity, you have unlocked the Tier 2 traps that this cell has adapted for your use. While they can be used near your dungeon crystal to protect it directly, they can also be placed elsewhere for maximum benefit.

Placed elsewhere for maximum benefit?  That phrase wiggled into his mind, as the possibilities slowly blossomed in his thoughts. “So... they can be used elsewhere in my ‘dungeon’, and not just right near my ‘crystal room’. Is that what you’re hinting at?”

Yes.

It all made sense now. Because of its oddness compared to what he was naturally inclined to understand, Progen hadn’t really been thinking of the body as a dungeon, even though he was already considering it to be that way – and all the things that went along with that reality. That meant that he should begin to actually treat the body as a dungeon – as his dungeon – and set up whatever traps he could in the different systems over which he had gained influence, to help with the spread of invasive threats.

“Stemmy, what are the most common entry points of pathogens to this body?”  He needed to find out where his “entrance” was, so that he could plan accordingly. Progen was fairly sure that the breathing in and out was one, because he had already seen some new bacteria come in, but he wanted to make sure there weren’t any surprise second-or-third entrances that he didn’t know about.

The most common entry point for pathogens in the body is through the mouth, either through airborne particulates that enter the respiratory system, or infected food-based material entering through the digestive system. Once inside, these pathogens can either infect the area directly around their arrival point, or spread out to other areas of the body, depending upon their particular nature.

After the mouth, the nose and eye openings are the second-most likely entries for pathogens to the body, followed by skin absorption, unprotected or open wounds and lesions, through the reproductive organs, and through the ears. There are other, less likely potential entries, though that covers the most common.

“Thanks, Stemmy – that helps a lot.”  The interneuron cell didn’t respond to his praise, but then again, it never really did.

There weren’t a lot of things he could do about the less-common entries to his dungeon, like the reproductive organs or even the skin along the outside of the body – at least at the moment – but he could certainly do something about the mouth. Not only that, but he could also cover the nose, because that ended up being attached to the respiratory system, so he now had influence over that as well. The rest were going to have to wait until he expanded into the other systems enough to reach them, so for now, he could basically only do what he could.

Through more inquiries and information from Stemmy, he found out what his new traps could do. The Pepsin Acid Pit was the most obvious, as it was essentially a pit trap filled with acid; what was different about it, however, was that the mana that was infused into the trap kept the acid from harming the nearby organ tissue as well as keeping the acid in place; all of which meant that it could be used outside of the stomach. Basically, it pushed slightly at the walls of whatever organ tissue it was placed against as it formed a little pocket that didn’t harm that tissue, and then filled that pocket up with acid that would stay in place; he could place it on the top of the small intestine, for instance, and it wouldn’t fall out of the pocket, nor would it be carried away by gastrointestinal fluid passing by.

Naturally, if any harmful pathogens – that didn’t have any immunity or resistance to the acidic fluid inside – fell (or were pushed) inside, then they would be dissolved quite quickly. As opposed to the acid in the stomach, the concentration of the acidic properties in his new traps was three times as potent, meaning these Pepsin Acid Pits could kill that much faster. In addition, the pit – provided enough mana was provided – could be made quite large, as long as it didn’t interfere with the normal operation of the organ into which it was placed. For instance, he couldn’t place them over the entire surface of the small intestine, because that would interfere with the intestine’s purpose of absorbing nutrients.

The Suspension trap was dual-purpose, as it could work in fluid or open space. Essentially, the boundaries of the trap would detect the presence of a pathogen, and then either solidify the liquid it was placed in or harden the air around it, suspending it in place for a limited time. That didn’t seem all that powerful, but it also kept working as even more pathogens ran into the invisible trap, freezing those in place. What was even better was that his own immune cells could navigate or attack through the trap, meaning it was only dangerous to any invaders. The downside was that it was only able to be made one size, and that size was relatively small – about the size of 20 Newts clusters together. That made sense to him, just like the limitation on the Acid Pits; because if a larger quantity of air or liquid were frozen in place, it might negatively impact the normal operation of the nearby organs.

The last and final trap was for air-based locations only. The Localized Compression trap was relatively small in size, but extraordinarily powerful, nonetheless. When something entered the trap area, which was approximately the size of two Newts stuck together, the mana inside of the trap would cause the nearby air to rapidly condense into a tiny point for a split-second, squishing anything caught inside of the trap and killing it. It was actually quite effective – even if it couldn’t be expanded in size – and Progen could see some potential uses for it.

Before he started placing traps everywhere, however, the dungeon crystal went back into the entire respiratory system that he had just finished influencing and started to repair the extensive damage to the organs that he had already started. That was when he ran into his first problem.

“Why can’t I heal these sections of the lung?  It’s obvious that they are damaged in some way compared to the rest of the organs, but my mana does nothing.”

That is scar tissue from healing done long ago. Since there is no current wound, your mana will do nothing until you have access to physically change anything within the body.

“Which would mean when I’m in complete control, blah, blah, blah. I get it; there’s nothing I can do to reset it back to normal, yet.”  That was disappointing, mainly because – despite there being no bacteria affecting the lungs anymore – every once in a while, more coughing would occur, spasming the large, sack-like organs. It didn’t seem to be causing any more damage, but if it was having a negative effect in a different system, neither Progen nor Stemmy could tell.

When that was all done (or as done as it could get), he used his mana to start setting up traps, both in the stomach and in the trachea, the two places where he could catch incoming pathogens before they became too much of a problem. The dungeon crystal briefly thought about placing some in the mouth, but there was entirely too much going on there, with the crushing of the large teeth, the movement of the body’s tongue, and the presence of food passing through, to make it a viable option. Besides, that was essentially the entrance, and his natural dungeon instincts somehow balked at placing something deadly within the first few steps inside – though he thought that he could if he wanted to…but he didn’t. Granted, this wasn’t the same as being inside a mountain or below the ground, but the same ideas and instincts applied.

One nice thing that he also discovered, and that he was angry at himself at for not asking Stemmy about it earlier, was that he did not have to pay additional amounts of mana to place the traps farther away from his crystal, like when it cost double the mana to create a Newt next to his Spawner in the small intestine.

Once you have obtained influence over an entire system, you can then produce immune cells or traps anywhere within that system, without incurring extra costs.

That was the answer he got from the interneuron cell when he asked about the difference. “I wish I had known about that earlier,” he angrily ranted, “that way I wouldn’t have had to funnel all my reinforcements through the entire digestive system to reach the lungs.”  He could only really blame himself, as much as he wanted to place the blame on someone else; besides, Stemmy didn’t have enough consciousness to care about his accusatory tone, nor would he likely even recognize it. Regardless, the information was timely, as it meant that he didn’t have to waste time or concentration directing new immune cells he created throughout the systems to reach their destination – he could just have them appear wherever he wanted, as long as the area was under his full influence.

In the stomach, he placed two main types of traps, which would – he hoped – be effective against invading pathogens: the Pepsin Acid Pits and the Reactive Flush. First, he placed numerous Pits around the perimeter of the acid lake, spaced out to cover the places where he had seen the bacterial clusters before. In total, there were 15 of the Acid Pit traps spread out, large enough to fully engulf a smaller cluster of bacteria; even better, something that hadn’t been mentioned by Stemmy, was that there was a very thin cover on the pit, consisting of the same tissue as the nearby stomach lining. It would provide the nutrients the bacteria were searching for, tricking them into reproducing and multiplying on top of the trap, and then it would collapse after it had been eaten away, dropping unsuspecting bacteria into the pit. How it would work with viruses or parasites, Progen didn’t know; nevertheless, he was sure it would be effective in some way.

The Reactive Flushes were placed just under the surface of the acid lake, and since they were made of mana, they didn’t care about the acidic properties of the liquid and were unharmed by its presence. They were angled up and outward, where they would basically blast the nearby lining with spouts of acid, drenching anything that decided to make “landfall” in the deadly liquid. Simple, cheap, and hopefully effective. There were other traps that he had plans to place throughout the small intestine, to tackle bacteria that hid out within food pieces on their way to further digestion, but he would get to those later – he needed to finish the other point of entry first, and to continue his influence expansion before that happened.

By observing the incoming bacteria whenever the body would breathe in for a few minutes, Progen was able to scatter a dozen Localized Compression traps throughout the trachea, in the most frequent paths that they flowed down. At the junction separating the two bronchial tubes, he also placed a contingent of 500 Newts and four staggered Suspension traps, which still allowed unhindered flow of air, but would catch the majority of the pathogens that the Compression traps missed.

He wasn’t really able to test the stomach traps right away, but the traps set up in the respiratory system got deployed almost right away. Wherever the body seemed to be located, the air appeared to be just full of bacteria, and it was only through the lingering aspects of the strange healing potion that there hadn’t been a full-on outbreak yet.

The Compression traps worked remarkably well, condensing the air as soon as the bacteria passed through the trap, making a very tiny popping sound in the process. Those that got by them were mostly caught by the staggered Suspension traps, where they dissolved almost immediately from the effects of the potion. When those effects wore off, his Newts would be there to chomp anything caught in the trap right away. For the few bacteria that managed to sneak through those traps, his immune cells would likewise be ready to assault anything that landed inside the lungs or other parts of the respiratory system; though again, that was being taken care of, at the moment, by the potion.

“Where should I start on the circulatory system?”

Anywhere you can sense a blood vessel nearby; there is more to cover than any of the other systems you’ve influenced so far, so you may need to begin in multiple places.

“I can do that—uh, oh…” he replied, sensing a change in the body.

If the bacteria that were flowing in through the mouth and not being destroyed right away was any indication, then the healing potion had finally worn off.

Chapter 19

Marstin couldn’t help but feel excited as he followed Oswald out of the Adventurer’s Guild. He hadn’t properly left the town since his arrival so many years ago. The farthest he’d ever been outside was his home, not counting the long trek to the closed mine where he was abandoned by the Thieves’ Guild. He was even more excited about this quest; visiting ruins was a childhood fantasy of his.

“Um, Sir Oswald-” Marstin began.

“Don’t worry about titles or seniority, Marstin,” the adventurer grinned. “Just call me and the others by our first names.”

“Okay, then Oswald, Sir,” Marstin continued. “Where is this ruin we are going to? What kind is it?”

“Hm,” Oswald scratched his head. “Well, there’s a bit of an explanation behind that, but I’m really not the person you should be asking. Wait until I introduce you to the others, and they’ll answer your questions, okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” Marstin nodded obediently. Oswald let out a sad sigh and patted Marstin on the head.

“Don’t feel so obligated for formality, kid. No one’s going to care about that level of respect,” he lectured as they walked. “Being in an adventurer group is like being in a family. We look out for one another, share in victory or failure, and eat meals together. This isn’t the military, after all. Relax a bit.”

Marstin nodded, and Oswald chuckled, slapping Marstin on the back. “There, now the meeting spot is over there near the supply depot. First lesson for you: When you want to buy supplies for a quest, go to the Adventurer Guild Supply Depository,” he pointed at the corner building next to the guild hall. “Most of what you’ll need, you can get there – and at a discounted price, if you show them your adventurer card. It’s also the place where you go to submit your spoils, after confirming the quest’s resolution at one of the clerk desks in the guild. They’ll handle whatever plants, potions, supplies, or slain monsters are required by the quest-giver. On busy days in the guild hall, the supply depot also operates as a secondary clerk station for submitting or accepting requests.”

“Ah,” Oswald suddenly slapped his fist into his other hand. “A normal rookie mistake is thinking they can just take out a monster carcass and leave it in front of the clerk desk in the guild hall. We all get a good laugh seeing the less-experienced clerks get sick from the sight or smell; but in reality, all you need to do is submit pieces of the body, to accomplish monster subjugation quests. The supply depot has a backyard abattoir, where they’ll accept monster carcasses; just let the front desk know you have some.”

“How can adventurers carry monster bodies?” Marstin asked, curious. “Aren’t monsters, *cough, cough*, really big?”

“Easy there, kid. Oh, I suppose you don’t know about adventurer bags, either,” Oswald realized. “Here, take a look into mine.” The taller adventurer kneeled and removed the bag that had been covered by the shield on his back. It was a standard-looking leather bag to Marstin, though it appeared to have decent workmanship. To his surprise, when Oswald opened the bag, all Marstin could see was a pitch-black darkness. With a cheeky grin, Oswald plunged his hand into the bag, causing it to vanish up to his wrist. Marstin gaped in shock, his first reaction being to grab a bandage for the eventual blood that would pour from the stump. But no blood came, and Oswald casually removed his hand from the bag, holding a waterskin he’d not previously possessed. The adventurer twirled it with a grin.

“As you can see, adventurer bags aren’t like ordinary bags,” he said with a wink. “They’ve been especially enchanted, with a type of space-magic, to have an enlarged storage space. You’ll get a basic bag once you become a proper adventurer, and part of the yearly fee goes to the bag’s rental. Of course, you pay extra, if you opt to buy the bag for yourself, or to rent a better bag with more space.”

“That’s amazing,” Marstin stammered. “*Cough*, how in the world did the guild end up with this? And if every adventurer has one, then the amount of magic that requires, and the ingredients for enchanting and-”

“Let me stop you right there, before you confuse yourself into a brain freeze,” Oswald held up his hand placatingly. “The magic is quite easy to achieve for the guild. Not only that, but it’s even cheap and secure, because no one without an adventurer card can even use the magical properties of the bag. That’s why it's called an adventurer’s bag.”

“And before you ask how,” he continued, stopping Marstin before he opened his mouth. “No, I don’t know the exact method. No one besides high members of the guild do. It is common knowledge that the bags, however, are all made in Bosrol, in the labyrinth city, in the dungeon labyrinth itself.”

“What’s a dungeon?” Marstin asked. “Is it like a ruin?”

“Hm, it can be,” Oswald muttered. “Ah, but we’ve wasted enough time already. Come on, let’s go meet the rest of the team.”

Putting the waterskin back into the bag, Oswald got up and led Marstin over to a restaurant across the square. At one of the outside tables, Marstin saw three figures dressed in adventurer attire, enjoying some beer.

“Iron Yaks, I have returned!” Oswald announced as he strolled over. “I’ve got the ruin’s quest, and a temporary recruit who’s going to be joining us on this adventure.” He turned around and beckoned. “Marstin, over here.” When Marstin walked over, after a moment’s intimidation, Oswald wrapped his arm around the boy and pointed out each of his teammates.

“This here is George,” Oswald introduced. “He’s the archer of our group. Don’t let his looks fool you; he’s actually quite nimble and quick on his feet.” George smiled and nodded in greeting. As Oswald had pointed out, George was a large man, all-around, with a bald head. If one were to judge him by his belly, then he’d be a fat man. However, the thickness of his arms, legs, and neck quickly gave the conclusion that this man could take a beating just as easily as he could dish one out. He was dressed in light leather armor, perfect for moving around the battlefield in a hurry, and a massive longbow was leaning on the table next to him. It was three times the size of a normal bow, with what appeared to be an iron fiber instead of a thread string. Even the arrows were large, intimidating specimens that could, no doubt, rival artillery crossbows.

“This is Frain,” Oswald continued, gesturing at a red-headed woman sitting across from George. “She’s the swordsman—I mean, swordswoman,” he corrected himself after a quick glare from Frain, “of the group. She’s also a good cook, when the situation calls for it.”

“He means when we’re desperate,” Frain explained dryly. “I can make food out of almost anything, but I don’t promise it’ll taste good.” Frain was dressed in moderate iron armor, which covered everything except her joints. A good defensive option, while still allowing for some flexibility. Her hair was cut short, likely by a knife, ensuring she had nothing to be grabbed onto in a close-range fight. By her side were two swords: one longsword, and a thicker seax knife. Her right arm also held a small buckler, a small bit of extra defense.

“And last but not least, me,” Oswald joked, laughing as a snowball was thrown into his face. “Ha ha, I’m kidding. This here is Yarrow, our number one magic user. She’s from one of the Northern tribes and is quite adept at snow and ice magic. Don’t make her mad, or she’ll sick an ice golem on you.”

“I’m an Istutian Polar Wizard, and you know it,” Yarrow grumbled cutely. The youngest member of the group by far, Yarrow appeared to be only a few years older than Marstin. She had black hair and was dressed in warm wolf furs that formed a full-body kind of costume. If she put a wolf’s head over her own, Marstin had no doubt she could easily be mistaken as a wolf, herself. She was holding onto a long staff, intricately carved from what appeared to be a bone of some sort. At its top was a crystal of some sort; likely a monster core, from its roundness. Yarrow, by far, seemed to be looking at Marstin the most critically.

“And you know me, Oswald,” the adventurer finished. “I’m the front-liner of the group, and the leader. Together we are the Iron Yaks, a D-ranked adventurer team, soon to be C-ranked.”

“You forgot to introduce the pipsqueak,” Yarrow pointed out. Marstin felt the tiniest bit of annoyance. From his angle, he figured she was even shorter than him, though the table did a decent job of hiding her exact stature.

Oswald coughed, “This is Marstin. He has just been accepted as a temporary adventurer, and he is going to undertake the test. He is joining us for his first quest.”

“A temporary adventurer?” Frain raised an eyebrow. “That’s reserved for kids too young to go by themselves, or suspect individuals. Which one are you, kid?”

Marstin scratched his neck, nervously. “Well, both, I think.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your crime?” Frain asked, joking.

“Thievery,” Marstin answered.

The three members of the Iron Yaks around the table had mixed reactions. Yarrow’s was the most obvious, with a look of plain disgust on her face. Frain instantly became more withdrawn, and faster than Marstin could see, she was gripping her sword tightly. George frowned, but seemed to be reserving judgement on the matter.

“Are you kidding me, boss?” Frain asked coldly. “The thief guild brat? Why not just throw away our loot and valuables into the trash; at least we won’t have a dagger on our backs. What are you and the guild thinking?”

“Now, now,” Oswald held up his hands in a calming manner. “Hold up there, Frain. We don’t judge people on their past, remember? All adventurers come from different backgrounds-”

“Have you forgotten the Thrawnby incident,” Frain said through gritted teeth, her hand ever so imperceptibly raising her sword off the ground. “How many of us lost our lives, livelihoods, or limbs? I was there, you were there! Thieves aren’t to be trusted!” She said the last lines through an almost screaming hiss.

“That’s enough, Frain!” Oswald growled, his voice suddenly turning dark and dangerous. “The kid doesn’t know and wasn’t a part of it. He’s an adventurer by order of the guild master and recommended to me by the Istutian Polar Hunter sisters. You really want to cause a scene over this?”

Frain narrowed her eyes, but moments later dropped her sword and crossed her arms over her chest, frowning heavily. “Fine,” was all she said.

“The sisters recommended him?” Yarrow asked, her expression losing the disgust and turning thoughtful. She reexamined Marstin with a curious look. “They are excellent judges of character; my teacher said their icy eyes could peer into the soul and see the coldness within. If they recommended him, then I have nothing else to say on the matter.”

George raised a meaty hand and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What is his role here, Oswald?”

“Porter,” the adventurer leader said, taking his eyes off Frain. “He-”

“I’m not trusting a thief with the supplies of the mission,” Frain interrupted. “To say nothing about what we bring back.”

Oswald let out a groan, but strangely didn’t say anything in response to that. Marstin looked back and forth between the two, then sighed.

“Um, if I’m causing a problem-”

“You are,” Frain glared.

“-then I don’t mind sitting this one out. I’m sure I can find someone else who can watch me,” Marstin smiled bravely, though he knew, judging by Frain’s over-the-top reaction, that his words would likely end up being falsehoods. What was the Thrawnby incident? He’d never heard of such a thing from the other thieves, not that they had ever bothered to talk to him beyond orders and verbal abuse.

Oswald’s heavy hand fell onto Marstin’s shoulder and gripped it tight. “You’re coming with us, Marstin,” he said tightly. “I made a promise to the sisters, and you deserve a chance, just like everyone else. An orphan,” he emphasized the word slowly, “deserves the chance to work for a better life.”

Frain’s face suddenly turned a slight shade of pink, and she turned away awkwardly. Marstin felt very confused.

“Then it’s settled,” Oswald announced, Marstin not understanding how or why he was settled, “Marstin here is joining us on the ruins investigation, as a porter. His pay will be dependent on his performance, and I’ll write a review of his abilities after the mission is complete. Everyone in agreement?”

Yarrow and George answered ‘Yes’ and ‘Ay’, and Frain muttered ‘Okay’ under her breath. Oswald smiled, returning to his good-natured aura, and clapped his hands. “Then everything is good. George, have you all bought the supplies from the supply depot?”

“Yes boss, here you go,” the big man said, reaching down under the table and throwing an adventurer bag at Oswald. “Enough rations for three days for 4; so, I suppose, enough rations for 2 days for 5 of us,” he quickly amended. “and the usual ruin equipment: rope, heavy powder, heatless torches, air purifier, and the rest.”

Oswald poked his head into the bag, a rather alarming sight for Marstin to see half a man’s head vanish into the void and came out smiling. “Good work, then. If there is nothing else, are we all ready? Marstin, do you need to get anything? Last chance.”

“No Sir; everything important I own is on me,” Marstin reported. He failed to catch Frain biting her lips at his words, nor the pitying looks from George and Yarrow. “I’m ready to go now, Sir *cough*.” Marstin frowned as his cough came back, and he rubbed his mouth in annoyance.

“Well then, let’s be on our way!” Oswald announced.

Chapter 20

Marstin hadn’t been sure what it meant to be a porter. After all, Oswald had shown him the miraculous adventurer bag that seemed to have an almost limitless storage capacity. Why would such a group require someone to carry their luggage? His answer had come fairly quickly when all four members of the Iron Yaks dumped their adventurer bags onto him. As it turned out, if the bags were damaged, such as during combat, then there was a chance the items within would be expelled, locked away until the bag was fixed, or lost forever. Thus, a porter’s job was to avoid combat and ensure that every bag in their possession remained free of trouble.

Marstin felt rather silly wearing four bags, each of a different size and color; but luckily, it seemed his appearance wasn’t out of the ordinary as he followed the group out of town. He nodded politely to the two gate guards, the same pair who had pointed him in the right direction toward the guild. The right guard elbowed the left guard with a wink, and both waved good luck as Marstin and the group entered the wilderness.

They didn’t stay on the main path out of town very long, with Oswald pulling a compass out of his pants. He beckoned Marstin over and removed a slip of paper from his adventurer bag.

“The ruins we’re set to explore are a few hours southeast of town,” he said, “That direction, it seems. Standard formation; I’ll lead, and Frain will be the tail. George and Yarrow in the middle, and Marstin, you stick in front of Frain. Understood?”

“Yes, Boss,” the three adventurers chorused, with Marstin following quickly along. Oswald patted Marstin on the head and returned the paper to his bag, removing a map on the way out, which he paired with the compass. Stowing the compass and map safely away, he led the group into the forest.

Marstin kept silent as the group made their way through the cool forest. It was spring now, the odd season of Istut in which the frigid frost of winter slowly gave way to a moderate, yet still cool, summer. Though winter fought back hard, sometimes causing snow to fall days after melting, the signs of new life were all around to see. With silence pervading the group as they made their way through brush and damp ground, Marstin allowed his eyes to wander.

Though his home and the trash yard stood on the edge of the forest, he’d never made it a habit to enter the trees, in fear of what he could find. After all, every creature hardy enough to survive in Istut was either a monster or very resilient, neither things he could afford to deal with. Even the most common snow rabbit was quite capable of a solid kick to the gonads when provoked, to say nothing of horned rabbits, snow bunnies, or mimic rabbits. The last were, by far, the most terrifying, of course; they were actually a type of demon monster, which preyed on anything foolish enough to try and eat it. No, the town was much safer.

He shook his head, throwing away his distractions. He cleared his throat and looked over at Yarrow. She actually was slightly taller than him, he acknowledged begrudgingly. “So, is this the group’s first time investigating a ruin?” he asked curiously.

Yarrow turned her head to meet his gaze. “No, we’ve been on several ruin investigation missions before. It’s an uncommon job, but they tend to pile up, since most adventurers prefer hunting or monster extermination quests. Looking over dusty ruins isn’t exactly a demonstration of strength.” She rolled her eyes, a sarcastic grin playing across her face.

“So, what’s it like?” Marstin asked. “I mean, how did the other ruin investigations go for you all?”

Yarrow tossed her hair with a proud smile, bordering on arrogant. “They went perfectly, of course. The Iron Yaks are a well-regarded adventurer team back in town, especially with Oswald closing in on C-rank. We specialize in the tasks no one else will take, making us invaluable to the guild. The ruin investigations we’ve taken have all ended with complete exploration, recording, and even a recovery of an ancient artifact.”

“Don’t listen to her exaggerations,” Oswald called back, his head only slightly turning enough to eye them. “We almost died getting the artifact, and she wasn’t yet part of the group.”

“I was about to tell him that,” Yarrow grumbled under her breath. “As Oswald mentioned to you before, I am an Istutian Polar Wizard- I assume you see the similarity of my profession with Olivia and her sisters?”

“Right, they’re Istutian Polar Hunters,” Marstin nodded. “So that makes you part of their group.”

“They can be considered related to me, yes. But only by our shared tribal origins,” Yarrow explained patiently. “They are part of a different tribe that borders my tribe’s land. My tribe has their own polar hunters, and their tribe equally possesses their own polar wizards. Though we are separated by tribe, our shared professions help to bridge the gap between us.”

“When I met Olivia, she explained to me a little bit about her origins, but she didn’t mention this. So that makes your tribes like cities, and your professions like guilds, then?” Marstin asked.

“You can consider it so,” the black-haired woman nodded. “Though, this is only true of the last hundred years. Before then, the tribes were locked in an endless struggle for survival.” Yarrow’s eyes dimmed as she seemed to recall distant memories. “My teacher’s teacher was among the last to remember those times. Back then, the tribes were treated as lesser humans and discriminated against, so there was no trade. We could only get by with hunting and scavenging for winter fruit, but the former was dangerous, and the latter was limited. Apparently, we did trade with the devils, but their cost was exploitative for our furs. Sometimes they’d even pay or steal strong or good-looking members of the tribes to serve them. The tribes were on the verge of extinction.”

Around them, the other three members of the group kept a solemn silence. This was an ugly piece of Istut’s history, but one that had to be taught, or otherwise the tragedy would be forgotten, at risk of being repeated.

“But,” Yarrow smiled, a gleam dancing in her eyes, “the Adventurer Guild changed all that. Those heroes who rose up, they changed everything. They fought back against tradition, discrimination, and prejudice to open the doors not only for the tribes, but all peoples. The tribes are proud knowing that a member who had left to find work was among these first heroes, forging a path to survival by opening equal trade with the rest of Istut and persuading the royal family to acknowledge us and our lands as true citizens of the country. As such, it is our honor to send out younger members of the tribes, like myself, to experience and help the world through the Guild, or stronger members such as Olivia and her sisters to show that we exist, we are strong, and we can help. Since then, we no longer have to worry about starving, nor fear freezing to death for lack of fur to keep us warm.”

“That’s an amazing story,” Marstin said honestly, his eyes agleam with his imagined image of those first adventurers. “I had no idea a single organization has had such a large impact on the world. It really makes me feel honored to be a part of it.”

“You should,” Yarrow agreed. “But, the Guild isn’t infallible. There are plenty who join with selfish intentions in mind, and it’s impossible to govern such a large, multinational organization down to the grassroots. That’s one reason why we were hesitant to let you join; thievery is not a noble profession.”

Marstin said nothing in response.

“Now, now, Yarrow,” George piped up from the other side of Marstin, “that’s no way to end a conversation. Remember what I’ve taught you: Always end on an encouraging or happy word when speaking with others.”

The large man winked over at Marstin. “Do not take offense from the little one here. The tribes are normally very blunt and unceremonious when it comes to their words, especially the little ones. They have to be taught that the world can be described in many ways, not only in such unemotional observations.”

Yarrow blushed softly, mumbling a soft apology to Marstin.

“So, how long has Yarrow been part of your group?” Marstin asked.

“Oh, almost a year now,” George said after a moment’s thought. “The tribes send out their younglings near the beginning of summer, when it’s the safest to traverse the wilderness. They travel with the trade caravans to the capital city, where a tribal embassy is stationed all year. They determine where the younglings end up, though they still possess a ‘throw the child off a cliff’ mentality. Poor little one here was on the verge of starving when she wandered into the Guild, I recall, having lost her coin purse.”

“I didn’t mean to forget it in the caravan,” Yarrow teared up, punching George pitifully with her little fists. “Don’t tell him that!” George only laughed deeply, with Oswald snickering from the front and even Frain smiling softly. Marstin watched as the adventurers began a quibble quarrel, jabbing each other with various mistakes each one had made. George had once attempted to cook a certain fruit, not realizing he’d grabbed a smoke bomb by accident. Oswald had once forgotten to close his door, while he was posing in front of a mirror, admiring himself in his new armor. Frain had once beat a man for trying to flirt with her – only to learn later that the unfortunate fellow was a clothier inspired by her looks and outfit. Marstin couldn’t help joining in the giggles and sniggers as the party made their way through the forest, the journey made quicker by the endless distraction of revelry.

It didn’t take much longer, it felt, for the group to reach the base of a mountain. Unlike what Marstin had been expecting, the gradual incline was gone, replaced by a sheer cliff that climbed up much higher than he was comfortable seeing. The ground was littered with rumble and runoff from the rain and movements of the ground, a mess to be sure, but one that had revealed the entrance to the ruin. The cliff’s uneven surface was broken by an archway sitting a foot off the ground and half-obscured by a rock.

“That’s the ruin, there,” Oswald confirmed, after checking his map and compass. “The last rainstorm caused an avalanche that broke whatever mechanism was hiding the entrance. It was found by a local hunter and reported to the town, who then made the request to the Guild.”

“So, what is this ruin, then?” Marstin asked.

“It isn’t like humans or anyone else around were the first civilizations to exist on Palos,” Frain explained from behind him, her face unreadable. “Every once in a while, ruins and remains from those extinct people will pop up. This isn’t limited to mountains, of course; some ruins are buried under the grass, and others are beneath a lake. While they aren’t consistent, their treatment is: report, investigate, and subdue.”

“Subdue? Are the ruins alive?!” Marstin examined the half-hidden archway in wonder.

“Sometimes,” Oswald nodded. “There’s always the chance the ruins are actually a dungeon in disguise, or one born within the ruins themselves. Usually, though, a ruin is just a dwelling that managed to survive the passage of time. Good for historians to investigate, but not much else. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some relic from the past with some historic value.”

“And, if we’re unlucky?” Marstin couldn’t help but inquire.

“That’s why we brought weapons,” was all Oswald said, though his eyes did narrow for just a moment. Marstin gulped.

The group entered the archway, though George did require some help squeezing past the stone. Once inside, Oswald removed a torch and lit it, leading the way inside. The hallway was about as narrow as normal passage, but the ceiling was twice the length as what it should have been, Marstin observed. In fact, it wouldn’t be so out of place to say the hallway was giant.

“Hold up; there’s a room ahead,” Oswald reported a moment later. Marstin peeked over Yarrow’s head, but all he could see was the faint, flickering darkness. After a moment of concentration, he realized that there was more shadow than there should have been, meaning the passage walls no longer continued. Marstin understood this was Oswald’s experience at work; he himself wouldn’t have noticed until the room was right in front of him.

Oswald beckoned Marstin with his hand. Marstin shuffled over and held the adventurer bags up. The adventure team leader reached into George’s bag and pulled out what appeared to be a brick. Tossing it a couple of times in his hand, Oswald threw it out like a skipping stone. There was a short blast of light and sound, blinding Marstin, followed by a still nothingness.

“Seems to be safe,” Oswald murmured, resuming his march into the darkness. Yarrow grabbed hold of Marstin’s hand and led him, while he struggled to recover his eyes.

“That happened to me my first time, too,” she whispered back at him.

As Oswald had seen, the passage emptied into a large room, covered in the dust of ages past. The walls were decorated in patterns of shapes: triangles, diamonds, and ovals forming what seemed to be flowers. There was no additional passage to explore. Oswald passed out torches to everyone and motioned for the group to split around the room. Marstin stuck with George as they examined the far wall.

“This is a pretty room,” Marstin couldn’t help but note.

George nodded. “Yes, which means this place was likely a dwelling of some sort, as expected. Judging by the size, however, this must have belonged to someone from the ancient giant people.”

“Is that common, in Istut, to find in a ruin?” Marstin wondered.

“It’s rare,” George murmured as he led Marstin down the wall. “The ruins of the ancient giant people are more commonly found in the Southern countries on the west side of Palos, though still uncommon. Historians believe the civilization of the ancient giant people was the strongest civilization, two cycles ago. Ah, you can consider this the human cycle by the way. The previous cycle was the elvish cycle, and before them, I believe, was a type of devil cycle. The giants were before them.”

“How did they die out?” Marstin asked curiously.

“No one knows,” George revealed as he stopped to examine one of the flower shapes. “The elves collapsed from civil war, and the devils did something to trigger a divine calamity; but the giants are still a mystery. The most common theory is that they starved to death, honestly. Not the best, but there is very little else to go on. The only thing we do know is that they were great artisans, as much of what is found leftover is their art, like these flowers.”

Marstin examined the wall once again. He frowned, as something was bothering him. As a thief, he was well-versed in the nature of mechanisms, patterns, and the habits of those who possessed things. The flower patterns around the room were remarkably abstract enough to cause one’s eyes to wander; yet, it seemed too fishy to Marstin. After all, why would an empty room be decorated with such well-painted artistry, without even a place to sit. Also, though the painting seemed high to him, he couldn’t help but notice that the art was below the halfway point of the wall’s height. If a giant were in this room, it would have to bend down to examine the flowers.

“Hey George,” Marstin spoke up, “I think there is something wrong with this room.”

“Oh?” George turned curiously to examine Marstin. “What makes you say this, youngling?”

Marstin pointed. “The painting is too far down to be at eye level with a giant, and the patterns encourage only a single glance to know what the entire painting looks like. It’s as if the painter sought to discourage viewers from examining the wall for long periods of time.”

George scratched his chin thoughtfully. After a moment, he called Oswald over and the two exchanged a short conversation. Oswald turned to look at Marstin with a gleam in his eye.

“Marstin, if you were going to hide something in this room, where would you put it?” he asked.

Marstin looked around the room.

“The far wall is the first thing anyone would see upon entering,” he reasoned. “It is the most focal point in the room, and after taking one’s fill of the painting, you’d turn around, note the same painting all around, and leave . . . without examining the two paintings on the walls connected to the passage.” He pointed at the left and right walls where the flowers abruptly ended. “I’d squirrel away something there.”

Oswald nodded and pondered for just a moment before walking to the right wall.

“Frain lend me your body,” he called.

“Here?” Frain’s incredulous question echoed from the left side. “Now’s not the best time for that, boss! I require at least dinner first.”

“Not like that!” Oswald protested. “Just come here.” Frain grumbled as she made her way over, though she did take the time to listen to Oswald’s thoughts.

The five members of the group gathered as Frain was lifted onto Oswald’s shoulders, who grimaced in pain.

“Frain drop your sword,” he complained. “It’s too heavy.”

“I left it on the ground,” Frain’s cold voice growled from up above. Oswald shut his mouth. Frain moved her hands across the painting, before her hand suddenly fell into one of the central flower pieces. A loud, audible ‘thunk’ sound echoed in the room, and suddenly the cacophony of something moving revealed itself. Marstin turned and watched in surprise as the left wall below the painting suddenly sank into the ground, revealing a second, smaller room. It was almost human size.

After Frain landed safely, Oswald clapped Marstin on the back cheerfully. “Good job, kid! You’ve unearthed a hidden room, with your own keen observations, on your very first try! I would have missed it, if you hadn’t said anything.”

Marstin blushed as Yarrow and George echoed Oswald’s words, with even Frain nodding her head in approval. The five walked to the edge of the new room and peered in.

The new room was shallow, resembling more a storage closet or pantry than a proper room. There were four shelves, two of which were covered in doors of some kind.

Yarrow’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Now, I can finally say I found a relic, too,” she cheered. Before anyone could stop her, she took a step forward to get a better look.

“Wait!” Oswald roared, but he was too late. Yarrow’s foot touched down and sank with another click. The girl froze, her smile falling in horror as she realized what she’d done. Her eyes looked down onto the pressure plate she’d activated.

“Boss,” she whimpered.

“Don’t move, Yarrow,” Oswald ordered. He got onto his hands and knees and leaned over to examine the plate, before getting back up and looking around.

“I don’t see anything that resembles an opening for arrows, spikes, or boulders,” he said as his eyes whipped back and forth in expert fashion. “George, do we have anything that can replace her weight?”

“I don’t think that’ll work, boss,” George shook his head as he examined the pressure plate himself. “I’m not an expert, but judging by the sound, whatever has been triggered is already activated. Any change in weight – even for a moment, I imagine – would only cause the trap to go off.”

“Just leave then,” Yarrow whimpered bravely. “Once you’re all clear, I can try to run away.”

“The Iron Yaks don’t leave members behind,” Oswald snorted. “Now be quiet and let us think.”

Marstin examined the room ahead as the three older adventurers began to argue about what to do. His eyes fell upon the sealed shelves, then the lower-than-normal painting, before finally noting how the room was sitting on the ground below the painting.

“What’s the size of vermin for a giant?” Marstin asked suddenly.

The three adults stopped talking and turned to face Marstin. “What?” Oswald asked.

“When I store the little food I can find, I have to make sure vermin can’t get to it,” Marstin explained. “The best thing I can do is make a trap that kil- I mean, incapacitates the mice or rats. This room, it’s a lot smaller than it should be, and low on the ground,” Marstin gestured up at the painting. “This is a good hiding place for a giant, but also one that things smaller than a giant could get into. Like hiding gold in a mousehole.”

“Like a mouse hole hm,” Oswald considered. “If so, then what is the trap?

“Just like a mouse trap,” Marstin pointed up, “It snaps.”

The four adventurers paled as they realized what Marstin meant. The wall that had sunk into the ground was right under Yarrow, and if it suddenly closed . . .

“Could you disable the trap?” George asked suddenly.

Marstin shook his head. “There isn’t an opening to the mechanism here, and it would take too long to dig it out carefully without triggering it. But, this kind of trap should have a resetting mechanism, as well; otherwise, the giant would have to do it itself.”

“You mean the button?” Frain asked, looking back at the hidden switch.

“I’m sure that would just activate the trap, instead,” Marstin shook his head. “But, given that this is a place to hide something, I imagine the reset switch to be . . ..”

Under everyone’s shocked gaze, Marstin ran at full force into the wall to the left of the opening. He bounced off and rolled, groaning. He got back up and ran full pelt into the right wall. There was a small shudder as the wall moved slightly before moving back into position, sending Marstin back onto the floor.

With an understanding gleam, the three other adventurers copied Marstin and ran together into the wall. The wall sank, and the third audible click echoed through the room. Oswald didn’t hesitate as he threw a rope he’d somehow produced from nothing around Yarrow and pulled. The smaller girl sailed through the air with a scream before landing in Oswald’s arms. The rope vanished, and Yarrow sobbed into Oswald’s shoulder. He patted her with a smile.

“Good job, Marstin,” was all he said, but his smile told Marstin everything.

Once the catharsis of the situation had faded away, the group carefully leaped over the trapped pressure plates, as they were arranged in a row, and investigated the shelves. To their disappointment, the shelves were completely empty while the shelf doors were locked. Marstin saved the day again when he whipped out his special thief tools and worked on the locks. Oswald and Frain had mixed expressions on their faces while Marstin worked, noting his confident and experienced hand motions as the locks submitted to his touch. Their faces instantly changed, however, when Marstin opened the first locked shelf door.

*****

The Guild Hall was filled with cheers as the adventurers all celebrated. Upon their return, Oswald had submitted his report on the ruin and their prize: a trio of ancient, preserved leather rolls, enough to cover the Guild Hall floor three times. The supply depo announced it to be a type of extinct wyvern skin, which made it incredibly valuable. This type of skin had been found before, with historians believing it to be the preferred material of the ancient giants to create canvases for their art.

With the reward revealed to be enormous, Oswald covered the entire guild for a drink and started the party.

Marstin sat on a chair next to the wall, smiling softly as the jubilations continued. He sipped his drink slowly, unfamiliar with the taste of alcohol but enjoying the warm feeling it gave him. His musings were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Yarrow smiling down at him.

“What are you doing here in the corner?” she asked.

“Just, being here I suppose,” he answered, unsure of the correct response. He didn’t want to say he felt uncomfortable in crowds, especially drunk crowds, from whom, in his past, he would have found it easy to pilfer.

She pouted. “No way! You’re the boy of the hour, and I owe you a dance!” She grabbed Marstin’s arm and pulled him out of the chair.

“What? You don’t owe me a dance,” he protested, slightly ashamed he lacked the strength to fight her as he was dragged into the merry crowd.

“You saved my life, so it’s only right I dance with you,” she nodded sagely. “It’s a custom of the tribe, and you wouldn’t want me to break tradition, would you?”

Helpless, Marstin resigned himself to his fate as he was dragged into one of the open circles of dancing adventurers. He couldn’t help but smile as the infectious energy of those around him lifted his mood, and he spent the rest of the night dancing merrily. On the wall, George and Frain watched the merriment from afar.

“He did good for a youngling,” George pointed out. “Not only is one of our team still alive because of Marstin’s cleverness. But also, certainly, this is one of the most valuable finds in years, and he didn’t even think once of stealing it.”

“He didn’t know what it was, so that doesn’t say much,” Frain countered. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

George sighed, but said nothing more as he enjoyed his drink.

As the night continued, Marstin felt more and more weary until he could barely stand, exhaustion and alcohol taking him. A drunk Oswald dragged Marstin to one of the communal rooms on the second floor and dumped him on a bed before falling into one himself. The room was soon filled with the sound of snoring as the twenty-plus drunk adventurers slept off the night’s revelry. It was broken only by the occasional cough and sneeze from a pale, sweating hunter, who shivered despite the room’s warmth.

Chapter 21

Despite the new influxes of bacteria from outside of the body into the respiratory system, Progen could handle it. His traps that he set up worked quite well, catching at least 80% of the bacteria that flowed inside after every couple of breaths that the lungs took, and either destroyed them instantly with his Localized Compressions or held them in place with the Suspensions – where they would be swallowed up shortly afterwards via his nearby Newts. The 20% that managed to avoid the traps would either attach to the lining of the throat or make it into the lungs, where the dungeon crystal used a portion of his concentration to locate them instantly; it was easy enough to send in his immune cells waiting nearby for just such an occurrence, and they were easily eliminated before they could even start to replicate.

Overall, taking over responsibility for eliminating the incoming pathogens was beneficial – because it gave Progen more and more mana. He used this mana to continue building up his army of immune cells, and adding them into the respiratory system primarily, though he kept a decent reactive force inside of the stomach, as some bacteria seemed to want to creep down there, even without the body eating or drinking anything. Luckily, he had spread out his bevy of Reporters he had available throughout the entirety of his influence, which alerted him to the presence of new infection sites. It was difficult to keep tabs on every part of the body he could observe without them, so he was thankful that they could and would alert him in case something appeared out of his direct focus.

Meanwhile, as he took over the duties of keeping the body healthy, Progen expanded his influence throughout the circulatory system. Starting with the blood vessels attached to the lungs, he managed to expand enough into where the red blood vessels flowed quickly through, bringing much needed oxygen to the rest of the body. It cost a little extra to do so – since it wasn’t fully under his influence yet – but the dungeon crystal created more Reporters to travel exclusively through the new frontier, giving him a good picture of what was ahead of him that he hadn’t influenced yet…which was a lot, it turned out.

“How large is this system?  It feels like it’s going on forever.”

The circulatory system is quite extensive. It travels through every part of the body, where the blood vessels bring much-needed nutrients to the cells of the body and taking waste away from those areas at the same time. As such, it is one of the largest and most important systems in the body, so it will take you a while to completely influence it properly.

“Obviously.”  The hours passed as he quickly infused mana through the tiny capillaries, veins, and larger blood vessels throughout the entire body. Because they were smaller in size in comparison to the intestines, stomach, and lungs, the infusion of mana was quite easy and rapid; however, the sheer number of them throughout the body was staggering. It was almost a full day before he finally finished all the smaller vessels, before moving onto the larger arteries and finally the heart.

The muscle that pumped blood throughout the body was still as impressive as the first time Progen had witnessed it in action. It was even more so when he was able to watch it work from his influence, as he saw it perform its job flawlessly – and how it worked in conjunction with the other organs in the body. There were multiple instances where the lungs would start to inflate and deflate at faster intervals, and the heart would start pumping blood faster through the blood vessels; the muscular system of the body, which the dungeon crystal witnessed the blood flowing rapidly into and out of quickly, seemed to be under strain on occasion; though it was hard to tell completely, because he didn’t have any influence over it. That was something he knew he wanted to do soon, though, as it was another step on his journey to take over this body to convert to a full-fledged dungeon.

Food and liquids were consumed multiple times during his expansion throughout the circulatory system, and that slowed down his progress somewhat. The body’s natural functions – other than the immune system – were still functioning properly, of course, but the “good” bacteria levels in the gastrointestinal tract were so low that there were some issues. First, the “good” bacteria were there to aid in the breakdown of food particles, as well as eliminating simple “bad” bacteria that arrived, hidden within those undigested food chunks.

“Is there any way to recreate them?  They are taking entirely too long to multiply; I can make immune cells, so why not bacteria?”

Affirmative. If you acquired their particular DNA signature, they could indeed be reproduced.

“How do I—wait!  My Historians!”  While they were helpful in spreading out the proper information to his Naïve Killer and Spawner immune cells so that they could properly combat the bacteria flowing into the body, they hadn’t been overly useful. If they could be used to reproduce those bacteria, however, then they could be extremely helpful.

Without further contemplation, Progen created a Historian near his appendix base, before sending it to touch one of the four main types of good bacteria that he saw inside of the organ. There were technically a lot more varieties, though he thought that with those, he should be able to fix a lot of the problems with digestion inside the intestines.

When that was done, he wasn’t sure what to do next – until he remembered the first grey screen that Stemmy had showed him a few days ago. When he thought about it, he felt the mana trickle out of him, and his Cell Options Available were quickly shown to him…with a bit of a surprise.

Cell Options Available

Available Mana: 547/798

Tier 1

Stem Cell – 10 Mana

Immune Cells – Unlocked

Foreign Bacteria Cluster 1 – 10 Mana

Foreign Bacteria Cluster 2 – 15 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 1 – 5 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 2 – 5 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 3 – 5 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 4 – 5 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

“Foreign Bacteria Cluster?  Is that what I think it means?”

Unknown. Stemmy is unaware of your internal thought processes.

The interneuron cell sounded like it was trying to be a bit cheeky, even if such a thing likely wasn’t possible. The amused dungeon crystal tried again.

“Does this mean I can create the hostile bacteria that has been recorded in one of my Historians?”

That is correct.

“Why would I want to do that?  Never mind, don’t answer that.”  There was no way he would create any of the hostile bacteria, even if it was under his control. His immune cells were much stronger individually, even if the clusters of bacteria were stronger in larger groups; regardless, keeping a supply of those foreign pathogens around didn’t seem like the smartest idea.

Instead, he concentrated on each of the “Gut” bacteria clusters and started creating them inside of the appendix. He was surprised to find that each cluster contained not just a handful, but 50 of each bacteria type. Creating 10 clusters of each was a good start, especially when he sent them out to begin their natural process of breaking down the food particulates running through the intestines. Thankfully, they seemed to know exactly what to do without any direction, and Progen soon left them to their duties; it was only when he checked back an hour later, to see if he needed to produce some more, that he got another surprise.

His new gut bacteria soldiers had multiplied considerably since he had taken his attention away from them.

“Uh…Stemmy?  Is this normal?  And will they reproduce too much?

That speed of reproduction is abnormal, which is most likely caused by their origination from a mana source. You should be able to limit them so that they do not expand beyond what the body needs and can handle, because otherwise this will cause additional problems.

That was good to know, because the 2,000 bacteria he had originally created had blossomed into what he guessed was nearly a million by that time. It went a long way to replenishing the billions that had been destroyed because of the strange healing potion earlier, at least. By concentrating on the scattered clusters that had drifted through the intestinal tract, he was able to mentally picture how many bacteria he had seen before and set that limit on them so that they wouldn’t exceed that approximation. Whether or not that attempted limit-setting had worked was still to be seen.

Progen couldn’t completely infuse mana into the circulatory system, because a portion of it was inside of the body’s head. Just as it had done before, whenever he tried to push his attention near the brain, it was like he ran into a wall; there was no indication of exactly why he couldn’t reach that particular spot, and Stemmy was no use, either, when Progen asked the interneuron cell.

“Once I take over everything else, I’m going to force my way in, no matter what it takes.”  Basically, he needed to gain access to the brain in order to gain control of everything, and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way. He would’ve tried to do it already, but he instinctively knew that he wasn’t powerful enough; fortunately, for every system he gained influence over, he could feel himself getting stronger in his capacity for wielding mana, both in terms of his maximum, and in regard to how to manipulate it, for the mutual benefit of the body that had become his new home, and himself.

Whether it was because he couldn’t complete his acquisition of the entire circulatory system or for some other unknown reason, Progen hit 850 Mana for his maximum and didn’t seem to gain anything special from the increase. That was no matter, though, because all he had to do was spread his influence to another system…right?

You have surpassed the 90% threshold for this system, which means you can start spreading your mana through another one without losing any progress. However, until you acquire another entire system, it is unlikely for there to be any other improvements.

That…was disappointing, but he figured it was only a matter of time before another system was finished. Therefore, he started on the immune system, which Stemmy mentioned was called the lymphatic system, because it seemed the most logical.

“Do you think I can help build the immune system back up from its source?”

Possibly. By spreading your influence over through the spleen, thymus, and bone marrow, you may be able to speed up the production of immune cells, though this is not guaranteed.

“That’s better than a no, at least.”  It wasn’t as though killing the incoming bacteria was particularly difficult, but Progen was worried that something serious had happened outside of his realm of influence. If there were a parasite or a virus he couldn’t contain, or if there were an injury somewhere externally on the body that he couldn’t affect, there were only so many of the body’s white blood cells around to help reach those areas. In fact, the dungeon crystal had barely seen any immune cells, recently, other than his own; though as soon as he took over the spleen, which Stemmy had identified as a large organ near the stomach, he found out why.

The massive organ, which appeared almost deflated despite the blood running through it, was nearly empty of any immune cells – but there were a few.

He had to ask because it seemed strange. “Stemmy, how many of these are supposed to be here?”

Normally, there should be millions of different Macrophages, T Cells, and B Cells stored in here.

“Millions, huh?  So, the few dozen I’m seeing of different kinds is a bad thing, right?”

Correct.

Progen knew that the effect on the immune cells from the healing potions had been bad, based on what he had seen in the lungs afterward, but his sense of how bad or why had been a bit abstract. Now, though, seeing the frighteningly small number of Cleaners, Veteran Killers, and Spawners around, it really hit him how utterly depleted the immune system was compared to its nominal operation.

“If I weren’t monitoring the bacteria coming in right now and destroying them, I have a feeling this body would be dead by now. Does this change your estimate on how long it will take the immune system to recover?

Yes. Stemmy’s previous estimate of 2 to 3 days is no longer accurate. A new estimate of at least 2 to 3 weeks is more realistic.

Great. That estimate was only extended when he finished influencing the spleen and moved on to the thymus, which was also only containing a very small number of Killer cells inside. It was only when he moved to the bone marrow, located in the middle of the body’s skeletal system, that Progen found something encouraging: Newts. Thousands of Newts were being stored inside the small vertebrae bone inside of the marrow there, which he hadn’t seen while taking over the rest of the circulatory system. That was just the start of it, though, as there were even more in the next bone, and the next after that; still, it was barely any, compared to how many there should be inside the marrow.

There was another surprise in the marrow: Stem cells, from which Stemmy, himself, had originated. Just as Stemmy had been turned into an interneuron cell, these stem cells were transforming into different immune cells through what appeared to be a lengthy process. Although there were comparatively more stem cells when measured against the Newts that Progen saw, the process of turning a stem cell into anything beneficial was slow. Stemmy’s estimation of 2 to 3 weeks seemed more accurate at that point, especially as he tried to determine how long it would take a single immune cell to be created from start to finish; long story short, it was at least a day, possibly more.

Creating immune cells from mana was much more efficient.

Progen was barely starting on his third bone marrow section with his mana infusions when something out of the ordinary happened. He was getting used to a relatively normal routine of seeing food and liquids pour down the throat and into the stomach, but something was different about the quantity and composition coming in, and it was different enough that it had caught his attention. The stomach quickly filled up with food until it was at capacity, and the liquid coming in wasn’t water – it was thicker and brownish. That wasn’t that big of a deal, honestly, because the body could handle it; it was the thinning out of the red blood vessels as a result of the body processing the liquid that worried him a little more.

What worried him the most, however, was the introduction of a new type of pathogen inside of the body, completely unlike the bacteria that he had been successfully fighting before: A virus.

Chapter 22

“What is that?!” Progen asked, seeing massive clumps of cells entering the mouth in quick succession. A good number of them were caught by his traps set up in the trachea and bronchial tube junction, but some got through. When they hit the open space of the lungs, the clumps seemed to break apart and scatter along the inner layer of the constantly inflating and deflating organs.

That appears to be a virus of some kind.

Progen assumed it was something like that, because each virus cell was wholly different from any of the bacteria he had seen. First, whereas the bacterial pathogens ranged from a quarter to perhaps a tenth of his Newts in size, these “virus” cells were tiny. The only thing tinier than them that the dungeon crystal had seen were the antibodies released by his Spawners; the projectiles from his immune cell were about a fifth of the size of one of the virus cells, which was saying something.

Second, instead of being generally ovoid cylinder-shaped, the viruses were fairly spherical, with small protrusions sticking out in patches on three sides. The protrusions weren’t exactly spikes, as they looked more like primitive hands and short arms sticking out, and Progen wasn’t sure what they were used for at first. Once they landed on the lungs, though, the dungeon crystal could see that their “hands” helped them to stick to the inner lung lining.

“Um…where did they go?”

Viruses replicate by invading a host cell and forcing the cell to create multiple copies of itself before being released and spread to other cells. The process occasionally destroys the host cell in this releasing process, though not always. Regardless, the host cell will continue producing virions until the host cell is destroyed.

“Wait—they are called virions?  They aren’t cells?”

Yes. No.

Whatever they were, the third major difference between the bacteria and these virions was that they disappeared soon after touching the cells lining the lung. As in, one moment they were there, and the next…they were gone. Progen had already dispatched some of his Newts to kill some of them, thinking he had plenty of time to gobble them all up before they could replicate. But now that they were hiding inside of the cells, his Newts were entirely ineffective. They couldn’t absorb an entire lung wall's cells, nor would he want them to.

Fortunately, he had a few inactivated Naïve Killer immune cells waiting nearby if he needed them – and he had just the thing for gathering the information on them. He sent one of his Historians to the Suspension trap that still contained a few clusters of the virus…and had to pull it back after a moment, because one of the virions nearly entered the immune cell. Luckily, the Suspension trap kept it in place long enough that his Historian was able to get a sample of it and start processing it for use by his other immune cells.

After that, a dozen of his Novice Killer cells were activated, and Progen sent them into the lung to start the purge. The problem, though, was that he could only recognize about 50 cells that had the virus inside of them; once the virions were inside, it was nearly impossible to tell where they were. His Killer cells weren’t gentle as they basically tore up the infected cells he knew about. Spinning and chewing up the lung lining was destructive, to say the least, but it was necessary – and it worked. In the process of basically killing the larger cell – the lining cells were a few times bigger than even the Killer cell – the viruses hiding inside were eradicated as well.

That…well, that was when another wave of the virus entered the mouth and flowed down to the lungs, though some ended up along the trachea and bronchial tubes. Within a few moments of them landing somewhere, they all disappeared!  There were now thousands of infected cells, and Progen had no way to find them. His Reporters were watching everywhere and were able to pinpoint where they were when they landed, but they didn’t exactly have a memory.

“Stemmy, how does the body usually find all of these viruses?  I’m not going to just tear up every cell in the entire respiratory system – there are millions of them!” he despaired, at a loss of what to do next. Granted, he could always destroy them all, one-by-one, and then repair them using his mana, but that would take a lot of mana – and time. Time in which the viruses could continue replicating and send out their clones! Then again, waiting until that happened, to see where they were, could work; but then that would just be reacting, instead of proactively removing them.

Normally, Killer T-Cells that have encountered a specific virus before are used to locate and destroy infected cells. While your activated Naïve T-Cells are uniquely suited to killing infected cells, they lack the ability to locate them when those viruses are inside of an infected cell.

“Ok, then, call some up using the neural network. I’ve seen some in the spleen, at least, so hopefully there will be some still there.”

Unfortunately, there weren’t.

Oh, there was a sudden influx of Veteran Killer cells, once Stemmy put the word out; but none of them seemed to want to locate and destroy any of the virus-infected cells. Basically, it was a dead end. Progen was screwed, especially when a third, fourth, and fifth wave of virions invaded his dungeon body and made themselves at home inside cells. Progen was getting better at identifying where they went, but there were still thousands of them out among the cells of the respiratory system, just waiting to release more to increase the spread of their infection.

The insidiousness of the virus was both annoying and frustrating – and Progen didn’t like it.

Memory T Cells are used to provide the correct information to the Stem Cells, creating the proper Killer T Cell to combat this virus properly. It is likely that the Memory T Cell containing this information was destroyed along with all the rest, and now it requires a new one to obtain the proper information to begin production.

The dungeon crystal had asked what could be done to produce the correct Veteran Killer immune cells in the body, and he was pleased to find that he could help with that. All he had to do was send one of his Historians down to some bone marrow, find some stem cells, and pass along the information on the virus. It was a little more complicated than that, naturally, as it involved injecting the information from the Historian at the proper time and convincing the transforming cell to accept it…but it was successful. As soon as the transforming stem cell had the right information, a new Veteran Killer cell was born and sent to the lung, where it immediately went to work, sniffing out the correct cells and destroying them, along with the virus.

Granted, it was only one, and the Veteran Killer was relatively slow – but, again, his process worked. Progen attempted to convince more stem cells to make more Veteran Killers, but he could only get a few out of every 1,000 he saw to take it; he didn’t have control or any type of influence over then entire immune system, after all, and they had other – stupid, if he had an opinion – priorities of what they wanted to produce. Basically, he was stuck with maybe a dozen every half hour, though at least he didn’t have to provide the virus’ information anymore, as the creation of the Veteran Killers looked to be automatic.

That was certainly not going to be enough.

“Any other ideas, Stemmy?” he asked, hopeful. More than a minute went by, and the interneuron cell said nothing, which wasn’t a good sign. If Stemmy didn’t have any ideas that dealt with the biology of the body, any tricks or secrets that Progen couldn’t think of, then it looked like he was doomed.

“You know, if this was a normal dungeon, I’d just—” the dungeon crystal started to lament, before a thought made him take a figurative step back and look at things.

Progen looked at the traps near his “Crystal Room” down in the appendix; the traps he had set in the small intestines, the stomach, and inside of the respiratory system; and the immune cells he had stationed in their separate sections, defending against the constant external threats. If this isn’t a dungeon, then I don’t know what is. Sure, he didn’t control everything as much as he would like to right now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t defend what he could; as much as he wanted to possess, own, and control the entire body, he was happy enough just surviving at that current moment.

When he thought about what a dungeon crystal could employ to survive, Progen thought about the monsters they employed for defense. A dungeon that didn’t adapt their monsters – be it Goblins, Gnolls, or even Dragons – to their environment wasn’t going to survive that long. Have a lot of water in your dungeon?  Then you needed some sort of Mergoblins. Was your dungeon bathed in shadows?  Then you needed a Gnoll that had excellent dark vision, as well as dark-colored fur that would allow them to blend into those shadows. Did the lands and people around your dungeon lend themselves to having a lot of invaders who used magic?  Having your Dragons extend some sort of magic-nullifying field would be smart in that case.

Normally, those types of things came from months or years of gradual evolutions or through deliberate experiments combining different elements with your monsters. Unfortunately, Progen didn’t have that kind or time, nor could he really employ any type of elemental effects inside of the body; he might accidentally upset the delicate balance of the different systems.

What he could do, and which was hinted at by the grey screens that Stemmy and his own mana had shown him, was force some sort of mutation in his immune cells. Instead of elements, though, he was going to have to combine them with something else entirely, though he wasn’t sure if it would work. Regardless, he had to try, because the need for some sort of strategy was never more obvious than what happened next.

All around the lungs, trachea, and bronchial tubes, seemingly random cells started to swell up, rubbing against the surrounding cells in their swelling. Immediately identifying these as the infected cells, Progen sent what activated Novice Killers he had towards them, instructing them to attack…but they didn’t want to obey; they couldn’t see an enemy, and even though it was under the dungeon crystal’s control, there were just some things that it wouldn’t – or couldn’t – do.

As soon as his Killers seemed not to be able to combat the swelling cells, Progen turned to his other option: Spawners. He immediately sent them down close to a variety of swollen targets – though not all, because there were more than he had expected and didn’t have enough Spawners available – and sent their projectiles at point-blank range. Their protein-based antibodies, when concentrated in a small enough area, quickly pierced through the cell membranes…which turned out to be a mistake.

Each of the swollen cells pierced by the antibodies effectively *popped*, releasing dozens of viruses into the open air of the respiratory system. Luckily, a quarter of them were blown out by an exhalation by the body, where they shot out of the mouth and were gone, essentially, forever. Another quarter of them were caught by his traps from reverse direction, where they were quickly killed by his nearby immune cells. Sadly, the remaining half – encouraged by a sudden spasm in the lungs, when the body coughed – were sent to slam against the cells of the respiratory system organs, disappearing within moments of contact with the cells.

“Well, that wasn’t good. Is that normal?”

No. Reproduction of virions inside of host cells is never that rapid, nor does it produce that quantity. Something is affecting the virus, allowing it to reproduce much faster than what would be deemed normal.

“Perfect – more interference.”  Progen had already seen the result of that mysterious interference in the bacteria, at least according to Stemmy; he didn’t have a reason to doubt that information, though, so he had to take it as truth. Something was happening in the body that was out of his control, directly working against his efforts – and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. They would get what was coming to them – but first, he needed the body to survive this sudden infection of this dangerous virus.

With his attention elsewhere, he didn’t realize that the Newts from the body’s immune system were on the move. Alerted by the presence of the viruses, they flowed through the nearby blood vessels, easily transmigrated through the walls of the respiratory systems’ organs and stopped next to the ruptured cells. Then, almost as if they were spitting up some sort of concoction, a fluid secreted from their cells, flowing over the areas where the viruses had multiplied…and then left. Before long, the cells around the areas where they spit up their fluid started to swell, though not because they were filled with viruses; they were, instead, swollen because of some reaction with the fluid, pressing against each other and turning colors. The red blood vessels underneath the organs started to flow rapidly with red blood cells, passing through the various areas quickly.

“What is happening?”

This is a normal response to a threat that cannot be contained by the body’s Neutrophils, and it sends a signal to the immune system to send the appropriate cells to contain and eradicate the viral outbreak. This inflammation works as a way to indicate where help is needed, as well as widening the passageways through the cells, allowing for the easier transmigration of larger immune cells.

The “call” for help was answered – by approximately a dozen Veteran Killers, the newest batch from the stem cells in the bone marrow. Progen could only imagine that, if the immune system were actually working properly, there would be a flood of Killers descending on the area; as it was, the emergency response was quite pathetic.

Despite there only being a few Veteran Killers combating the virus, they were remarkably efficient. One after another, they rolled around the surface of the lung – where they had congregated originally – and tore into the still-swollen cells filled with viruses. Unlike the punctures by his Spawners, however, when the Killers attacked, they destroyed the entire cells, without letting any of the virus escape. Unfortunately, their efforts barely put a dent in the number of infected cells; they were going to need thousands more of them to be effective, which wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

It wasn’t long before the puffed-up infected cells finally burst, with the virus count in each one so great that it couldn’t be contained anymore. Hundreds of viruses popped out, spreading throughout the entire respiratory system; similar to when his Spawners punctured the cells, many of the virions were expelled by the natural breathing – and the periodic spasms of coughs – of the body, but tens of thousands were still inside, spreading throughout the entire respiratory system and sinking into more cells, to continue their campaign to multiply in greater numbers.

More inflammation happened when the body’s Newts arrived again, which was to be expected by that point – but the inflammation came with a consequence. The widening and swelling of the cells due to the inflammation allowed a greater passage between the cells, naturally, and the drifting virus virions took advantage of that. Before he could even do anything about it, Progen watched as the first cells in the nearby blood vessels were infected by the virus.

This just went from bad to worse.

Chapter 23

Marstin woke up shaking. His cough had returned with a vengeance, and he felt cold – really, really cold. The sensations weren’t new to him, as he suffered colds every year; but this time was different. This time, something inside him was different. He felt weaker and lacked the strength to even properly move out of bed. His throat burned, dry as a bone.

“Wah, wat,” he mumbled, trying hard to make a noise, anything to attract someone’s attention. His eyes looked around the room; the communal room was empty. Even Oswald was gone. There was no one around to help him.

‘This isn’t new,’ Marstin thought to himself through the haze. ‘It’s okay, I’m used to this. I can still survive.’ He couldn’t help but shiver again, though this time not from the cold. ‘I can’t expect them to help; nor should I ask. I’ll handle this on my own, at home. I’m going, home.’

Slowly, but surely, he rolled himself into a sitting up posture and shakily got onto his legs. He slowly made his way to the door and opened it. He was met with the loud, raucous laughter of the guild hall. Trembling, Marstin couldn’t help but notice he was on the second floor. This meant stairs; a new challenge. One foot after the other and leaning on the wall, Marstin made his way to the staircase and sat. Like a child, he moved his entire body down the staircase, one step at a time. A couple of adventurers walked past him, giving Marstin a weird look as they went about their business. By the time Marstin made it to the bottom, he felt like he had run a marathon.

Shaking his head, he noticed a back door left slightly ajar, and he could barely make out the streets. He stumbled over and opened the door, walking out onto the streets. He was in the backroads; he knew the path home now. Coughing, Marstin held a hand up and saw red. His hands were crimson with blood – his blood. He didn’t have the time to wipe it away and began the trek back home, his hand leaving behind a smear of blood as he propped himself up. It didn’t take too much longer to reach one of the exit holes in the wall, and he was outside of town. He knelt near a retention pond and drank in as much water as he could, ignoring its color.

Marstin wasn’t sure where he found the strength, it was almost like he had a warm center inside him somehow, but he made it back to his grave cave. Coughing into his fist again, he slid down into the cool confides of home, and closed his eyes. The last thing he saw was Kyra’s breadbasket.

‘I need to return it, when I wake up.’

*****

The presence of a virus inside of a blood vessel was a cause for concern, because now it wasn’t trapped inside of the respiratory system. While it wasn’t good that they were inside the body in general, at least he could keep an eye on them and could keep track of their general locations, even if he couldn’t kill them once they were deeply embedded inside of a cell. The only thing that worked was if his activated Novice Killers showed up to their hiding place very shortly after they hid inside of a cell, and they would attack and kill the cell and virus at the same time. It was almost as if they were tracking the virus through some biological trail he couldn’t see or understand, and once they were inside for a while, that trail dried up. Getting them to attack after that seemed impossible.

Luckily, he had been paying attention and saw where all the viruses had gone inside of the blood vessel, sinking into the cells making up its structure. The dungeon crystal sent his available activated Novice Killers through the lining of the lung and into the widened entry point to the blood vessel and had them eliminate what he remembered seeing.

“That should do it!  I think I got them all—”

He spoke too soon, as another round of virus-infected cells burst, sending more virions into the cells of the lungs – and into a dozen blood vessels connected to the organs. There were so many, now, that he couldn’t see where they had all landed; and it was now an inevitability that they would spread throughout the body.

Now was the time to come up with a solution before it was entirely too late.

While more of the body’s Newts spread out and spread their inflammation fluid around the respiratory system, causing a little more spasming and coughing from the body itself, Progen looked at what he had to work with. He had already seen that he had acquired the ability to form bacteria clusters, and when he concentrated on them, he could see that one of them was the common one he had seen inside the respiratory system, with one powerful flagellum, while the other was the one he had found in the stomach, after it had reappeared later on, with the introduction of more food that the body consumed.

The stomach bacteria cluster had two sets of smaller and less powerful clumps of flagella on either side of its ovoid-cylinder shape, allowing it a better ability to maneuver, but the individual flagellum weren’t as strong as the single-flagellum bacteria. As a result, he thought of the respiratory bacteria cluster as a Sword bacterium, since it could stab its solitary flagellum like a piercing weapon, and the other he thought of as a Dual-whip bacterium. Not overly clever in their naming, but they were descriptive enough for his purposes.

He also had access to the beneficial bacteria that operated inside of the gastrointestinal tract, but none of them were particularly special or of any note, so he ignored those for the moment.

It was also no surprise that he now had the ability to create a cluster of the same virus that was invading the body now, even though it technically wasn’t a cell, but a bunch of virions. Granted, he was pretty sure that it would be an unthinkably stupid idea to create one. He’d already seen that, while he had some overall power to direct his immune cells where he wanted them and gave the order to attack, they didn’t always follow their directives, depending on their nature. Since the nature of a virus was to invade a host cell and replicate itself, he didn’t think that would be the smartest thing to take a chance on.

However, that did give him some other ideas that he might have to attempt – but first, he had to figure out how to combat the insidious virus, which was rapidly multiplying and spreading.

“Stemmy, how could I force an evolution or a change in my cells so that they can combat these infections?” he asked, not sure where to start, even if he had a general idea. He just wanted to make sure he didn’t do something that would harm the body unnecessarily.

Unknown. Stemmy does not contain that information.

Obviously, this sort of thing wasn’t known or even considered, given the odd nature of a dungeon crystal inside of a body in the first place. While the interneuron had done a stand-up job of converting a lot of what a dungeon could do and alter it enough to fit inside the world Progen now inhabited, the specific process of doing those types of things was unknown.

Or was it?

The “potential mutation” entries on his Cell and Immune Cell Options hinted that there would likely be something that could create those, but how was he supposed to figure that out?  Fortunately, when he asked Stemmy that specific question about mutations, he finally got the answer he was looking for.

There is a chance that if you combine 2 or more Cell or Immune Cell Options, using the information gathered from your Memory B Cells, you may create a mutation. The result is not guaranteed, and it may be unpredictable; but with the infusion of larger amounts of mana and with a clear intent of the result maintained during the mutation process, the result is more likely to be a positive one.

“Aha!  Thank you, Stemmy!”  That was exactly what he needed to know, but now he needed to figure out how to fight these viruses on their own turf, to sniff out their hiding places and attack, all while ensuring that their host cells didn’t *pop* and spread their evasive pathogens all over the place.

When he looked again at what he had to work with, he wasn’t sure if his arsenal of options would quite do it; however, he really didn’t know until he tried.

·         Reporters

·         Newts

·         Spawners

·         Hunters

·         Novice Killers

·         Historians

·         Sword Bacteria

·         Dual-whip Bacteria

·         Insidious Virus

His thoughts regarding the virus as being “insidious” had carried over to its new name – and it was quite true. Even as he contemplated what to do about the situation, the sneaky virus was continuing to spread and expand its infection, though it still wasn’t nearly as many as the bacteria had been when he first encountered the lungs. Naturally, that wouldn’t last long, if the Insidious Virus was allowed to spread unmitigated, but it wasn’t that bad yet.

The first problem with killing the virus had been the inability to accurately track them down until it was too late, and they had replicated beyond the bounds of the cell and started to inflate their host. The second issue was destroying the virions inside of the host cells, without allowing them to escape and spread; it was easy enough to have his Spawners *pop* the cells, but that just released more into the environment.

The body’s Veteran Killers were able to handle that by being almost as big as the host cells themselves, by basically smashing the entire cell apart, which killed the virus at the same time. They were still at it, in fact, when Progen checked; there were now approximately 50 of them that the body had supplied, but against tens of thousands of different infection sites by that point, they couldn’t move fast enough to catch up. There would need to be thousands more of the Veteran Killers just to force a stalemate, and that didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon.

Progen had numbers on his side with the platoons of Newts he had throughout the body, reaching 100,000 at that point; for the most part, however, they were useless. He had attempted to position a few dozen Newts around a swollen infected cell in a dome formation, before instructing one of his Spawners to pierce the host cell, and he hoped to swallow them up that way…and it only slightly worked. When the host cell *popped*, the virions flew out with such force that they rebounded off of the Newts he had in place, bouncing off fast enough that his immune cells couldn’t even start the process of consuming them. It was like the Newts were being hit in the face with fast-flying food, but they couldn’t open their mouths quick enough to swallow it before it backed away.

Sure, a few of the virions expelled from the popped host cell were caught, but most of them escaped through the gaps in between his immune cell dome components. Because their capsules and levitation effects were quite rigid, their shape, in normal “resting” pose, was spherical; when placed next to each other, there couldn’t help to be gaps in between their shapes, through which the virus easily escaped. The constant inhalation and exhalation moved the virions of the Insidious Virus quite handily, and it was almost impossible to keep them contained.

Therefore, finding an effective way to track new infections before they become too much of a problem was ideal, as well as handling the older, infected host cells – without any additional spread – being another goal. “What do I have that can see the virus inside of the host cells?” he asked rhetorically, though the interneuron cell dutifully answered.

None.

“Obviously, Stemmy. But there has to be a solution.”

If I were looking for a hidden virus, what would I use to see them?  The mana Progen infused inside of the different systems allowed him a visual of the surrounding organs, as well as the ability to use mana there to help repair things, but it didn’t allow him to peer into every single cell to see if there was an invader tucked inside. Before that, though, he had to rely on the Reporters to—

That’s it!

His Reporters could “see” an area around them, no matter what was there; he had already noticed that the information they reported back didn’t include being able to see the Insidious Virus once it was inside of a host cell, but perhaps there was a way….

“Stemmy, how do the viruses enter a host cell without destroying their cell membranes?”

This particular virus is created from the same Lipid substance that the cell membranes are formed from, which allow them to dissolve their shape and pass through the cell membrane, where they immediately reform and start the replication process.

“So, all I need is some way to duplicate that feat!”  It seemed impossible, but with mana, sometimes the impossible was made possible.

Since the best option for “seeing” the appropriate cells was Progen’s Reporters, he started with them. Holding the pattern needed to create one in his mind, he thought about what would allow one of his immune cells to easily penetrate potential host cells in a search. Only one possibility came up, though: Insidious Virus. He had already dismissed creating a cluster of them in the fear that they would start to expand out of control, but perhaps if it were mutated into one of his immune cells….

Gathering up a large force of Newts, Spawners, and Novice Killers near his dungeon crystal, he pictured in his mind a combination of the two organisms – the Reporter and Insidious Virus – forming in the middle of his protective cells. If, for some reason, the mutation he was preparing to create got out of control, he would destroy it as quickly as he could. Once he had it pictured, Progen started to pour mana into it; first 50 units, then 100, then 200. By the time he hit 300, he could feel a little bit of strain on his crystal as it drained from him and nearly stopped; luckily, it seemed as though 350 mana was what was needed for what he imagined, because the next moment, there was an explosive flash of light in the middle of his immune cell army, physically pushing them back, despite the levitation he had imposed on their capsules.

When the flash of light faded, there was a small cell in its place, looking almost exactly like one of his Reporter cells, but much, much smaller; in actuality, when he compared it to the size of one of the Insidious virions, it was only marginally bigger. He figuratively tensed up and prepared to destroy his mutation if it acted strangely; but it just sat there, appearing completely innocuous.

He expected something…more impressive for all of the mana he had spent on it. “Will this thing invade an organ cell and start replicating itself?” he wondered worriedly.

…No. Looking closely at this mutation, it is still technically classified as an immune cell. Immune cells are not developed inside of epithelial cells like viruses.

The hesitation before Stemmy’s answer was…different. Almost as if the interneuron cell wasn’t exactly sure of the answer – or there was more to it. “So, would this mutation invade a different type of cell and start replicating?”

Unknown. Conjecture would place a Stem Cell at the top of that list, however.

“Huh. Interesting. Nevertheless, I need to check and see if it will actually work the way I’m hoping it will,” the dungeon crystal remarked. Instead of creating more of the mutation, which he found that he could if he thought about it, he sent it through the digestive system. After sealing it up with a capsule and a levitation effect, it shot through the intestinal tract faster than anything he’d seen before. Within a minute, it was already through the intestinal tract and making its way up through the stomach. When it got up through the esophagus and to the trachea, that was when he got his first indication that it was doing what he designed it to do.

Not far down the throat, the mutation stopped in mid-flight on its way to the lungs and flung itself towards the wall. It landed halfway in and halfway out of a normal-looking cell, which wasn’t obviously inflated with replicated virions. Progen quickly brought up an activated Novice Killer cell from down below, and set it next to the cell, with the mutation stuck halfway inside.

Lately, when he would send his Killers to a cell, they did one of two things. One, if the “trail” of the virus was too old, it would just sit there and do nothing. Two, after touching the cell for about 10 seconds, and determining that the enemy trail led there, then it would set to destroying the host cell. Luckily, in this instance, the Killer cell figured out the enemy was there, and it initiated the destruction sequence. However, at the same time as the cell was shredded and the Insidious Viruses inside were exposed and destroyed, so, too, was the mutation.

Nevertheless, it had done its job, seeking out the virus so that something else could destroy them.

The only problem, if there were one, was that the cost to create another of his mutations that he was branding, “Seekers”, was 175 mana – which was thoroughly prohibitive if he wanted to have enough to seek out the enemy virus, especially if they were destroyed in the process. With a thought about what Stemmy had hinted at earlier, and a bit of trepidation, he created another one inside of the esophagus, just outside the range of the trachea and more virus-infected host cells. When it was in place, Progen created a stem cell next to it – and the new Seeker shot towards it like it was a magnet and the larger cell was a piece of metal.

The Seeker cell immediately entered the larger stem cell, phasing entirely though the cell membrane until it was inside. Unlike the organ cells that hid the viruses, the dungeon crystal could see inside of the stem cell he created – and was amazed to see some serious replication going on. Within a few minutes, the nucleus inside of the larger cell started to rapidly shrink, and the interior of the organism quickly filled up with additional Seekers. After 10 minutes, there were so many that they were straining at the stem cell’s walls, before it eventually broke apart like the cells infected by the virus in the respiratory system – as well as the circulatory system, now.

At the cost of 10 extra mana in the form of a stem cell, 50 more Seekers were “born” from its remains. Instead of using nearly 9,000 mana to create that many, the lesser cost was a great boon – and it gave him the necessary number to start the eradication process. It would only be a start, of course, because he only had just under 500 Novice Killers at his disposal; and by that point, there were likely hundreds of thousands of infected cells. He would need to gradually increase their numbers as mana trickled into him, because pulling enough energy from the body right now – especially as it was already suffering the effects of the infection – could be deadly. The destruction of a full cell of viruses, even one that was extremely full of them that the body’s Veteran Killers destroyed, only netted him as much mana as one or two bacteria. So that was helping, but only a little.

This would only help with the host cells that still had enough of a trail around them that his Novice Killers would attack them, however. He needed to find another way to destroy the tens of thousands of host cells ready to explode and spread their contents all over the place. Nothing he had currently could do that without the aforementioned explosion – so he had to create his own.

What he needed was a way to attack the cells without making them *pop*; it was the *popping* act that spread all the virions everywhere, so that needed to be avoided at all cost. The Veteran Killers were large enough that they basically pushed their way inside, crushing everything underneath them. Progen, on the other hand, didn’t have anything like that, and he instinctively knew that no mutation that he could currently make was going to be large enough to accomplish that. No, what he needed was to get to the viruses inside without destroying the entire cell, because he didn’t have any way to contain them.

Small punctures would not necessarily compromise the integrity of the cell membrane. Inserting specific molecules that cleave the nucleus would institute apoptosis, or cell death, immediately.

Even though Progen had been dealing with microorganisms and things on the cellular level for a while now, deciphering what Stemmy responded with when the dungeon crystal asked about how to destroy a cell from the inside was a bit difficult. A few more questions helped home in on the simple explanation: inject something to destroy the cell’s nucleus, which would collapse the entire cell, killing everything inside.

None of his immune cells could create molecules, smaller components than even the protein-based projectiles of his Spawners; well, none but his Hunters. They released molecules in a cloud-like pattern, designed to damage parasites, so injecting them into something was a bit difficult. However, that was what he was there to change.

Remembering the needle-like piercing the Sword Bacteria could enact on his immune cells, which were further protected by a capsule, Progen concentrated on combining a Hunter immune cell with a Sword Bacteria, as well as focusing on the molecule Stemmy provided to his mind of the particular molecule used to cleave a cell’s nucleus in half. When he thought he had that all together, he also added in the Insidious Virus, because he was hoping that it would be able to replicate like his Seekers.

Unfortunately, nothing happened when he tried to infuse his mutation with mana. It just passed through like it wasn’t even there, completely unlike his previous experiment which soaked it up.

Progen was perplexed. “Why did it do that?”

Mutations requiring too much mana to initiate will fail before starting.

That was good to know, especially so that he didn’t end up wasting mana on nothing.

“Why do you think that required too much mana?”

Viruses are not normally a part of a body that can be produced, so it likely increased the mana cost considerably.

“Ah, so that’s why the Seekers were so expensive.”  That was disappointing, but it also made sense. He had been wondering why a mutation of an immune cell that originally cost 2 mana (his Reporter) had jumped up to 175 with the addition of a virus, so that made that much clearer. As a result of this knowledge, Progen took out the virus from his imagined mutation and went with just the Hunter and Sword Bacteria, as well as the specific molecule.

This time, his efforts paid off, and it was a surprisingly smaller amount of mana that he was forced to infuse his creation with. After just 150, there was another explosive flash of light, though calmer this time, and a new mutation made itself known. At only 75 mana to create, the ovoid-shaped immune cell looked like a slightly flattened Hunter cell, with a tail in the form of a relatively short flagellum. Inside of its cell were tiny molecules that even he couldn’t precisely make out, but they appeared numerous; whether or not they would do the trick was another thing entirely.

When he sent it up to the respiratory system, he had it target the first swollen, infected host cell he could find. He released some of the worry he was holding when it obeyed his orders immediately, parking itself right next to the cell that appeared ready to burst any moment. With another simple instruction for it to attack, the new mutation turned so that its “tail” was facing the host cell, and then stabbed down with the flagellum, piercing through the cell membrane – but not popping it in the process. Progen watched as the mutation flexed its entire cell body, pushing the tiny molecules out through the needle like tail, where they flowed into the swollen cell.

As soon as about a quarter of the molecules had been injected into the host cell, the new mutation extracted its flagellum. The small hole left behind started to expand as the insides pushed at it, and Progen moved his new immune cell back in case there was an explosion. Before that could happen, the entire host cell seemed to shudder, before it collapsed in on itself, shrinking down and crushing everything within it – including the virus virions inside.

It worked!

The dungeon crystal could see the molecules within his new Assassin mutation cell start to replenish themselves, though it was slow. It was possibly that it would have enough for an additional assassination of a cell once it used the rest up, but then it would probably have to sit aside for a while before the molecules built back up. That just meant that he needed to create more to keep the process going and coupled with the need to create more Novice Killers for the unexpanded infected cells, he was going to be busy for a while.

It was going to be a war of attrition, and so far, the virus was winning. Progen just hoped that he wasn’t already too late to stop the body from succumbing to the Insidious Virus.

Chapter 24

A flash of light, but Marstin couldn’t appreciate the morning rays. Though he was awake, he dearly wished to be back asleep. His vision was hazy and swirling, and his head and throat felt like they were on fire. The weakness pervaded his body like he was being crushed by a boulder, and every bit of strength he felt was used up with the coughing fits.

‘Have to live,’ he thought, reaching for the breadbasket resting above his head. His feeble fingers knocked against the basket, but he barely managed to tip it, causing the last pieces of bread and cheese to fall on his head. The dull hits didn’t help his headache, but even his dull taste buds couldn’t help but salivate as he slowly, carefully, savored the last bit of Kyra’s care. He ignored his dry mouth as best he could, licking his lips as best he could to get the juices going, but still ended up coughing out some of the food.

When he was finished, Marstin’s arms fell limp to his side, having no more energy to move. He sighed, and the haze grew stronger. He coughed, feeling the warm tingle of blood running down his lips. His ears were starting to ring, now; was the end coming?

‘I must be hallucinating,” he thought to himself. ‘I can hear someone’s voice.’ Marstin lost consciousness once again, his left arm hugging the breadbasket. He wasn’t awake when the voices grew louder, followed by the sound of shifting debris above his head. He wasn’t awake to feel the strong grip of the two gate guards as they jumped down into the grave cave and picked up his limp body. He wasn’t awake as he was lifted into the light by warm hands, the worried look of Yarrow, Oswald, and Olivia looking down at his prone form.

He wasn’t awake for any of this, but the warmth of their touch made his still face smile.

*****

After over a day of combating the virus inside of the respiratory system, as well as inside of the surrounding blood vessels, Progen was fighting a consistently losing battle. He knew that it was going to get worse before it got better, of course, but it was hard to watch the body start to seriously react to the spreading virus infection.

The inflammation caused by the body’s Newts was spreading, creating an excess of fluids and what Stemmy called a “buildup of mucus” in various parts of the respiratory system. Not only that, but the flow of red blood cells throughout the entire circulatory system sped up, increasing the body’s natural temperature; the dungeon crystal could not feel it, but the effects were apparent on some of the virions inside of the bloodstream. A third of all of the virus released from ruptured host cells were destroyed before they could find a new host cell, which led to a slower spread – but spread they did.

That didn’t mean that there weren’t some successes. At first, the body’s immune system responded with just the Veteran Killers (which had increased to nearly 1,000 after a full day) and the Newts causing the inflammation; after a few hours, though, the entire complement of immune cells available were out in force. Cleaners spread out, cleaning up the ruptured cells before Progen could fix them with mana. He found that, for a limited time after more virions exploded out of them, he couldn’t affect the cells with mana – almost as if each ruptured cell were still considered to be infected, and therefore “untouchable” to his mana. This cleanup was what led to the increase in the body’s temperature, so he made sure to leave plenty for them to find to keep it going. It seemed to be a major factor in the slowing spread of the infection, so it was beneficial to continue doing so.

There were also a few other immune cells that he didn’t recognize, spread out around the place, one of which seemed to have the ability to organize the Veteran Killers so that they acted as more of a cohesive force, instead of just individual cells.

These Helper T Cells coordinate immune response to specific sites, organizing various immune cells to combat threats in an established protocol.

Stemmy’s response, when asked about them, didn’t really indicate how these particular cells did that, but all Progen cared about was that they acted like “Commanders” that directed troops into battle. He found that he could really use some of those, because after a while his own army was starting to get rather large.

With what energy he felt safe to pull from the body and convert into mana, as well as the steady influx of mana from destroying so much of the virus, Progen had managed to create just over 500 Assassins, increased his Novice Killers to 1,500, and was keeping up a steady breeding program for his Seekers, by providing additional stem cells for their use. He had to make sure to keep the Seekers away from the bone marrow in the body, because that could be a disaster, if they got inside and suddenly started infecting all of the stem cells there. But so far, the virus seemed to avoid those areas. Since they were the origin for many of the immune cells, the dungeon crystal thought it showed a strange bit of intelligence in the microorganisms that he had not thought was possible; and then it dawned on him. A moment of self-reflection reminded the infinitesimal dungeon crystal that he, too, was rather clever for his stature!

One other fortunate thing that occurred, or he should say didn’t occur, was that there were no other sudden incursions of the virus from outside of the body. The initial invasion was all that there was, though there were quite a few times when bacteria tried to find its way inside; they were quickly put down by his Newts and Spawners, however, so that wasn’t too much of a hardship.

Despite the increase in his forces and the full response of what was left of the body’s immune system, as well as some significant inroads against the infections inside of the upper respiratory system (such as the trachea and bronchial tubes), it was despairing to see how many viruses there still were inside of the body. It went from a few hundred different infection sites at the beginning to a few million over the course of the day, spread out from the lungs to many of the blood vessels running throughout the body.

“Stemmy, at what stage will the body reach a critical turning point?” he finally asked, seeing the infection spreading rapidly everywhere and despairing at the massive hurdle in front of him.

There are two main concerns to watch out for. One, which you are controlling quite well, is the presence of a secondary bacterial infection that could take advantage of the weakened immune system. If the bacteria are allowed to propagate within the bloodstream, that can cause severe problems that could lead the body to death.

Second, while the buildup of the virus in the respiratory system is problematic, the normal responses of the immune system in the form of inflammation and raising the natural temperature of the body are lessened, leading to fewer auto-immune issues. The main concern is if the virion count tops a certain number inside of a different vital organ, which could result in the complete takeover and shutdown of the organ.

“So…basically, don’t let them build up in one area for too long. Got it.”  That was easier said than done, because even with the exponential increase of incoming mana as Progen created more and more Seekers, Novice Killers, and Assassins, the infection continued to spread in unpredictable ways – including to areas which were just recently cleared of a threat. All too often, a large area of infected host cells would be destroyed, cleaned up, and rebuilt…only for more infections to occur a few minutes or hours later, when his forces moved on.

He originally had his army of immune cells capable of killing the virus moving in a wave, which was effective, though slow; unfortunately, there were instances where the infection count elsewhere was so thick that he was forced to break off a contingent to handle them before they became too destructive. The dungeon crystal had quickly found that, with the destruction of so many cells, and with the brief time between their destruction and his ability to clean them up, that the virions from the Insidious Virus were able to reach under the top layer of cells on the organs. There were multiple layers of cells making up the tissue of each component in the body, and when the virus sank deeper into these layers, Progen couldn’t use mana to heal the increasingly large wounds until they were entirely clear of pathogens.

Therefore, he had to wipe out all traces of the virus before it became too damaged and out of control; the increased concentration in making sure his immune cells rooted out and eliminated every trace of a virion in each section was time-consuming, if not difficult, though there were consequences. Without his direct input, his other immune cells weren’t as strategic in their elimination and tended to miss some infections on their wave through the body – which, naturally, led to further spread. It was his focused concentration on these infected hotspots, as well as the fact that most of the Veteran Killer immune cells from the body had retreated inside of the bloodstream to combat the viruses there instead of the lungs, that led to Progen’s first – and perhaps last – mistake.

******

In Marstin’s haze of consciousness, he registered himself in a room. He wasn’t sure where he was, but the room was warm and the sheets were soft. He blinked, and a cup of cool water was brought to his throat. His eyes barely registered Yarrow’s worried face before unconsciousness took him again.

Marstin’s mind drifted away, back to the familiar nightmare of the night of his parents’ – his family’s – death. The same scenes were playing out, with the haze holding over the events surrounding it. The incident remained a mystery.

At least, it was a mystery until Marstin looked around his nightmare, watching the shocked and scared faces of their guests – when he saw something out of place. One of the servants – or someone who was at least acting like a servant – was in the back of the room, holding a pitcher of wine; the tall, dark-haired man was appearing quite attentive, pouring another glass of the liquid inside to anyone needing a refill.

When the horrid…incident…happened, everyone else freaked out; their expressions ran the gamut from shocked and worried to horrified, with a couple appearing disgusted – which only made sense. The servant, though, just sort of faded into the background, seemingly not surprised at what was going on – at all. After a moment, when everyone was still alive but retching their guts out, Marstin saw a small smile tug at the corners of the servant’s mouth, before he quickly left the room by the side entrance. It was impossible to see outside of the room, since his memory was just of the event itself, and he wasn’t omniscient; so, he couldn’t see where the servant went after his departure. It was only after that individual left the room, though, that his mother and father saved Marstin and ordered him to run.

So…there’s no reason to think that whoever that was knows I’m still alive. His memory ended just after he started to run from the room himself. By that point, almost all the guests had run, frightened by the occurrences, and likely worried that it was somehow catching; consequently, no one saw him leave. It was only through his ability to look around the room while everything was going on that Marstin was able to see something he hadn’t noticed before: A corpse that looked very much like himself at that age, lying next to his parents. What?  How?  The only thing that looked out of the ordinary was that there was much less blood all over the floor, almost as if someone had cleaned up most of it in the few seconds his old self looked away. A final twitch by his mother, again unseen by him back then, could’ve been the reason, though how she had the strength to perform such a seeming was incredible. He didn’t have the slightest clue how his mother had done it, but that she had was irrefutable, especially when he watched the whole memory again. Marstin caught a glimpse of his mother reaching out a hand when his back was turned, with her eyes still closed, and all the blood – and vomit – pooling around the area was condensed into an object that appeared exactly how his corpse would.

Why would they do that?  Had they known that such a poison was a possibility?  Did they expect even further danger if someone knew I was alive?  That no one recognized him afterwards wasn’t a surprise, because within a couple of days, he was so dirty and disheveled after living on the streets that his own parents might not have recognized him.

What’s more, he recognized the streets. He was from Graniton! Marstin had always thought he’d been brought to the town by happenchance, but this place was actually his home! But without memory, status, or appearance, he was essentially just a street urchin at that point, and very few people looked twice at street urchins – other than to make sure they weren’t trying to sneak up and snatch at purse strings, of course.

It was shortly after those revelations that Marstin woke up in the room, a feeling of familiarity warring with the nightmarish scene. Not familiarity in the sense of having been forced to watch it over and over, but a familiarity with the appearance of the servant that likely had something to do with the poisoning. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before…but I can’t think of where. Was it around town?  Was it someone I saw years ago, or just recently?  He couldn’t answer that, unfortunately, so it was just one more mystery that needed to be solved – if he lived that long.

That’s it!  Thoughts of the compound and villa, the same one from his memories, finally triggered the familiarity he had experienced during his nightmares. The servant…wasn’t what he seemed. First, that wasn’t a servant; now that he thought about it, his clothing looked a bit different from the rest of the servants. Not that the servants had worn rags – quite the opposite, really – but the man from his memories was wearing finer material and had on sturdy, well-made boots, which none of the other house servants wore. Second, he recognized his face from the villa; not the old one in the past, but the one that he had just visited many nights before. Could it really be such a coincidence?

There were quite a few pieces of art hung up around the rooms and hallways he was forced to sneak through, and most of them he ignored after checking them for any inadvertent traps. There was a subject in particular, though, that had a repeating theme: A portrait of a man, wearing different pompous outfits and posing in various positions. The one thing that they had in common, however, was the small smirk on his face, which looked exactly like the servant that had – in all likelihood – caused the deaths of Marstin’s entire family.

The face was slightly different, but there were definitely some similarities. Either the servant was heavily disguised, or he thought it might have been a relative with similar mannerisms; either way, he was nearly positive that he knew who had killed everyone he had ever loved, and almost killed him, as well: The Drestice Family of merchants.

Tears poured down his face as a helpless rage rose up inside of him. He was dying in this bed, and the murderer of his family was scot free, living in his family’s home! He had tried to rob his own house even!

Before Marstin could even get up the strength to rage against his fate, a cool cloth was placed on his forehead. His eyes twisted around and locked onto the hooded form of Kyra, who was smiling sadly.

“I snuck out,” she explained. “Don’t cry Marstin, just go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

His emotions zapping away the last of his strength, Marstin’s eyes closed and the darkness took him once again.

******

“Stemmy, it appears as though we’re finally making some progress,” the dungeon crystal remarked, two full days after the viral infection started.

His forces had grown considerably since he first designed his mutations, and they were working remarkably well. His 20,000 Assassins were wiping out great swathes of expanding host cells in groups of 2,000; when they ran out of the cell-killing molecules, they would retreat and regenerate them, while another 2,000 swooped in to take over, keeping his 5 destructive waves going throughout the respiratory system. There were now 40,000 Seekers following them, seeking out the hidden threats and inviting the 12,000 activated Novice Killers he now had at his disposal to come and play.

It was still an uphill battle, though, as the virus continued to deploy itself everywhere. He had a rapid response team of 200 Assassins ready to be deployed at any major infection sites, however, which were constantly on the move as Progen identified them. Luckily, the body’s immune system seemed to have stepped up as well, and they were handling the bloodstreams well enough, because it was rare that he had to send in some of his own immune cells to help.

He wasn’t sure how many Veteran Cells there were now throughout the body, because it was too many to count accurately – especially with how scattered they were – but they had been constantly on the move, putting down infections as they were found. Again, similar to the respiratory system, the battle was far from over, and there was still a lot of work to be done – though now there was hope that everything could be saved.

Yes.

The one-word answer was typical of Stemmy, and it made Progen feel good to hear it. He had been worried, at first, that all his effort would’ve been for nothing; that all his progress was lost, as the body was consumed from the inside – but it was starting to work out. He was also starting to put in a few more traps around the respiratory system, now that he had some mana to spare.

He couldn’t include too many, because otherwise, that would start to block the normal airflow in and out, which was important to keep free – especially with the near-constant spasming of the lungs, as well as the decreased size of the trachea and bronchial tubes due to the persistent inflammation caused by the body’s Newts. He couldn’t effectively put them inside of the lungs, because of the constant movements of the air sacs; the traps were relatively stationary, and they could potentially damage the organs if they passed through them.

Therefore, his successes, and the unintentional praise from Stemmy, were enough to make him hopeful for an eventual resolution of the current crisis. Then, when it was taken care of, he would theoretically have enough of a defensive immune force to take care of any future threats while he furthered his takeover of the body, and consequently, his dungeon. He had been forced to stop even the small amount of Mana being infused through the immune system, so that he could influence it, because every drop of energy was being used to build up his army.

Unfortunately, the interneuron had more to add to his one-word answer, dashing the dungeon crystal’s burgeoning hopes just that quickly.

However—

Oh, no, what now?

—there are abnormal disruptions in the communications along the neural network surrounding the heart. Stemmy cannot determine where or when the issue originated.

Due to all of the intense focus from rooting out concentrations of infected host cells in the respiratory system, Progen had been largely ignoring the circulatory system over the last few hours. The body’s immune system, as severely weakened as it was, had been doing a fairly good job at disrupting any major issues inside the bloodstream, even if they, too, were steadily being outpaced by the spread of the virus. In a day or two, the dungeon crystal reasoned, both his own forces and the body would finally be able to reach and surpass the equilibrium between viruses being destroyed and new infections; at that point, it would only be a matter of time before the Insidious pathogens were fully eliminated from the body.

Therefore, he hadn’t been cognizant of when a shadow fell over the entire heart, cutting off any view of the organ, as well as his influence. There had been no reduction in his maximum mana, however, which would have alerted him earlier, he thought. The few dozen Reporters he had stationed in there to alert him to any threats were completely cut off from him as well, though it was quite possible that they were just destroyed, instead of being blocked from accessing them.

Essentially, he was blind.

“What’s going on?  Is this some natural response from the body that I don’t know about?”

Unknown. No, this is not natural.

“Thanks; that really helps,” Progen replied sarcastically, even as he tried to infuse mana back into the organ. To his consternation, the mana left his crystal and…disappeared, almost as if he had just thrown it away.

“This doesn’t make any sense. What could this be – and how is it doing this?”

Unknown.

The dungeon crystal ignored the interneuron cell as he tried to work out what was happening. There really shouldn’t be any reason why he couldn’t extend his influence into the heart, especially since he had already done it once. The only occasions he had experienced not being able to infuse his mana somewhere was when there were pathogens present, and there was no way there were viruses filling the entire heart – the body would’ve shut down already. At least, that was the impression he got when he spoke to Stemmy about the possibility.

Something was there, though, and was blocking all his attempts to find out what was going on from his position down in the appendix. He created more Reporters nearby the heart (at a slightly higher mana cost, due to the circulatory system not being fully under his influence), and sent them inside from multiple directions, following the major arteries. As soon as they passed within, Progen received images from just inside the shadowy area, showing that there clearly weren’t any viruses just inside the shadow, dispelling that reason for not being able to expand his influence.

That was about all he saw, however, as his Reporters were suddenly gone from his awareness, snuffed out like they had just been dropped into a void.

“What in the blasted dungeon is happening?!”

Unknown.

“Obviously.”  He didn’t think his Reporters had been destroyed, because Progen hadn’t seen anything attacking them just before he lost contact; instead, some sort of force had blocked all communication with them, and it was entirely possible that they were still alive.

“Stemmy, can you see if the immune system will send some of its cells inside there?”  There were a few moments as the dungeon crystal waited for the interneuron cell to respond; when he finally did, the news was not encouraging.

Stemmy is unable to access the neural network surrounding the heart; as a result, the immune system cannot be alerted to the exact location of the threat.

“Wonderful.”  While Progen was not sure exactly what was going on inside of the heart, he had a suspicion that whatever it was would turn out to be bad. Unbelievably bad. He created a few Newts in the arteries and sent another Reporter with them, to see if that might help, but he lost all contact with all the immune cells at the same point.

If he couldn’t send his Reporters, he couldn’t expand his influence, and he couldn’t control any of his immune cells inside of the heart once they passed through the shadowy cloud surrounding it, there was only one thing he could do.

Progen was going to have to go himself.

Chapter 25

“How bad of an idea is this?”

Stemmy may not be able to communicate with you while you are inside of that area. You also may or may not be able to access the body for additional mana, so use extreme caution.

That didn’t sound ominous, or anything.

Due to his influence over most of the circulatory system, it was much easier plotting a course for the heart than taking the same route he had ended up taking when he first arrived. Not only could he see exactly where he needed to go, but it required much less mana on his part to get there; by enhancing his capsule with the same levitation effect as the ones on his immune cells, he was able to move around quite easily. Since his crystal was much larger than any of the cells at his disposal, it required just over 500 mana to achieve that effect, but it was worth it; trying to travel against the fluidic currents and the bloodstream would’ve taken at least twice that much mana to achieve his journey, without having to travel through the entire body again.

While he made his way closer, Progen continued his attacks against the virus inside of the lungs. As soon as he was close, he split off 300 Assassins, 100 Seekers, 200 Novice Killers, 300 Spawners, and 3,000 Newts. It was probably overkill on the part of the Newts, but he figured that if there was something he needed to escape from inside of the heart, his Newts would be a sacrificial shield, while he made a run for it. It took a little of his necessary forces away from the war on the virus in other areas, though he would’ve taken even more if he could. There was a limit to how much he could “see” around his dungeon crystal when he hadn’t infused a section with his mana and keeping even as many as he was taking was pushing the limits.

Approaching the “shadow” around the heart was strange. When he arrived, he was looking at it through his mana-infused influence and he clearly saw where it started. As he switched to just observing from his dungeon crystal alone, he didn’t see anything at all – no shadow, and no obvious demarcation of where his influence stopped and started. The blood flow streaming into the heart appeared normal, which was a good thing, as he was in what Stemmy called the “inferior vena cava” – which basically just meant it was the main lower vein flowing into the heart.

With only the slightest hesitation, as well as expending just a little more of his mana to thicken the capsule around his crystal for extra protection, he brought his entire force forward into the mysterious unknown. It was only when Progen was passing the threshold into the steadily beating organ that he realized he hadn’t seen any viral infections in a while. There were quite a few, farther away, and it took quite a lot of focus to keep the immune cells he had with him from going off and attacking them. (He found that it was easier to convince them to ignore their natural urges when he was nearby; once they were out of his direct “sight”, that was when they would tend to do whatever they were created to do.)

The final length of the artery he was traveling up to the heart didn’t have any viruses, however – which, when he thought about it, was very strange. The viruses had reached everywhere else in the bloodstream that he could see, even if was only a few virions here and there; the immune system was doing a fairly good job picking off those stragglers, before getting back to the main fight and larger infections, but this seemed too…clean, if that made any sense. Progen wasn’t going to bemoan the fact that there weren’t any viruses present, because such a thing was a good sign. But still, it remained strange.

The dungeon crystal cautiously drifted inside, the closest wall of the large organ ceaselessly pumping in and out near his entire group of immune cells. Even though they were surrounding him as a large, protective layer, he could still perceive everything around him for a longer distance than he had expected.

“I must have expanded my perception, along with my mana capacity and influence...isn’t that right, Stemmy?” he asked – but no one responded.

In fact, when he tried to look around the body into his influenced areas outside of the heart, a sudden, shadowy wall cut him off from seeing anything more than what was around him. Progen thought that something like that might happen, especially after what Stemmy warned him about; nevertheless, he was hoping the shadowy void was more like a cell membrane, and that as soon as he was inside, he’d be able to see everything in the heart. Obviously, he was wrong.

Briefly, he wondered whether the immune cells he had dispatched to annihilate host cells inside the respiratory system were still operating like they had been ordered. After a moment, however, he knew that they would follow their natural instincts, which helpfully coincided with those orders; the only ones that might not do that were the remnants of his quick-strike force, which he had cannibalized partially to build his own protective detail.

“No matter; I just need to figure out what is going on here, fix it, and then get back to the fight,” Progen spoke to himself, which helped to alleviate some of the fear he was feeling.

As soon as he recognized that he was feeling fear, he immediately pushed it down and tried to squash it. Get yourself together, Progen!  You’ve barely even started; you’d never be able to face Stemmy again if you can’t take care of your own dungeon. It felt odd talking to himself like that, though for some reason it felt natural. Why he cared what the emotion and personality-less interneuron cell thought of him was also a mystery. Regardless, he realized that it did matter to him, even if it were silly to think that Stemmy would change his opinion of Progen if he failed at something. He wasn’t even sure that the former-stem-cell-turned-knowledge-repository could have an opinion.

The dungeon crystal stopped his forward progress and shook himself a little, as he identified that something around the area was causing him to lose focus. It wasn’t the loss of contact with Stemmy or with his pseudo-dungeon doing it, either – it was something in the shadowy recesses of the heart. As Progen looked around a little more, he realized that it wasn’t the vital organ, itself; instead it was as if an invisible miasma infused everything inside of the heart, though it seemed to ignore all of the red blood cells that raced through his group on their constant circuit through the entire body. In reality, it seemed to only affect…him.

“Is there something here targeting me, specifically?  Or worse, someone?” he pondered worriedly. Of course, with no connection to Stemmy, no one answered. An additional injection of fear shot through his crystal, and he shoved it down with a scream, “WHO’S THERE!  SHOW YOURSELF!”

…

Nothing. Not that he had expected anything, but it had been worth a shot. Besides, he felt better after his shout. His fear was almost non-existent, being replaced with anger.

“How dare you try to thwart me in my takeover of this body!  I will destroy you!”

Again, no answer.

The dungeon designer was done dilly-dallying around, though – it was time to solve this mystery and eliminate whatever was getting in his way of total domination. He took his large group of immune cells around the entire quarter of the heart he was in, squeezing through the valve separating it from another quarter, and investigated all of the walls, practically raking his Seekers all over the cells, searching for any sign of a virus there. Not only were there no viruses around, but the only thing he saw were red blood cells, which was also strange in and of itself: Last time he was being pushed through the circulatory system – shortly after he arrived – there had been scattered white blood cells around of different kinds, drifting along with the flow. They weren’t very numerous, granted, but they were still there. Now, however – there were none.

While that could be explained by the weaker immune system, there were still some scattered immune cells drifting around the entire circulatory system, though in admittedly much smaller numbers than they should’ve been. The fact that he hadn’t seen a single one since he arrived was suspicious; it was as if this shadowy void was keeping every immune cell away, for some nefarious purpose. At least, that was his impression; whether or not that was the truth was something yet to be determined.

After all of his searching, he found nothing – other than the lack of white blood cells of any kind – out of the ordinary inside that half of the heart. There wasn’t a single thing that appeared changed from what he remembered when he was infusing mana into the organ, nor were there any pathogens – of any kind. He half-expected there to be a huge group of viruses and bacteria inside of the heart when he arrived, but there was nothing of the sort.

“Only one place left to check, I guess.”

The other half of the heart.

He tried to make a hole big enough for himself and his protective force to squeeze through to the other half, because it seemed like the easiest way to get from Point A to Point B; honestly, not the smartest idea, due to the fact that the two areas of the heart were separated for a reason. Luckily for the body, and an annoyance to Progen, his mana did absolutely nothing to the tissue. The dungeon crystal could feel his mana flowing out, but as soon as it hit the wall it rebounded off, returning to him like it had hit some sort of reflective, invisible shield.

“Fine, we’ll take the long way around.”

Taking the exit valve, Progen brought his immune cells out of the heart with him. As soon as he passed some arbitrary point, the crystal felt awareness of the world slam back into him. It felt like what he imagined would be similar to emerging from a dark cave into the light of day, able to perceive more than just what was immediately around him. Instantly, his attention went to his vast forces of immune cells, fighting the even more vast number of infections. Fortunately, the dungeon crystal’s worry that his troops might not still be complying with his orders, turned out to be unfounded. They were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing: Destroying infection sites by the thousands. What was left of the quick-strike force was also doing what he ordered, which was basically nothing without his direct instructions; as a result, he ordered them to join the others, so that they wouldn’t be waiting around.

“Stemmy?  Can you hear me?”

Yes. Stemmy can communicate with you.

It didn’t even seem that the interneuron cell had even noticed Progen wasn’t able to be contacted; then again, the crystal had not been asking Stemmy anything, that was precisely what had happened.

“Is it normal for no immune cells to flow through the heart?” he asked, while he continued following the large artery leading out from the pumping organ. Now that Progen could see where he was going, he saw how it made a loop as it passed through a few other areas, getting small enough, at one point, that the crystal knew he would barely be able to fit through. It didn’t take long for Stemmy to answer.

No. There are always white blood cells constantly searching for additional threats, even when the majority of the immune system is concentrating on a major infection, such as these virus virions inhabiting host cells.

“That’s what I thought.”  Confirmation of his observation didn’t make him feel good, though.

A minute later, he thought he was wrong about the absence of immune cells, as he started to see some of the body’s Newts drifting through the red blood cells around him. It wasn’t very many, but it matched what he saw in the rest of the body; despite their presence farther away from the heart, he looked around and saw that there were still none anywhere close to the vital organ surrounded by the mysterious shadow void.

Squeezing through the small capillaries that marked the halfway point between the previous half of the heart and the other was more difficult than he expected. The blood vessels contracted to a very narrow corridor that barely let a few red blood cells through at the same time, let alone the large bulk of his dungeon crystal. Progen ended up getting stuck trying to get through and required the help of his immune cells to push him through using their massed numbers, tearing the vessel in the process. Luckily, once he was through, it was quite easy to repair the tears he made using his mana – unlike his inability to affect anything inside of the heart.

The short journey into the larger artery and into the pumping organ was uneventful, otherwise, though he could almost sense the point where the immune cells he saw vacated the area. It was also the point where the neural network communications with Stemmy started to be disrupted, so that likely explained the lack of white blood cells. Even knowing the likely culprit, the absence of the body’s immune cells was…eerie.

Nonetheless, Progen floated on with his personal posse of immune cells, following the stream of red blood cells into the heart. Again, when he passed through the shadowy void surrounding the organ, he felt disconnected from the rest of the world, until all he could sense was what was directly around him. The first large chamber, which the dungeon crystal remembered Stemmy calling the Left Atrium, appeared entirely normal. Forcing his way through the rapid and constant flow of red blood cells throughout the chamber over the next few minutes showed that there was nothing out of the ordinary; as far as he could tell, the heart was operating as regularly as it was supposed to.

Until the entire organ seemed to shudder once, causing an irregular beat. It took a few moments to regain normalcy.

“That can’t be good. However, I don’t see anything, anywhere that could be causing that. Stemmy—” Progen started to ask how something like that could happen, before remembering that his means of communication with the interneuron had been cut off. He supposed that he could just move back out of the heart and ask, but he figured the answer might not be helpful anyway – especially if it had something to do with how the shadowy void was interrupting the neural network around there. It didn’t seem as though it were an enemy he could fight, and he still had no idea how to eliminate it.

What was more important at that point was that he eliminated all the possible spasm-originating places inside the large organ, before he was forced to rely on other means of determining what was wrong. After all, he still had the lower quadrant of the heart, the Left Ventricle, to investigate – if he remembered his lesson with Stemmy correctly. When he was positive there was no sign of any infection – bacterial or virus-related – in the upper chamber, Progen sent his forces through the valve leading to the lower chamber. When the dungeon crystal, himself, entered, he looked around where his perception could reach and didn’t see anything.

It was only when he drifted farther into the lower heart that something finally happened. The Seekers he had with his protective force shot forward into the middle of the large chamber, and despite his orders otherwise, they disappeared out of his perception range. He felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation as he followed along, keeping the rest of his immune cells on a tight leash; it was obvious that his Seekers had found the infection inside of the heart, and Progen was anxious to get rid of it before it got too large. If it turned out to be worse than he expected, he would leave quickly and gather more immune cells for its eradication.

When he finally saw his first sign of the Insidious Virus inside of the heart, it was unlike anything he had seen before.

Chapter 26

Floating in the middle of the ventricle was a cluster of virions of the Insidious Virus variety, somehow maintaining its position despite the constant pressure of red blood cells being pumped through the organ. Unlike the small clusters that Progen had seen enter the body before breaking apart and scattering – which were approximately the size of one of the body’s Veteran Killers when clumped together – this cluster was huge. The smaller clusters contained somewhere between 50 and 100 virions, but the one he drifted up had to contain hundreds of thousands – if not millions. It was unfathomable, honestly, and it just floated there without moving or doing much of anything else.

His view of the walls of the heart, when he first entered, revealed that there weren’t any of the virus currently embedded inside of any host cells, and for some reason he doubted it was different anywhere else in the ventricle. The only viruses were here, and as had been usual of late, they were acting strangely.

The dungeon crystal noticed his scattered Seekers stuck to the front side of the massive viral cluster, where they had likely struck when they shot straight ahead. He could still marginally sense them, however, so they weren’t destroyed…yet. As he stared at them and tried to comprehend what he was looking at, he watched them get sucked into the cluster; when he couldn’t see them anymore, he lost all awareness of their location. Either they had been cut off from his senses, just like the shadowy void did to the rest of the body...or they had been destroyed.

This was a new behavior for the virus.  Sure, they destroyed host cells when they broke out to spread their numbers, or his (or the body’s) immune cells were forced to destroy the cell along with the virions inside; despite that, they hadn’t actually attacked or defended themselves, and had done no direct damage to his forces.

“Stemmy, I really wish you could see this and tell me what’s going on here!” he said, keeping the rest of his immune cells close. Surprisingly, something answered – and it wasn’t the interneuron cell.

It wasn’t really words that were communicated towards him, though; it was more akin to strong feelings or vague pictures that his innate mana picked up from the floating mass.

Anger…despair…pressure…destruction…revenge…death…possession…kill…

All of those, and more, were constantly repeated through his mind, creating a confusing jumble of strong emotions that nearly overwhelmed him. It was paralyzing, forcing him to hover there in the middle of the heart with his immune cells around him; fortunately, he had enough wits left about him to keep a firm hand on them, because he could also sense them wanting to surge forward and start attacking. Doing so would probably be a mistake, especially when one prevalent and recurring feeling/image/thought coming from the gigantic virus cluster was hammering itself into his mind.

…trap…devour…

“Trap?” he thought out loud, which helped to partially mute the cycle of impressions he was being bombarded with. Progen knew traps – they were part of who he was as a dungeon, after all – and he began to realize that he had just floated into one. He wasn’t entirely sure where or what the trap entailed, all he knew was that he needed to escape before it was too late; some instinct of his told him that his protection detail was unlikely to be up to the task of actually protecting his crystal.

“THIS IS A TRAP!” he shouted to no one, and immediately turned his entire force to go around the giant cluster of virions, aiming for where he knew there was an exit out of the heart and into a large artery. He briefly considered going back through the valve he came through, but he knew that it would be more difficult to go backwards through it, especially while trying to force a way through the red blood cells streaming inside the lower left quadrant of the large organ.

The large Insidious Virus mass didn’t do anything when he and his protective force moved, so Progen thought he was lucky he recognized the threat before he decided to attack. As he neared the exit, however, another mass of virions – even larger than the first – streamed in from all sides, flowing over the portal leading out and blocking it off from escape. Not only that, but the great mass of the microscopic virus was so thick that it blocked most of the red blood cells from being pumped into the body. The vital organ around him shuddered as the normal operations were interrupted, and the heart beat irregularly – both of which were extremely bad signs.

He remembered Stemmy telling him about the heart and the functions it performed for the body to keep it running and healthy. If these viruses made it stop doing what it was supposed to, then it wouldn’t be long before the entire body died, viruses notwithstanding. Progen briefly thought about trying to bust through the blockade with his immune cells but thought better of it when he saw how many were there. Wanting to get reinforcements first, the crystal backed off from the exit with his protection force – when he saw the virus cluster move away from the exit, allowing the blood to flow freely again. There was some major stuttering as the heart adjusted to the change; after a few moments, though, it seemed to return to normal.

“Wait—if these viruses seem so intent on killing everything, why didn’t they just do that in the first place?” he couldn’t help but think. Based on the impressions he was still receiving from the masses of virions, it seemed as though the main objective was to kill the entire body.

Viruses and bacteria spread and reproduce based on their instinctual nature. They do not base their behavior on a specific thought process – because they are incapable of independent thought. Their actions are not based on malice, nor through any desire to destroy – because they are incapable of emotional responses. They only act as they do because of their basic programming, which is to procreate and spread to survive.

The timely memory of Stemmy’s voice in his mind echoed with a ring of truth to it, and he suddenly knew that it was not the viruses, themselves, that were doing this: They were just a tool, being used by something else. Something sinister, something deeply embedded in the body – but something that didn’t necessarily have the strength to completely destroy everything. It was using the Insidious Virus – as well as the bacteria he had fought before – to do its dirty work. For all intents and purposes, this mysterious entity had been gradually succeeding.

At least, until Progen showed up. Now, when it appeared as though this – unknown thing – had the means to kill the body, if that was indeed its goal, it refrained from doing that.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked out loud and waited for some sort of response. There was no intelligent reply, as far as he could tell, though the constant impressions began to stream into him from all directions. The only change he could sense was a strange increase in one feeling over all the others.

…possession…

Suddenly, it all clicked in his mind. “This force…this malevolent presence, whatever it is…it doesn’t want to just destroy the body anymore. It wants something more than that, something that will benefit it over and above its current objective. This thing wants…me.”

As if it had been some sort of cue to attack, when he thought those words and put them out into the open, he felt the mass of virions near the exit bunch up together again and move in his direction. It wasn’t quick, like they had reacted at first to close off the artery; instead, it seemed deliberately slow, as if its measured pace and eventual clash with his own immune cells was inevitable and didn’t have to be rushed.

Progen, of course, ran away – though not in fear. He was angry for allowing himself to end up in that situation, and for not being better prepared; he was also annoyed that something else was already in the body trying to take it over to kill it, because he didn’t want the competition. “THIS IS MY BODY!” he screamed out even as he strategically retreated. When I get out of here, I’m going to bring back so many of my immune cells that there will be nothing left—

“What?  No!  What are you doing?”

His retreat didn’t get that far before he was blocked from behind; the cluster of virions from the middle had snuck up and created a demi-sphere that effectively blocked off all access to escape that way. Looking around, he saw that the ones slowly chasing him had done the same. If they combined, which appeared to be the goal, they would create a full sphere, trapping his crystal and his immune cells inside. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

Surrounding himself with his 3,000 Newts as a thick spongy shield, he directed his 200 activated Novice Killers to concentrate on a small patch of the larger half-sphere coming from the artery room and sent them forth to start slaughtering them to make a hole. His 300 Spawners he set to releasing their projectiles, which shot out at great speed, following the red blood cells as they were propelled through the heart as the organ pumped. His 300 Assassins weren’t exactly useless, but they would need to get in close to the virions making up the clusters and stab out with their hollow flagellum; they were meant to destroy cells and divide cell nuclei – they weren’t necessarily designed for direct confrontation.

His Novice Killers slammed into the approaching wall of small viruses, immediately starting to rotate and chew up the smaller organisms; within seconds, tens of thousands of the Insidious Virus were destroyed from the concerted attack, and Progen was happy to see that they had already made a small hole in the sphere, though it wasn’t quite enough to get himself out with his Newt shield. That was alright, though, because while they worked on widening the hole, the projectiles from his Spawners impacted the massive cluster as well. The protein-based antigens weren’t as effective against the virus because they were technically larger and not designed for that work; nevertheless, thousands were knocked out of place, and at least a third of those were destroyed from the impact alone.

That only left the remaining virus at somewhere in the range of a few million or so.

Progen moved himself and his Newt shield towards the hole his Novice Killers had made and were continuing to widen, thinking he could probably just ram it to get through and escape, when the virion cluster finally reacted. Moving much faster than he thought possible, the damaged sphere collapsed in on itself, enfolding its numbers around the Killers and Assassins until he couldn’t see them anymore.  Though he could still feel them, as well as tangentially experience what was happening to them, he soon wished he couldn’t.

Uncaring about their own destruction, the Insidious Virus pushed inwards, crushing its own individual virions against the deadly spinning of the Killers, until they were so tight against them and the Assassins that they couldn’t move anymore. Once that happened, hundreds of them busted through the capsule and cell membrane surrounding his attackers, implanting themselves inside until they grew so stuffed with virions that they popped from the pressure. Over 100,000 of the virions were destroyed over the course of only about 10 seconds, but they had wiped out Progen’s strongest attacking forces.

His Spawners continued to release their projectiles, which did some damage to the amorphous sphere that had basically just crushed his Novice Killers; overall, however, they had truly little effect. The dungeon crystal wasn’t idle during the devastating counterattack by the virus, and he strove to take advantage of its distraction. Diving underneath the sphere of death, he strove to skirt around the entire cluster with his Newt shield intact. Progen got about halfway past the gigantic virion bunch before something smacked into the front of his shield, crushing about a dozen of his immune cells in the process.

Looking to see what had stopped him, he saw with rising horror as a long tentacle seemed to extend from the mass, formed entirely by tens of thousands of virions bonded tightly together. As he backed up and tried to go around it, a half-dozen more seemed to emerge from the cluster, extending out and blocking his path to the artery – and relative safety. He moved back farther and looked at the entire cluster, only to see the other group of the Virus arrive and combine with those already there, forming one massive shape. It was a strangely familiar one, however; an elongated cylindrical ovoid body, with flagella-like tentacles on one end. In other words, it looked like the bacteria that Progen had first encountered inside of the small intestine.

The Insidious Virus had combined all its virions into the shape of an organism that was completely different in form and design. If everything else the dungeon crystal had seen and experienced wasn’t enough to convince him that something unnatural was behind all of this, then the gigantic bacteria-looking thing that appeared large enough to clog an artery would certainly have done it.

Progen felt a shock of fear run through him as he attempted to escape the other way, directing his Newts and himself to navigate their way through the rushing red blood cells to the valve, and from there out of the heart. The form changes of the virus cluster turned out to be beneficial for it, as it wasn’t just to block him from escaping through the artery. The flagella acted to move through the red blood cells with great alacrity, shoving them out of the way and forcing them to make way for the enormous multi-part organism. As such, it overtook Progen and his shield within seconds, giving him no chance to escape.

Virion-formed flagella wrapped around his Newt shield, stopping the entire thing from moving because he had instructed them from drifting off and staying together; when one stopped moving, the entire shield of Newts stopped as well. The flagellum was barely able to reach all the way around his – now slightly less than 3,000-Newt-strong – protective barrier, and he nearly escaped as he managed to slip through its grasp…only to be wrapped up by a second, third, and then fourth. Within seconds, all seven of the flagella coming out from below the gigantic bacteria-shaped Insidious Virus cluster were wrapped around the barrier protecting him from harm.

Doing what Newts do, they immediately started to gobble up the virion tendrils wrapped around them, swallowing up dozens of them at a time fairly successfully; unlike bacteria, where they could only fit anywhere between a half-dozen to a dozen, depending on their size, the Newts were able to fit a hundred or more of the virions inside their shapes. That was obviously a known defense, as the humongous entity started to ripple around him, sending more of the virus down into the flagella and replacing what was being consumed by the Newts.

“Oh, no…”

Progen knew exactly what was going to happen next, as the memory of what had happened to his Novice Killers and Assassins was still fresh in his mind. The giant virus-bacteria-creature started to “squeeze” its flagella around his Newts, pushing more and more virions inside the immune cells, causing them to burst from the pressure. The immune cells closed ranks whenever one would *pop*, but the end seemed inevitable.

It only took a little less than 2 minutes for his once-strong protective shield to be reduced to just a few dozen, which barely protected his dungeon crystal in a single layer. Worst of all, though it was visible, the loss of somewhere in the range of 400,000 virions barely seemed to faze the massive bacteria-shaped amalgamation of tiny Insidious Viruses.

There was nothing he could do; his one attempt to escape with a few Newts and slip away was rebuffed as an eighth tentacle formed out of the giant cluster and basically slapped him back inside the shield. He couldn’t break free, and his available immune cells were down to basically nothing by that point. Progen had even attempted to use his mana to create a trap or two to break him free, but whenever his mana left his crystal, it seemed to just rebound back into him without any effect. It wasn’t consumed, at least, though it appeared as though it was useless.

“Ah, Stemmy, I should’ve listened to you when you warned me this could be dangerous…”

Chapter 27

As thoughts about the interneuron cell roved through his mind in his last minutes, something occurred to him as the last few Newts around him *popped* when they were pumped full of the Insidious Virus. He had already failed while trying to alter the area around him by creating traps, and earlier by attempting to carve his way through the organ tissue to arrive at the other half of the heart, but he hadn’t even tried to create any immune cells. Granted, he hadn’t really thought about it, because his mana was limited and he didn’t have anything that he figured might make a difference; regardless, it was worth trying, at least.

Using 2 points of mana, he focused on creating a Reporter just outside of his cage of grasping flagella…and it worked. The mana-formed immune cell phased into existence just as easily as it would happen anywhere else, before it was promptly swallowed up by a virion-tendril that shot out of the massive bacteria-shaped virus monster. That didn’t really bother him, however, as it only proved that he was able to create cells, as they didn’t affect the immediate area, which seemed to be what was restricted due to the shadowy void substance surrounding the heart.

A quick perusal of his available immune cell options proved to be a lesson in futility, as nothing he could create would be of much use. Reporters didn’t really have any way to attack, his Spawners didn’t have access to the correct antigens for use in making projectiles and would be destroyed before that happened anyways. The same went with his Novice Killers, as they wouldn’t attack unless they had the specific viral signature activated within them. Hunters by themselves would be next to useless, as the molecules they spread out were designed for taking down parasites, not viruses, and the Historians were basically good only for storing information. That left his Newts, which, as he watched the last few being destroyed, wouldn’t do much good – unless he was able to suddenly create 100,000 or more of them within the next minute or so.

That obviously wasn’t going to happen with the 938 mana he had available.

The last Newt he had *popped*, taking 130 or so virions with it as it exploded. The flagella quickly wrapped around his crystal and started to compress his outer capsule; the difference between him and all of his immune cells, of course, was that he didn’t have a cell membrane – because he wasn’t a cell, of course. The virions passed through the capsule and bumped up against his hard, crystalline exterior, but ultimately, they couldn’t do anything to hurt him. Or so it seemed at first.

…frustration…anger…destruction…

The feelings coming from all around him pulsed in intensity, with a particular emphasis on those three ideas. Progen wasn’t exactly sure what this presence that seemed to be controlling the different pathogens in the body wanted with him, but he had an idea; his thought was that it wanted to somehow invade his crystal like a virus would a host cell, and somehow possess it. It had obviously seen how he could manipulate mana to create and affect the world around him, and it probably wanted to be able to do that as well. Or, he could be entirely wrong, and it had some other plans for him; either way, it wasn’t going to get what it wanted.

“Sorry, buddy – that’s not going to work.”

Whether or not it understood him, there was a reaction: the flagella wrapped tightly around him started to squeeze, tighter and tighter. At first, it didn’t do anything at all to him, but after a moment he could feel it starting to have an effect; a shock of pain ran through his mind as his crystal started to fracture incrementally from the pressure. Think!  What can I do?

The answer was something that he told himself he would never even contemplate creating because of the danger inherent in it, but now there didn’t seem to be any choice in the matter.

“It’s time we fight fire with fire…or pathogen with pathogen.”

Progen focused first on picturing his Dual-whip Bacteria Cluster, which was the one with two sets of flagella on either side of its cylindrical-ovoid shape; when he had that locked in his mind, he then imagined combining it with one of the Insidious Virus Cluster, concentrating solely on its properties of subverting a cell’s normal operations to create copies of itself. Before he started to pump mana into his unique mutation, he created a Stem Cell for 10 mana and placed it a far distance away from where he was slowly being crushed by virion-based tentacles.

Once that was in place, he imagined combining the two – the bacteria and the virus – inside the stem cell, hoping that it would partially mask what he was doing. As he had hoped, the presence of the stem cell appearing farther away, as well as being non-threatening, meant that the bacteria-shaped super Virus creature ignored it completely. He started pouring mana into the mutation and he felt it being sucked out of him as first 200, then 400, then 800 mana drained out of him so quickly he thought he had just made a mistake. Fortunately, when it hit 900 mana, the drainage stopped abruptly, and what he was dubbing the Viral Whip was born inside of the stem cell.

The presence of it inside of the cell blocked out some of the bright flash of light as it happened, but not all of it. Progen felt the massive flagella squeezing him tightly start to loosen as the light caught its attention, though there wasn’t enough slack for the dungeon crystal to escape its grasp. When nothing seemed to happen for almost two minutes, where the gargantuan Insidious Virus monster just froze with Progen still being held inside its tendrils, the crushing of his crystal form began again.

Another crack, larger and more painful this time, ran all the way down his upper facet, and he started to despair that he was too late already. A third crack, so large and painful that it nearly made his entire crystal shatter, spiderwebbed over his entire lower half and he knew that one more crack would probably do him in.

Just then, the stem cell he had created burst apart, and a swarm of Viral Whips emerged from the remnants of the cell like a cloud. An urgent order to them from Progen had them swarming towards the massive monster created from millions of virions. Each Viral Whip was approximately a quarter of the size of a normal Dual-whip bacterium, though they appeared identical in appearance otherwise; in comparison to the actual Insidious Virus size, they were still five times larger – and they were cell-based organisms.

Which seemed odd, at first glance, because they would just explode when they got filled up with virions that would attack them; he was eager, however, to see what would happen – because he had a theory. His life hung in the balance with that theory…but it was a good one.

The new threat caused the enormous Virus creature to pause again, as it prepared to defend itself. In retrospect, it was like how any predator would defend its kill against any intruders, as it continued to hold onto his crystal, even while turning to fight. And fight it did, as it pulled off one of its virion-based flagellum and swatted at the approaching Viral Whips, which were using the flow of the red blood cells around themselves to maneuver closer. Progen mentally winced as the massive tentacle smacked into them, appearing to have smashed a swathe of them apart so thoroughly that they disappeared – though it turned out he was mistaken.

His Viral Whips had simply latched onto the massive, virion-filled tentacle with their own agile flagella, where they began to tear apart every Insidious Virus they could wrap their tendrils around. As predicted, the gigantic bacteria-shaped monster fought back, and virions started to send themselves inside of the cell of his Whips, so that they would fill up and explode – and then the entity controlling the Virus could get back to killing him.

“This is it…let’s see if I was correct,” he softly said, though nothing seemed to be listening to him.

The first Viral Whip swelled up quickly, ballooning up until it appeared as if the Virus would get its wish; then, as Progen had hoped, a miracle happened.

The Whip split in half.

Then those two halves split again, and again, continuing to increase in number.

“YES!  It worked!” he practically shouted, although he was ignored by the entity controlling the colossal, bacteria-shaped, virion-filled monster…who seemed to be confused.

…anger…confusion…frustration…

Progen hadn’t known for sure it would work, but he’d had a hunch. Bacteria fed on the nutrients that the cells of the body provided, so that they could divide and reproduce themselves; with the rapidity of virus reproduction, and the introduction of exactly what the Viral Whip needed to reproduce (in the form of virions entering their cells), meant that they would quickly gain enough material to divide and multiply. He wasn’t confident that it would work that fast, and he was pleasantly surprised when they reproduced themselves as he had hoped.

At least, most of them did; there were a handful that were overloaded with virions so quickly that they exploded before they could process the materials and commence reproduction. Regardless, what started as just under 100 that spawned from the stem cell soon became 400 and then 800 as the few Viral Whips – that hadn’t initially latched on to the massive monster’s flagellum – arrived and joined the others in tearing apart the Virus in front of them. When he looked closer, he realized that all the virions the Whips deconstructed were absorbed into their bodies, which were then used to help with their reproduction.

Whoever or whatever was controlling the Insidious Virus was obviously not used to solving problems with any sort of deep thinking, because its confusion only started to grow as Progen’s Viral Whips continued to multiply at an exponential rate. Seeing success in overloading his bacteria-virus mutation with too many virions, however, the rate of its “attack” on his brand-new forces only increased. The dungeon crystal could only assume that the response was an instinctual reaction, because if it had thought it through even a little, the entity would’ve likely realized how poor of an idea that was. Not that there was anything it could really do at that point, other than possibly escape, itself, because his Whips were literally feasting on an increasingly large section of the bacteria-shaped Insidious Virus monster.

One and then another flagellum from the Virus unwrapped around his dungeon crystal as they were brought down on the attacking Whips in an attempt to crush or overwhelm Progen’s saviors. Truthfully, the defense worked – at least in part; dozens were impacted and burst apart, but there were so many Viral Whips by that point that it didn’t matter overly much. Progen lost count of how many there were after about a minute, because they were multiplying so quickly; there had to be over 10,000, by that point – despite 1 in 4 exploding from overloaded virions.

Yet, the Virus monster kept up with what it was doing, even though it was clear it wasn’t working. Progen inwardly acknowledged that the virions didn’t really have any other form of attack than what they were doing, so it sort of made sense; however, if he were in charge of the millions of virions there, he would’ve broken them all apart and retreated until some other plan could be implemented.

The flagella surrounding his crystal peeled off one-by-one, loosening their hold on him to the point where he was almost positive that he could escape if he chose to. He refrained from doing so, however, even when there was only one left loosely wrapped around his form. One, he didn’t want to strain his crystal in an attempt to break free, because it still felt as if the slightest movement would shatter him; two, he didn’t want to call attention to himself again, because the focus of the Virus seemed to be wholly on combating – unsuccessfully – the Viral Whips attacking it. Progen didn’t want to stir up trouble and suddenly shift focus to his crystal again, where the Virus might decide that it would take him down with him.

When the last of the flagella left him, he drifted slowly away; it wasn’t a quick escape, but it was at a decent enough speed that he was soon out of range of even the lengthiest flagellum that might try to grab him. As soon as he figured he was safe, he focused his senses on the epic battle between his Whips and the Virus, even though the result seemed inevitable by that point.

Ten minutes after his mutations emerged from the stem cell, they had multiplied to the point where there were more Whips than the actual Virus. Almost as soon as that equilibrium was shattered, so, too, was the cohesiveness of the virion monster. The bacteria-shape that it had adopted fell apart, and the virions tried to scatter like they should have done near the beginning; by that time, though, it was too late. There were too many of the Viral Whips around, and they were particularly adept at moving through the red blood cells constantly pumping through the heart using their dual-sided flagella, to let many escape, even temporarily.

…confusion…anger…fear…despair…

The images and feelings he was receiving from the entity and the area changed considerably at that point, getting weaker and weaker as more of the Virus was destroyed. At the tipping point of the battle, Progen felt them cease altogether; moments later, and despite there still being hundreds of thousands of virions being hunted down, the shadowy void evaporated around the heart. As if a veil had been suddenly lifted, the rest of the body snapped back into his awareness, and he quickly saw that things were still progressing at a steady pace in the respiratory system, as well as the circulatory system that the body’s immune system was handling. In fact, even as he was perceiving that, he could see additional white blood cells being dispatched in the heart’s direction. Which also must have meant….

“Stemmy, are you there?”

Yes.

“Ah, old friend, it’s great to hear your voice. I have the Virus on the run inside the heart, though it might take a while to completely wrap it up,” he explained to the interneuron cell. Progen also explained what little that he had discovered about the malevolent entity that seemed to be working against his expansion, as well as its wish to kill the body. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of it, though.”

As he was speaking to Stemmy, the dungeon crystal had been surveying what he had influence over in the body’s different systems, looking for any other abnormalities. Other than the prevalence of the Insidious Virus located almost everywhere he could reach, which wasn’t surprising, everything looked normal. In fact, it was better than normal; up near the brain of the body, the force that had blocked him from accessing anything up there seemed to be less substantial – as if what he had done to thwart the entity’s plan in the heart had hurt it.

“Interesting…” he thought. It was something that he would explore into a little more, later; but at the moment, he had another problem on his figurative hands. The Viral Whips – despite their vast power fighting against the large Virus monster and who were currently still chasing down hostile virions in the heart – were out of control. Even those closest to his crystal completely ignored his orders; basically, as soon as he set them to destroy the Virus, they had gone and done their own thing. While it was currently a good thing, he worried about the future.

“Do you think they will eventually do more harm than good?”

That is most probable. As soon as all of the virus has been eradicated, they may turn to the body to supply the nutrients they need to survive and multiply. They are technically not immune cells, and it is unlikely that you will be able to control them.

If that were true, then it was quite possible that they hadn’t ever listened to his orders and had instead attacked the bacteria-shaped Insidious Virus creature on their own. Given that, it was also likely that he had just unleashed an even worse threat on the body than the Virus had ever posed.

“I think you’re right, Stemmy,” he responded forlornly, knowing what he had to do. “Time to clean up my mess before it gets out of control.”

So, saying, Progen directed nearly 90,000 of his Newts he had basically on standby – created when he was combating the bacteria that had been infecting the lungs earlier – to the heart to enact as a cleanup force. They were basically useless against the Virus normally, but they would be perfect foils to his Viral Whips. He hated that he had to get rid of his newest mutation so quickly, but it was for the benefit of the future. If he left them too long, then they might do the malevolent entity’s work for it.

The battle might have been won, but the war was far from over.

Chapter 28

Marstin let out a sigh as he waited at the table with his drink. He’d promised Yarrow he’d help her shop for a new magic staff; it was the big thing she was going to buy with her cut from the wyvern leather. He mulled around with the idea of cutting the appointment; after all, he had no clue as to what made a staff better or worse. But Yarrow had been insistent that he join her, or she’d make him pay for the medicine she’d bought for him. He sighed; it would be a long time before he’d be able to pay her back.

As adventurers came and went around him, drinking and eating or going on quests, Marstin couldn’t help but reflect on his adventuring experience. It had been two months since he’d been saved – on his deathbed. The memories he retained of the experience warmed his heart, from the worried expressions of the Iron Yaks, to Kyra’s secret visit; to the faces of the two guards who had pulled him out of his grave cave. He wasn’t alone anymore; there were people who would care if he was gone.

Still, that didn’t mean everything had gone accordingly to plan. He had almost perished from Withering Cold, a disease common in Istut but only fatal in the weak. Due to the cultural emphasis on strength, and the regional physiological evolution favoring resilience, the medicine to cure withering cold was slightly expensive, as few alchemists could make it. As such, the Iron Yaks and the Istutian Polar Hunters had pooled together to buy the only vial in town. The price had caused such a ruckus even the guild master had to get involved; evidently price gouging was very offensive to the polar tribe members, who almost trashed the shop. When Marstin recovered, he immediately leaped into adventuring work to pay back the debt.

Over the last two months, he’d joined several other adventuring groups who were willing to give him a try, given his performance with the Iron Yaks. While he hadn’t found a similar score during any of the trips, he did manage to make a name for himself. His jack-of-all-trades style, and his knowledge of mechanisms, allowed him a great range of things with which he could help; though he still wasn’t trusted with coin, to his chagrin. He still wasn’t a fan of the name ‘The Little Helper’, but somehow the nickname had stuck, and he was forced to live with it.

“Ah, Little Helper,” a voice suddenly rang out from behind Marstin, startling him. “Good morning to you.”

Marstin turned his head to see who was talking to him. “Good morning to you as well, Rob,” Marstin said neutrally. The older guild clerk who had been Marstin’s first guide to the guild was not high on Marstin’s friend list. If anything, the older man had continued to make trouble for Marstin over the last two months, though it never escalated past subtle comments or recommendations to groups Marstin was trying to join. The older man was an annoyance, but Marstin had learned to steer clear of the man. He wasn’t quite sure why Rob was talking to him.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Rob asked, a small, polite smile on his face.

“Yes, I am,” Marstin replied, thankful to Yarrow now for the excuse to leave.

“I see,” Rob continued smiling. “Well, I’m here to inform you that you have a named quest made out to you; congratulations! In my ten years working here I’ve never met someone who possessed enough of a competent reputation for someone to make out a request specifically to them.” Rob handed over a letter to Marstin, who examined it with interest. “I must go now, so enjoy the rest of your day.”

Marstin watched as Rob left before turning back to the letter. He knew what a named request was; someone had submitted to the guild a request, with him as the intended recipient. It was an honor for someone at his level, especially since he wasn’t a true adventurer yet. But he wasn’t sure why someone would want him.

Before Marstin could consider more on the matter, or even read the letter properly, Yarrow appeared and whisked him away onto the busy streets. He’d have to read the letter later.

*****

Dusk was falling as Marstin made his way through the back road toward the meeting place. The letter written to him had specified a time and place, an abandoned home on the edge of town near the wall at sunset. Whoever had requested him would be waiting for him there. Marstin couldn’t help but feel a mix of trepidation and excitement, though the meeting spot did concern him a bit.

But this was an official request made to the guild, after all. Since they’d given it to him, then there shouldn’t be anything wrong.

Upon arriving at the house, Marstin knocked on the door three times, as specified, and waited.

“Enter,” a voice came from within the house.

Marstin cleared his throat and entered. “Hello, I’m here from the Adventurer Guild. You requested me?”

“Indeed, we did, boy. Indeed, we did.”

Marstin’s hairs stood at end immediately, upon hearing the voice. He knew that voice, that sarcastic tone, and the most of all the arrogant word use of ‘boy’. He turned around and found himself face to face with Burch, the Vice-Guild Master of the Thieves’ Guild. Burch had a cruel, yet somehow playful smile on his face as he examined Marstin.

“I didn’t expect you to make it this far, boy,” Burch chuckled. “Ah, but you’ve exceeded our wildest expectations.”

“What, why,” Marstin garbled as he stumbled back, trying to get away from the man, the memories, and the flashes of pain. He was stopped by a second pair of legs. Marstin looked up, into the eyes of the Guild Master, himself, Cheven. Cheven looked the same as ever, though his wrinkled face was twisted into a rare smile as he looked down at Marstin.

“Don’t be so nervous, Marstin,” the Guild Master said, kindly. “After all, you’re among family now.” Marstin could feel them now, the eyes in the walls and rooms. This was a meeting place for the guild, one he’d never seen before.

“Family, no,” Marstin shook his head in denial. “No, you left me for dead! You told me you’d kill me if you ever saw me again!”

The house was filled with soft chuckles, scaring Marstin further.

“Ah, don’t tell me you believed us, boy?” Burch smiled, making no attempt to draw closer to Marstin. “Beating you up was normal procedure; but then, we had an idea. The crystal you were supposed to steal; see, we found out that the target had transferred it to the Adventurer Guild, shortly before your thievery attempt. So, we decided we needed an inside person, and that’s a lot harder to do than since . . . well, since our last big score.”

“The Adventurer Guild has quite the security, when it comes to trust,” Cheven continued with his soft smile. “So, our spy had to be someone they could accept and grow to trust. Someone split from our family, and so we acted to ensure you were in the perfect spot.”

“But—but—I chose to enter the Adventurers’ Guild, myself,” Marstin protested. “I almost died because of my injuries.”

“No,” Cheven’s silvery voice twisted its way into Marstin’s ears. “No, we’d never abandon you, young Marstin. It was us who alerted the young baker’s daughter to your plight, and it was us who conveniently placed those cheap healing potions for you to heal up. We knew you’d be desperate to make it up to that lovely girl, to make a name for yourself, and our agents in town are in enough key spots to ensure you’d only be accepted at the guild. Though, as it turned out, we needn’t have bothered because you went there on your own, just like we hoped you would.”

“And now,” Cheven held his arms up in the air, “You’ve become a well-respected member of the guild, with friends and colleagues; the perfect spy for the family. Everything you’ve done has been for this moment, Marstin; accept it.”

“No, that isn’t true,” Marstin shook his head. “You couldn’t have planned this all out, you’re lying!”

A soft slap sent Marstin away from Cheven. Marstin held his cheek as the red poured in, watching the smile fade away from the guild master’s face.

“Little brat, do you think, with your history, you would have been accepted at the guild without our help?” Cheven asked coldly. He snapped his fingers, and a figure walked out of the shadows. Marstin gapped as Rob came into a view, an arrogant smile on his face.

“The normal procedure to deal with would-be thieves like you is to toss you out, without a word,” Cheven continued. “But the commotion started by Rob was enough to draw the eye of the guild master, earning you your position as a temporary adventurer. Face it, Marstin, you’ve been playing on the strings of the family ever since you walked into town from the front gate.”

Marstin shook his head, tears running down his face.

“What, do you think that telling anyone will help you, boy?” Burch’s sarcastic voice came from behind Marstin. “Heh heh, yes, why don’t you go to the guild master or your friends and reveal what we’ve told you. Think about it: How could they ever trust you again, after you reveal you’re a spy for the Thieves’ Guild? Everything you built there, all your friends and trust, it would all vanish like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

No one said anything as Marstin’s tears continued to fall.

“Now, now, Marstin,” Cheven’s calming voice rang out. “No need for tears. After all, we aren’t here to tell you to leave the Adventurer’s Guild or your friends. In fact, we’d prefer it if you stayed there. We won’t bother you. We will leave you to your business. Go on adventures, see the world, we encourage it! All we ask is that you do us the occasional favor. Nothing big – not even anything illegal, mind you. Just little things, like passing information we might need. That’s all. And then you’ll be a full member of the thieving family, entitled to everything our members deserve. You want to pay that baker back? You’ll have access to all the silver you want, to buy as much food as you can stomach. The best of both worlds, adventurer and thief, is open to you Marstin. Think about it.”

And then he was gone. They were all gone, lost to the shadows…except Rob.

“The crystal you were meant to steal is going to be moved tomorrow,” Rob stated bluntly. “A large group of adventurers are responsible for guarding the caravan, half of the journey to the capital, where they will meet with a private army and hand off the caravan. I’ve ensured you’ll be a part of this group of adventurers. On the second night, the guild will launch a surprise attack on the caravan. You’ll take the jewel and hand it off to Burch. He’ll injure you moderately and leave. Be ready.” And then Rob was gone as well, leaving Marstin in the dark gloom, alone.

At some point, Marstin wandered out of the abandoned house into the backstreets, heading back toward the main road. Echoes of thunder burst overhead, signaling the coming rain. Marstin trudged on through toward the front gate, toward his home, toward his grave.

A hand fell on his shoulder before he made it out of town. The young boy turned to investigate the face of the right guard.

“Kid,” the left guard spoke up. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Marstin whispered, his eyes not focused.

The left guard scoffed. “That pit right? The one we pulled you out of, right? Why haven’t you moved into a better place, now that you’re an adventurer?”

“Paying back my debts,” Marstin answered softly.

The right guard sighed. “I bet you pushed the money onto those friends of yours. Kid, do you think they’d be happy knowing they were paid with your only savings, leaving you to live in that grave?”

Marstin didn’t answer.

“Seems you’re in a bit of a pickle,” the left guard observed. “Something on your mind, boy?” The left guard clanked his armor, “We might just be gatekeepers, but we both have good ears and good instincts. Part of the job, to ensure that nothing bad enters this gate, and that nothing good gets lost either. And you kid, you look like you’re on the brink. So, why not trust us watchers of life with your story? We won’t share it, and perhaps we can offer you some insight.”

“Besides, we’ll be closing up soon,” the right guard continued, eyeing the darkening cloudy sky. “The guard house has an extra bed, so bunk with us for a bit.”

Marstin’s tears fell, but perhaps it was just the rain.

*****

Marstin hadn’t known he had motion sickness; a lesson he soon learned, after riding the caravan wagon. After his little episode, and some consoling by Yarrow, the young boy had resolved himself to never ride another wagon again.

It was the end of the second day, now, and the adventurers were setting up camp around the wagons. Marstin had his own tent, provided by the guild, though he wasn’t sure which one. Oswald had happily taught him how to set it up the previous night, and Marstin was proud of his current, lopsided creation. It was a lot warmer and roomier than his grave cave, so he was happy.

As he was preparing for bed, someone, in the darkness, stepped by his tent and tapped it three times before leaving. Marstin froze, and his eyes hardened. The signal had been given. Now, the plan would begin. He got up and put his armor back on before leaving the tent. Around him, adventurers were joking, drinking, and eating around fires scattered around the campsite. Marstin ignored them all and went to the central wagon.

Yarrow was there, though she appeared to be snoring softly instead of standing guard. Marstin smiled gently as he shook her awake.

She started. “I wasn’t sleeping!” When she noticed Marstin, she coughed and attempted to play off her words.

“I’m here to relieve you for dinner,” Marstin explained with a smile.

“Oh, thanks a lot, Marstin,” Yarrow nodded appreciatively. “I won’t take too long, so just wait for me to finish and I’ll be right back.” The raven-haired girl hurried away toward one of the fires, her hand already reaching into her adventurer bag to pull out her rations.

Marstin leaned against the wagon and stared at the closest fire. Its flickering light was reflected in his eyes, giving him a mesmerizing aura, as if he were contemplating the mysteries of the world.

Suddenly, a cacophony rang out, as the campfires suddenly exploded, releasing a green mist into the air.

“Enemy attack!” someone shouted, and the entire camp fell into disarray. Marstin watched calmly from a distance, noticing the shadows diving into the mist from the forest. Right away, the sound of clanging iron and steel rang out, as the mysterious attackers took on the adventurers caught off-guard.

Marstin didn’t need to turn around to know Burch was waiting for him from the shadows. Marstin quickly entered the wagon and made his way over to the safe. His magical thieves’ tools easily picked the lock, and the young boy removed a small box. He opened it for only just a moment to confirm the contents before closing it and leaving the wagon.

“Do you have it?” the voice of Burch echoed in Marstin’s ear.

“I do,” Marstin answered calmly.

“Good. Now hand it over.”

Marstin reached behind him with the small box and felt a heavy hand snatch it away. Burch let out a small chuckle.

“Great job boy. Welcome back to the family.”

“Could you double check that I got the right crystal,” Marstin turned and smiled. “After all, I wouldn’t want to be beaten again for messing up a second time. I might actually die.”

“Heh,” was all Burch said, but his eyes grew annoyed. Marstin wasn’t supposed to turn around and talk to him, but the jewel was more important. Burch looked down and opened the box, not noticing Marstin leaping backwards.

With a bang, the box in Burch’s hand exploded like a bomb, and Burch’s roar of pain echoed all around. When the smoke cleared, Marstin saw Burch laying feebly against a tree, his arm an exploded mess of gore and bone, and his body littered with debris from the explosion.

“How,” Burch groaned, coughing up blood.

“I told them,” Marstin said coldly, “The guild master, my friends, I told them everything. That bomb was made just for you, Vice-Guild Master Burch. Now, up!  We’re going for a little walk, and I don’t want you falling and killing yourself unnecessarily, if you can’t catch yourself.” Just as Burch had once done to Marstin, now Marstin did to Burch. Though, he was only strong enough to drag the Vice-Guild Master by the leg toward the sounds of fighting.

Burch coughed more blood. “Damn you, boy! Hell’s curses on you! Do you think you’ll get away with this, betraying the family? You’re dead, you hear me, dead!”

Marstin didn’t respond but continued to drag the man toward the campsite. Burch couldn’t help but notice Marstin was heading toward a fire. Burch suddenly felt a chill.

“You still can turn this around boy, Marstin,” Burch’s voice suddenly turned softer. “If you help me escape, then we can consider this a moment of poor judgment. No harm done, okay? Marstin? Hey Marstin, wait, just wait a moment! Marstin! No!”

The fire loomed closer and closer, and Burch struggled with his last bit of strength to escape. But his feebleness was no match for the iron grip around his leg, the weight of retribution fueling Marstin’s gaze.

“My father told me to always settle my debts,” Marstin suddenly said. “You know Burch, you and the others have always given me things: pain, fear, self-loathing, and what you didn’t give you encouraged me to find it myself. And I believed you, all because you gave me a loaf of stolen bread. You remember I tried to pay you back by stealing a loaf myself? After I left, I heard you throw it away, calling it a food fit for dirt eaters. So, now I have a better gift for you, one that will settle the debt I have with you.”

Marstin threw Burch next to the fire, showing strength he never knew he had. Burch cringed, trying to get away from the fire as best he could. He groaned when Marstin dropped a foot onto his chest.

“Do you remember what you told me that day in the mines?” Marstin asked coldly. “Open your mouth!  You better swallow this, or I’ll kill you right now. Do you remember? Well, now I return those words to you. Pick up those embers and eat them. Then, I’ll let you go.”

Burch shook, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry Marstin, I’m really sorry for what I did. Please forgive me, please, I beg you!”

“Eat, or die,” Marstin pulled out his dagger, his treasure and pointed it down at Burch. Burch gulped, and turned to face the fire. With a sniveling sob, he slowly reached his only hand over toward the fire, the heat making his fear grow higher and deeper.

“Please Marstin, please!” he begged through tears and snot.

Marstin smiled.

“Okay, then die,”

Burch screamed as Marstin plunged the knife into Burch’s chest. The old, rusty knife shattered. Marstin stood back up, looking down at the terrified, dying Burch. The smell of piss rose up around the man, and he fainted.

“Are you satisfied, Marstin?” the voice of the Adventurers’ Guild Master rang out from behind him. Marstin turned to look up into the eyes of the giant man with the tail, his adventurer emblem shining in the firelight.

“Yes,” Marstin answered, a weight off his chest. “Will you save him?”

“He and the other thieves,” the guild master pointed behind him at the many tied figures with adventurers standing over them, “will be healed and taken to trial at the capital. The other adventurers should have launched an attack onto the bases you told us about, and those found by tracking Rob. None of them will escape.”

“Okay,” Marstin nodded.

The guild master stared down at the young man, and a smile arose on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gleaming card. “This is yours now, adventurer.”

Marstin looked down, reading his name as flickered in the dying light of the fading day and the glow of the fire. He smiled.

A warm breeze blew on by, the first sign of the ending spring. Summer was here, and with it the end of change.

Epilogue

A day later, Marstin walked into Olen’s Bakery with his head held high. He locked eyes with the large man, who starred expressionless back at him. Marstin reached into his adventurer bag and pulled out a silver coin, placing it on the counter.

“I’d like some bread, please,” Marstin affirmed.

Olen reached down and picked up the silver piece and bit it. He nodded, placing the silver coin back onto the counter. He reached behind and picked up a piece of freshly baked bread and handed it to Marstin.

“Keep the change for my debt,” Marstin smiled. Olen nodded; his face was unchanged, but his stance seemed to soften. From behind him, Kyra peeked out from the kitchen, a warm smile on her face.

*****

The cleanup from the events inside of the heart took longer than expected, because Progen and Stemmy were correct about the Viral Whips: They went off on their own, ignoring anything regarding orders from the dungeon crystal. Instead of staying in the constantly beating organ, when all the virions had been hunted down and used to further their own reproduction, most of them left the heart and traveled throughout the entire circulatory system. That made it harder for the Newts that he sent after them to locate and wipe them out.

Not only that, but while they settled down throughout the blood vessels and took the nutrients from the surrounding cells to replicate with – which was fortunately a lot slower than tearing apart an Insidious Virus and absorbing its materials – they also quickly hunted down any free virions that happened to be floating around, looking for a place to settle and multiply, themselves. While that helped the body’s immune system in the fight against the Virus as a whole, it also aided in the dividing replication of the Viral Whips. Therefore, while they were starting to win the fight against the Virus in the circulatory system, the Whips were replicating nearly out of control.

Progen was glad he had started their eradication process immediately rather than wait until the Virus was entirely gone. He figuratively shuddered inside of his dungeon crystal as he thought about what that would’ve looked like if he had, indeed, waited. As it were, it was still a struggle to keep up with them all, despite the mana flowing into his available pool again; with the shadowy void gone from the heart, and Progen marginally safe, he was able to start producing more Assassins, Seekers, and Novice Killers to replace those that he had lost, as well as additional Newts to hunt down the new Whip mutation threat.

Luckily, the Viral Whips – which were deadly against the Virus – were too small to do much damage against his Newts, unlike their original source: Dual-Whip Bacteria. While a dozen or so could take out one of his Newts if they chose to, they also weren’t as violent toward his immune cells as the ones he had seen before in the stomach. Progen considered that kind of behavior to be a side-effect of the malevolent entity still residing up inside of the brain.

Weeks went by as production increased inside of the body’s immune system, as well as increasingly large numbers added to his own massive army of immune cells. There was another small infection of bacteria that snuck into the intestines when he wasn’t looking, and which was easily eradicated, but that – along with the constant pathogens that the body seemed determined to let inside of  itself – only delayed the eventual search-and-destroy campaign against the Insidious Virus. It seemed like every time he thought that their joint efforts – Progen’s and the body’s immune system – were making progress, new infection sites would spring up somewhere.

A second and third type of virus also attempted to invade, during the eradication of the Insidious Virus and the Viral Whips; fortunately, his Reporters – which he eventually expanded into the hundreds of thousands by that point – were extra vigilant in identifying them as soon as they arrived. It took some alterations and additions to his trap defenses, but he eventually was able to handle nearly 98% of the airborne pathogens almost immediately when they invaded, and the others were destroyed soon after before they could become much of a threat. Pathogens that came in through food and liquids were a bit harder to pin down: Many of them slipped through the stomach, and it was only when the food bits within which they were hiding were broken down in the small intestines that they were found and killed before they could do much damage.

As for Progen, he stayed inside of the heart for almost a day, while he delicately used his mana to slowly repair the cracks in his crystal. He had to take it slow, because forcing too much mana at once into the cracks could have the opposite effect and widen them. When he was confident he wasn’t going to fall apart when he moved, he brought himself back down to the appendix, as it was much calmer there; while the heart was technically safe, there was so much movement of red blood cells pumping through the organ and colliding harmlessly off of his crystal that it was both distracting and annoying at the same time. Plus, Stemmy was there in the appendix, and Progen had to admit that he missed seeing the little interneuron cell, even though he could communicate easily with it using the neural network.

By the time that the immediate threats with the Virus and Viral Whips were eliminated – though there always seemed to be one more infected site pop up out of nowhere – Progen had nearly finished repairing his crystal. He was still taking it slow, ensuring that he didn’t make it worse, but he was making considerable progress, nonetheless. It was at that point, as the body’s immune system was nearly back to the numbers it should’ve had all along, and his own immune cells spread throughout everywhere he could influence, that the dungeon crystal decided to extend that influence by infusing more mana throughout the immune system.

It was a lengthy process, because the system was extensive and after a while, he hit the limit of what he could access and influence. The same problem he had before with the circulatory system stymied his expansion into the head of the body, where the brain was located, as the malevolent entity prevented him from advancing. Still, he had been able to infuse mana into over 90% of the immune system; because of that, he was able to switch his focus onto another system – which would further his conquering of the entire body, leading to complete control.

However, as he was stopped near the brain, he realized that the force that had been present had been diminished by his actions enough that more was accessible than had been previously.

“Stemmy, do you think this is a result of having defeated the Virus inside of the heart?” Progen finally asked, as he realized that the last bit of the circulatory system had been “freed” from the blockage.

There is a high probability that such is the case. Whatever is preventing access expended a lot of energy for no gain, and that which you are seeing is the likely result. It is this cell’s conjecture that further defeats of this force will allow you to access more.

That was good to hear, because the dungeon crystal had no doubt that the malevolent entity wasn’t done yet with its plans to kill the body – or even get revenge and destroy his crystal. Luckily, it didn’t seem like that time was now. So, Progen took advantage of the lull of threats against his conquest: He infused mana into the parts of the circulatory system in the head to which he now had access.

As soon as it was completed, he felt another change in his awareness of the body. He now had a complete run of all the blood vessels and major organs, including the heart, and he could now create immune cells and place traps within the circulatory system without the penalty of an extra mana cost. Not only that, but when prompted, he was able to sense a change in his options.

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 1000/1000

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell (Reporters) – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell (Newts) – 5 Mana

B Cell (Spawners) – 25 Mana

Mutation 1 (Seekers) – 150 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 2

Eosinophils (Hunters) – 25 Mana

Naïve T Cells (Novice Killers) – 50 Mana

Memory B Cells (Historians) – 100 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 3

Regulatory T Cells – 50 Mana

Macrophages (Cleaners) – 150 Mana

Memory T Cells (Veteran Killers) – 200 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Progen was excited to finally unlock the ability to create Cleaners and Veteran Killers, which he had seen were extraordinarily powerful and would be a great benefit in keeping the body safe from invading pathogens. There was something new on there as well, the Regulatory T Cell, which he thought he had seen before – but had completely ignored because it didn’t really seem to do anything.

Regulatory T Cells moderate the immune system so that immune cells do not attack normal cells or antigens in the body.

Stemmy’s explanation of the Regulators, when asked, made them seem like something that Progen didn’t need to really mess with, as his immune cells wouldn’t attack something unless he ordered them to. Regardless, access to the other powerful immune cells was beneficial, as well as the possibility of having additional mutations in the future. The Viral Whip was on his normal Cell Options screen because they weren’t technically immune cells; but it was something that he would only create if he were desperate and in as dire straits as he was before.

There was nothing he needed to combine and create now, so he kept that for the future. Right now, all he could do was concentrate on expanding his influence, getting closer and closer to taking over the body for his own use. Progen had already made incredible progress in such a short amount of time, and he was excited for the future; while he had done remarkably well so far, with only a few mishaps here and there, he knew his journey was far from over. He was determined to see it through, however; the proud, inventive dungeon crystal would not let anything stop him.

Nothing – not even a mysterious, malevolent entity – would prevent him from ultimately claiming this body as his dungeon.

About The Authors

Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue

Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue was once a normal reader on Royal Road Legends. It was there he found the first example of Dungeon Core, except the stories never finished as they became too boring to write or ended before the story really began. Inspired by the idea, and noting the lack of slime related literature at the time (2015), he wrote and published the first modern Dungeon Core story “The Slime Dungeon” on Amazon in 2016. Since then, he has graduated college and written 12 books as well as maintained the Dungeon Core Facebook group to expand the genre.

If you would like to contact me with any questions, comments, or suggestions for future books you would like to see, you can reach me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/groups/Dungeonstories

Visit my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/falconstories and become a patron for as little as $1 a month!  As a patron, you have access to works, game builds, chapters in development, and art.

In addition, you can check out and like my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/falconstories/ if you want to be kept up to date.

Jonathan Brooks

Jonathan Brooks fell in love with the Dungeon Core genre after reading every story he could get his hands on.  After consuming practically everything available, he didn’t find a story that included all of the elements that he wanted to ready – so he decided to write it himself.  From that first book – Dungeon Player – he has published over 25 books, including the rest of the Glendaria Awakens Trilogy, Uniworld Online Trilogy, Station Cores series, Spirit Core series, Dungeon World series, Dungeon Crafting series, and the Hapless Dungeon Fairy series.

If you would like to contact me with any questions, comments, or suggestions for future books you would like to see, you can reach me at jonathanbrooksauthor@gmail.com.

Visit my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/jonathanbrooksauthor and become a patron for as little as $2 a month!  As a patron, you have access to my current works-in-progress, which I update with (unedited) chapters every Friday.  So, if you can’t wait to find out what happens next in one of my series, this is the place for you!

I will try to keep my blog updated on any new developments, which you can find on my Author Page on Amazon.  In addition, you can check out and like my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/dungeoncorejonathanbrooks

To sign up for my mailing list, please visit: http://eepurl.com/dl0bK5

Beta Readers

A big shout out to our beta readers, who helped us to make this book even better than it was!

Aaron Wiley

Alex Canavan

Brian O’Neil

Brian Oles

Sean Hall

Books by Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue

The Slime Dungeon Chronicles

The Slime Dungeon (Audiobook available)

The Dungeon’s Town (Audiobook available)

The Dungeon’s Child (Audiobook available)

The Dungeon’s Burden (Audiobook available)

Milly’s Story: Knife in the Dark (Slime Dungeon Novella)

Dungeon Wars Series

Dungeon Wars (Audiobook available)

Dungeon Wars: Inner War  (Audiobook coming soon)

The Journal of Magus Falcon: with Claire’s notes

Everlife Series

Hero of Naught: Re-Mastered

Tales of Dungeons Anthologies

Tales of Dungeons

Tales of Dungeons 2

Books by Jonathan Brooks

Glendaria Awakens Trilogy

Dungeon Player (Audiobook available)

Dungeon Crisis (Audiobook available soon)

Dungeon Guild

Glendaria Awakens Trilogy Compilation w/bonus material

Uniworld Online Trilogy

The Song Maiden (Audiobook available)

The Song Mistress

The Song Matron

Uniworld Online Trilogy Compilation

Station Cores Series

The Station Core (Audiobook available)

The Quizard Mountains (Audiobook available)

The Guardian Guild (Audiobook available)

The Kingdom Rises (Audiobook available)

The Other Core (Audiobook available)

Station Cores Compilation Complete: Books 1-5

Spirit Cores Series

Core of Fear (Audiobook available)

Children of Fear

Dungeon World Series

Dungeon World (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 2 (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 3 (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 4 (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 5 (Audiobook coming soon)

Dungeon Crafting Series

The Crafter’s Dungeon (Audiobook available)

The Crafter’s Defense (Audiobook available)

The Crafter’s Dilemma (Audiobook coming soon)

The Hapless Dungeon Fairy Series

The Dungeon Fairy (Audiobook available)

Medical Glossary

Abdominal aorta: Of all the arteries, which bring blood from the heart to everywhere else, the biggest one is the aorta. The abdominal aorta is the part of the aorta that extends from the diaphragm to the mid-abdomen, where it forks into the iliac arteries, which provide blood to each of the legs.

Activate / cell activation: Whatever set of steps it takes for a specific type of cell to become ready to and equipped to fulfill its role in the immune system constitutes cell activation. This process will be different for each different type of cell.

Antibody (plural: antibodies): When something enters a body that the immune system recognizes as an invader, it starts to make a response. That response involves building proteins in the blood, called antibodies, tailored to counteract the specific invader by binding itself to the invader.

Antigen: An antigen is a substance that is recognized as a toxin or an invader in the body, leading the immune system to respond, often by forming antibodies.

Aorta: The aorta is the largest of the arteries, which are the blood vessels that bring blood from the heart to the rest of the body.

Apoptosis: Apoptosis is cell death, as a natural part of the growth and development of an organism, or potentially induced.

Appendicular artery: The appendicular artery is the blood vessel that brings fresh blood to the appendix.

Appendix: The appendix in humans is a mostly inactive organ attached to the large intestine, originally acting as part of plant digestion in ancient generations, among other functions. It has recently been found to be an important potential repository for a reservoir of immune cells, specifically B cells.

Arteries: Arteries deliver oxygenated blood from the heart and lungs to the rest of the body. They are thicker than veins because they have a larger muscular layer to regulate blood pressure across the body created by the heart.

Atrium (Plural: Atria): The heart has 4 chambers: 2 on the top, and 2 on the bottom. The 2 on the top are the atria. The left atrium gets blood that is rich with oxygen from the pulmonary veins. The right atrium takes in blood from the veins that has had its oxygen removed.

B cells (“Spawners”): B Cells are producers of antibodies, which target specific pathogens through the use of proteins.  These antibodies are smaller cells that can surround and swarm invading pathogens, taking down larger targets with greater numbers. They are known to use IgE protein, which causes the production of histamines. An overproduction of histamines causes inflammation of the nasal passages (allergic rhinitis).

Bacteria (singular: bacterium): Bacteria are single-celled organisms, only a few micrometers in size, that abound at an uncountable level and which are found in clusters of millions, on and within the human body, among other places. Some bacteria can be harmful to human health, while others, such as in the gut, are essential for human health.

Basophils (“Informers”): Basophils are a type of white blood cell, part of the immune communication system. Their main role remains a mystery, but they are the big brothers of the mast cells and are involved with pathogen identification. They can also bring about mild or serious allergic reactions.

Binary fission: Binary fission is the way in which bacteria split in half and multiply. This is similar to mitosis, one of two types of cellular division found in the human body.

Blood: Blood is a liquid in varying shades of red that courses through the human body. This liquid contains a combination of plasma, red blood cells, platelets, and white blood cells.

Blood circulation within the Bloodstream: It takes about 45 seconds for red blood cells to circulate through the body once, through an intricate system of blood vessels of various types and sizes.

Blood vessel: These are the tubes that connect the circulatory system to all major parts of the body.  Arteries, veins, and capillaries are examples of blood vessels.

Bone marrow: After the original stem cells that exist at conception form the embryo, the bone marrow is where lesser stem cells are formed that then become red blood cells, platelets, immune cells, etc.

Brain: The brain is the hub of conscious and unconscious thoughts. It is made of countless billions of neurons linked together like a root system, with 4 major sections, each specializing in certain bodily functions.

Bronchial tube: The bronchial tubes (bronchi or bronchioles) bring the air that humans breathe in by nose or mouth from the trachea (windpipe) to the lungs. This is a common site for respiratory infections and inflammation. When the mucus membranes that line the bronchial tubes become inflamed, this is “bronchitis” and can cause deep coughing.

-From largest to smallest: Bronchi, bronchioles, terminal bronchioles, respiratory bronchioles, and alveoli. Gas exchange occurs primarily in the alveoli.

Burn: A burn is damage to internal or external tissues, caused by an excess of exposure to heat, electricity, radiation, chemicals, or sunlight. There are 3 types of burns:

1st degree: Burns that easily heal and disappear as the skin is replaced. They normally only affect the top layer of skin, not leaving lasting damage.

2nd degree: Burns that reach deeper into the tissue to cause permanent damage. Visible scarring will remain as the burn destroys the underlying cells needed to replace the damaged skin.

3rd degree: Burns that exceed the skin layer and can affect muscle, bone, etc. This level of damage is catastrophic and can lead to necrosis or even death.

Capillaries: As blood is sent away from the heart, it is pumped into smaller sections of the body, and thus, into smaller blood vessels. The smallest vessels, known as capillaries, are only large enough to accommodate one cell at a time.

Capsule (microscopic body part): A capsule is a layer of polysaccharides commonly found outside of a bacteria cell, which acts as a sort of armor to the outer cell wall.

Carotid artery (plural: carotid arteries): The carotid arteries are the blood vessels that bring oxygen-rich blood through the neck to the brain, face, and neck.

Catastrophic failure / organ failure: A catastrophic failure of a body system or systems occurs when an organ fails so profoundly, or so many organs fail at a time or in sequence, that it is not possible for the body to recover, and death is inevitable.

Cells: All known living organisms have cells as their building blocks. Within living organisms, cells are the smallest living structure. Organisms can be made of multiple cells or just one cell. Bacteria are among the single-celled, or unicellular, organisms.

Cell aggregation: Certain conditions can trigger cells that are normally dispersed to group together. The process of the cells grouping together is cell aggregation.

Cell body / Nucleus: A cell body is the concentrated part of a cell, containing its nucleus and cytoplasm. The nucleus is the brain of the cell, holding all DNA instructions used for normal operation and replication. Bacteria do not have a nucleus (DNA contained in a free-floating plasmid), nor do viruses (RNA). In a neuron, or nerve cell, it is also called a soma.

Cell membrane: A living cell, and the organelles inside a living cell, are surrounded by selectively permeable membranes made of proteins and a phospholipid bilayer (fat). These membranes determine what flows into and out of the cell or organelle.

-If you place a drop of oil in water and it forms a bubble, that is the concept of cell membrane.

-The phospholipid bilayer can be pictured as a pair of two circles each with 2 arms that touch each other and repeats until it forms a bubble. The circles are hydrophilic (they like water), and the arms are hydrophobic (they reject water)

Cell wall: The cell wall is the most outward-facing structure of certain types of cells, including bacteria and plant cells. The cell wall provides support and protection to its cell, while acting as a type of filter.

-Unlike cell membranes, cell walls do not shrink. So even if the inner part of the cell shrinks from a lack of water, the cell wall will remain rigid and full size.

Chemical communication: Cells pass each other messages, by electrochemical means, through neurotransmitters, as conveyed by dendritic cells or nerve cells. Immune cells communicate through cytokines. Other cells can communicate through other receptors as cell (mechanical, light, etc.)

-The body is a very complicated system of on-off triggers, metaphorically speaking.

Circulatory system: The circulatory system is quite extensive.  It travels through every part of the body, where the blood vessels bring much-needed nutrients to the cells of the body, taking waste away from those areas at the same time.  As such, it is one of the largest and most important systems in the body.

It is responsible for gas exchange, heat distribution, waste extraction, nutrient delivery, and others.

“Cleaners”: Macrophages.

Cleave: To cleave a cell is to split it into two parts.

Clot (verb, noun):  When a clump of blood clots (verb), it has changed from a liquid to being like a gel or solid. The location, size, and cause of the resulting clot (noun) determine if it is beneficial or dangerous. For external bleeding, such as after a dental extraction or a scrape of a knee, it is beneficial for blood on the external surface to clot, so that blood does not keep leaving the body. However, when a clot of a certain size forms internally, it can become dangerous, by blocking the flow of blood in a blood vessel, and/or by traveling somewhere such as the lungs, which can cause a potentially fatal pulmonary embolism.

“Commanders”: Helper T cells.

Common iliac artery: The common iliac artery is either of a pair of blood vessels that carry oxygenated blood to the legs.

Contracting and relaxing: With regard to muscles, contracting and relaxing can be voluntary or involuntary and can occur in waves. Contracting is tightening and tension-generating among muscle-fibers; relaxing is the cessation of that tension.

-A relaxed muscle does not mean that the human is relaxing. For instance, contracting the bicep arm muscle relaxes the triceps arm muscle, and vice versa.

Decomposition: Decomposition is breaking down dead or decaying organic matter into smaller components, to facilitate reuse thereof by something else.

Dehydration / Malnutrition: Dehydration is a state of depletion that occurs if a living organism loses more fluids than it replenishes or cannot maintain the benefits of the fluids taken in because of issues in processing. Malnutrition is a state of depletion that occurs if a living organism loses more nutrients than it replenishes, or enters a state of starvation, either by deprivation or by inability to access, absorb, or retain the beneficial portions of the nutrients.

-A human can survive 3 days without water, and about 2 weeks without food (variable depending on body weight and composition).

-The human body will devour itself in this order: sugars, fats, muscle. Humans die upon reaching the muscle phase, as even the heart is cannibalized.

Dendritic cells (“Reporters”): Dendritic cells are immune cells that coordinate chemical communication from the frontlines to the backlines, and between them; which is to say, between the adaptive immune cells (the ones that are developed and retained to fight specific pathogens at the time of infection) and the innate immune cells (the ones that are there before an infection occurs). They can also activate other immune cells, making them stronger, though they themselves do not attack pathogens.

Digestive system: The digestive system is an elaborate set of interacting organs that collaborate to take nutrients in, break them down so cells can use them, and expel the waste products of this process from the body. This system is also the home of beneficial bacteria, the microbiome.

Endocrine system: The endocrine system is an elaborate set of interacting glands and organs that collaborate to produce, secrete, and regulate hormones, which themselves control some the functioning of some cells, organs, and tissues.

Engulf (in relation to cells): One way that immune cells can kill off viruses and infecting cells is to engulf them. The cells basically bind to them, surround and encompass them. This process is called phagocytosis. Immune cells that can perform this engulfing are phagocytes. Phagocytes include Macrophages and Neutrophils.

Eosinophils (“Hunters”): Eosinophils are a rarer type of white blood cell, making up 2% of immune cells. They specialize in locating and destroying parasitic organisms within the body, as well as in mediating inflammation.

Epithelial cells: The surfaces of the human body, such as skin, blood vessels, the urinary tract, and organs, are lined with epithelial cells. Because they are surface cells, they can be thought of as a first line of defense or contact with external stimuli.

Fibrin: Fibrin is a protein made when blood clots. It creates a fibrous mesh that can impede the flow of blood.

Fibrin net: A fibrin net is the first stage of repairing external or externally generated wounds. When blood clots, the coagulation at the site of the wound produces threads of this fibrin. A bundle of those threads is a fibrin net.

Flagella: Flagella are tendrils that help bacteria move rapidly. They move in a fan-like fashion.

Fungi (singular: fungus): Fungi are multicellular organisms that do not make their own food, so sometimes they are in symbiotic or parasitic relationships with living organisms. Some fungi can cause infections on or in human bodies.

Gastrointestinal fluid: In order to facilitate digestion, the collaboration among the salivary glands, the pancreas, and the liver generates ions, digestive enzymes, mucus, and bile, which merge in the fluid produced by the epithelial cells of the gastrointestinal tract.

Gout / Uric acid: Gout is a type of arthritis that is caused by buildup of uric acid (a byproduct of protein breakdown). The most common place people experience it is in the joint of the big toe. The immune system attacks the mineral form of uric acid, causing damage to the surrounding tissue. This can lead to tissue necrosis.

Gut: In the gastrointestinal tract, the gut is the lower portion of the alimentary canal, the passageway through which food travels; generally, the portion from stomach to small and large intestines to anus.

Helper T cells (“Commanders”): These cells have a guiding role in immune response. They use chemicals to trigger immune cells by activating other T cells or activating B cells to create antibodies.

Histamines: Histamines are chemical compounds in the human body that are involved in immune response, inflammatory response, allergic response, and itching. Specifically, they cause vasodilation and increased permeability of the blood vessels which leads to the leakage of fluid and release of inflammatory mediators involved in immune response and allergic responses. A lot of people who have, for example, allergies to pollen or animal dander take medications that are called “anti-histamines,” to reduce the symptoms of those allergies.

“Historians”: Memory B cells.

Hormones: These are the molecules that the endocrine system produces to send messages throughout the body to regulate body processes and systems.

“Hunters”: Eosinophils.

IgE protein: IgE stands for Immunoglobulin E. Immunoglobulin E is the antibody that one’s body produces if one has an allergy to something and encounters that allergen. When these antibodies are formed and then travel through the body to cells that generate chemical reactions, that causes an allergic reaction.

Iliac vein: The iliac vein gathers blood from the legs and pelvis and empties it into (delivers blood into) the inferior vena cava vein, which eventually becomes the superior vena cava vein at the entrance to the heart.

Immune response / immune system: The human body has an elaborate set of systems to try to detect, identify, prevent entry of, contain, eliminate, expel, or respond to invading organisms. When the body detects or suspects a foreign invader, it triggers those steps, and that is called an immune response. The cells that conduct that response, and that track what they remember from previous responses, are cornerstones of the immune system, along with the lymphatic system, the spleen, the thymus, and bone marrow.

Inferior vena cava vein and superior vena cava vein: The inferior vena cava vein rejoins with the superior vena cava vein at the entrance to the heart.  From there, blood circulates to the lungs, before returning to the heart; then to the aorta and the rest of the body.

“Informers”: Basophils.

Internal bleeding: Also known as “internal hemorrhaging,” this is the phenomenon of a loss of blood from a blood vessel that pools inside of the body. Depending on the location and the severity of the internal bleeding, the potential exists for internal hemorrhaging to lead to shock or death.

Interneurons: The interneurons are the processing cells of the nervous system. They relay communications between motor or sensory neurons and the brain, and they are instrumental in such things as reflexes.

Intestines (small, large): The small intestine and the large intestine are both part of the gut and the gastrointestinal tract. They process food for absorption of nutrients and preparation of wastes for exiting the body. The small intestine has 3 parts: the duodenum, jejunum, and ileum. The large intestine is also known as the colon or the large bowel. The colon is where water is absorbed from wastes, preparing solid waste to exit the rectum.

Jugular veins: The blood vessels in the neck that bring blood from the brain, the face, the head, and the neck back towards the heart are the jugular veins.

Kidneys: Kidneys are essential organs involved in the filtration of blood. The circulation system refreshes blood through the kidneys multiple times a day. Specifically, what they filter out from blood any waste, including excess sugar, uric acid, dead cells, and more.

“Killer T cells”: Lymphocytes.

Larynx: The larynx is the voice box and leads to the trachea.

Lipid: Lipids are fat molecules that don’t dissolve in water. They are used in the body for storing energy, sending biological signals, and adding support to cell membranes. Examples of lipids include triglycerides, fatty acids, and cholesterol (both good and bad).

Lucid: To be lucid is to be in the psychological state of being clear and self-aware.

Lymphatic system / lymphatic tissue: Lymph is a fluid full of types of white blood cells that fight infection and proteins reabsorbed from waste or the gut. Lymphatic means involving lymph. The network of organs and tissues (lymphatic tissue) through which the lymph flows, assisting the body in getting rid of toxins and waste products, is called the lymphatic system. There are channels throughout the body, much like the circulatory system for blood. Lymph nodes are small glands that filter lymph. When infections and/or tumors are present in the body, the lymph nodes swell.

Lymphoblasts (Naïve T cells): The inactivated T cells newly formed.

Lymphocytes (Killer T cells): The lymphocytes are the last line of immune defense. At this stage, deployment of them can lead to damage of the body as a last resort in order to eliminate the pathogen. They are the most mature T cells.

Macrophages / Monocytes (“Cleaners”): Largest cell of the cells, these become monocytes outside the blood vessel (literally the same cell, like lava and magma) and macrophages within the blood vessel. They clean up dead invaders, inform the T-cells about what pathogen the body is facing, and are the second phase of immune response. Their form of clean-up is as phagocytes: They bind with and engulf antigens. They see an invader, attach themselves to it, wrap themselves around the pathogen and release chemicals that kill it.

Memory B Cells (“Historians”): Memory B Cells record data on different pathogens, for use in assisting other immune cells in the production of antibodies. Specifically, they are created upon the discovery of an enemy and produce an antibody specific to the pathogen. They are then stores for later activation if the pathogen returns later.

Memory T Cells (“Veteran Killers”): Memory T cells are T cells changed in order to counter an old enemy. They “remember” how to fight it.

Motor neuron cells: These are essentially akin to being relay cells in the nervous system. Motor neurons, also called motor neurons, are the ends of the nervous system that deliver the orders from the brain or spinal cord to the muscles. Damage to motor neurons can cause paralysis.

Muscle tissue / Muscle decline / muscle degradation / muscle strands: Muscle tissue is responsible for every physical movement made in the body, and is the second-strongest type of tissue, after bone. It is made up of thousands of individual strands connecting bones and flesh. If the muscles are not sufficiently exercised and/or if the body is not sufficiently nourished, muscles can begin to decline in strength and size, which is muscle degradation.

Mutation: A mutation is an alteration in a genetic sequence (the order of a set of nucleotides in a genome). This can take place in the DNA of a living organism (including bacteria) or virus or the RNA of a virus.

-Mutations in sperm and/or egg can lead to slightly different offspring, for better or worse. Over many generations, the build-up of mutations leads to the formation of new species, aka evolution.

Naïve T cells- (Novice Killer, Lymphoblast) Naïve T cells are newborn, potentially powerful T cells in the bone marrow. They have never fought an antigen/pathogen before. Therefore, they are relatively ineffective until they are activated with a specific type of antigen given to them by a dendritic cell.

Natural Killer T cells- (Mutant Killers) Counterparts to T cells and specialize in hunting overgrowing cells, including cancer. Activated by laughter, weakened by stress (more than usual, all immune systems suffer when stressed).

Neutrophils- Newts. The Neutrophil Cell is the most common immune cell and specializes in fighting infectious agents.  They are the first responders to an invasion, and they can easily transmigrate through blood vessels to congregate anywhere in the body.

Nerve cell: A nerve cell is part of the nervous system, originating in the brain. Nerve cells are responsible for carrying out both voluntary and involuntary orders from the brain or spinal cord, and they can store limited information outside the brain.

Nervous system: A nerve cell is part of the nervous system, originating in the brain. Nerve cells are responsible for carrying out both voluntary and involuntary orders from the brain or spinal cord, and they can store limited information outside the brain. There are three types: sensory cells (receivers); motor cells (relays); and interneurons (processors). The body is primarily controlled by interneurons, whose responsibilities include the storage of active and inactive memory.

Neural network / neuron cell: The neural network of the human body is its means of internal communication. It basically has 3 parts. The receptors receive external stimuli. The core neurons receive the communication from the receptors, rendered as electrical impulses. The neural network is the processing core that transmits the impulses into decisions about output. The effectors receive those messages and translate them into instructions as to how to relate to the outside environment. The neural network itself is built of neurons. Neurons each have a dendrite, a soma, and an axon.

“Newts”: Neutrophil cells.

“Novice Killer cells”: Naïve T cells.

Nutrients/ Nutrient absorption: Substances that when ingested/imbibed may provide nourishment are nutrients. For the body to benefit from the introduction of the nutrients, it must be able to adequately absorb the nourishment.

Organism / microorganism: The word, “organism,” can be used to refer to an individual life form (whether flora, fauna, or single-cell organism); and it can also be used to refer to the structures that comprise that life form. When the life form is so tiny it can be seen only with a microscope, it is a microorganism.

Parasite (noun) /parasitic (adjective): A parasite is an organism that sustains itself by attaching itself to or immersing itself in another organism and draining that organism, feeding off it. The fact that it lives at the other organism’s expense is what constitutes the adjective, “parasitic”.

Pathogen (noun) / pathogenic (adjective): A pathogen is an infectious agent. There are 5 types of pathogenic organisms: viruses, bacteria, fungi, protozoa, and worms. (The worms are sometimes called helminths.)

Pepsin: In the digestive process, one of the things the stomach secretes (makes and sends out) is pepsinogen. Pepsinogen is an endopeptidase, which means that it is an enzyme (a catalyst substance) that can break down peptides (chains of amino acids, which are the building blocks of proteins). When this pepsinogen comes into contact with hydrochloric acid, another item the stomach secretes into gastric juice (the digestive mix of fluids), that mix forms pepsin acid.

Peritoneal cavity: The peritoneum is a membrane that surrounds the abdominal contents as a form of protection and also secretes serous fluid (serum) that is in the abdomen (belly), allowing for movement. There are 2 of them: the parietal peritoneum surrounding the abdominal wall and thereby lining its cavity (opening), and the visceral peritoneum lining the abdominal organs. The peritoneal cavity is the space between those two linings.

Permeable: A membrane, a thin layer that gives a living cell a boundary, is considered permeable if stuff can pass through it, such as liquids or gases. If the membrane only lets some stuff through it and not other stuff, it is considered “selectively permeable”.

Plasma: Plasma is the fluid component of blood, consisting of water, electrolytes (dissolved salts), and proteins (of which the most prevalent is albumin). It constitutes about 55% of what makes up blood. It serves to carry the other components of blood throughout the body, via the bloodstream.

Platelets: When a human body is bleeding, platelets are the tiny blood cells that ride to the rescue, to clot the blood and repair the damaged blood vessel. Think of them as the first responders to the emergency of hemorrhaging.

Pulmonary artery / Pulmonary vein: These are the primary blood vessels of the lungs. The main pulmonary artery is the pulmonary trunk. Its path is to take blood that no longer has oxygen (that is deoxygenated) from the right side of the heart into the lungs. This is different from other arteries, which usually carry blood that is oxygen-rich (oxygenated). There are 4 main pulmonary veins, 2 from each lung. As with the pulmonary artery, they are anomalous (different from the other veins), in that the blood they carry does have oxygen in it. They bring it to the left atrium of the heart.

Pyloric sphincter: This opening at the end of the stomach that connects to the small intestine and regulates the passage of partially digested food from the stomach down to the small intestines, so that it doesn’t all flow down at once.

Rectum: The rectum is the chamber of the digestive tract that goes from the sigmoid colon, which is the end of the large intestine, to the anus, which is where solid waste materials are evacuated from the body. When the rectum feels full is when a person would excuse themselves to visit the loo.

Red blood cells: Red blood cells are the main component of blood, playing an important role in: oxygen circulation throughout the human body; heat distribution throughout the body; transportation of crucial elements throughout the body, including nutrients, chemicals, waste, and immune cells; and healing of the body.

Regulatory T cells- (Regulators) Ensures all immune cells are not targeting normal body cells. Can malfunction with cancer, preventing attacks

Replicate (present tense verb) / replicating (gerund) / replication (noun): These terms all refer to the process of a double-stranded molecule of DNA being copied to yield 2 identical molecules of that DNA, or a comparable process of multiplying strands of the RNA of a virus. The important part is that they generally preserve the exact order of the nucleotides that make up the DNA or RNA, unless something intervenes such that there is a mutation.

“Reporters”: Dendritic cells.

Respiratory system: The respiratory system is responsible for taking in oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide; this process is primarily done through the lungs, though there are different components that work in tandem with these organs.  Oxygen is an important part of normal cell health and functionality as it is used to generate energy in cellular respiration, while the carbon dioxide is a waste product of that cellular function.  Any significant disruption or termination of the respiratory system can have severe consequences, including the death of the body within minutes.

Sensory cells: The receiver cells in the nervous system. These cells interpret signals from receptors in the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, skin to produce sight, sound, scent, touch, temperature, by conveying their messages through nerves to the brain.

Spasms: A muscle, a group of muscles, or an organ can experience a sudden, involuntary contraction, often accompanied by pain, and sometimes caused by medical conditions. This involuntary contraction is called a spasm. A familiar example is a muscle cramp.

“Spawners”: B cells.

Spinal cord: The central nervous system consists of the brain and the spinal cord. The spinal cord is a bunch of fibers and tissues, bundled in a cylindrical shape, that is inside the spine, and through which the brain and the rest of the body connect.

Spleen: The spleen is an organ that is involved in blood filtration. It is a bit like a lymph node, in terms of how important it is in fighting infections. It is a key component of the immune system and to erythrocytes (red blood cells). The spleen eliminates old or defective cells, bacteria covered in antibodies, and stores blood in case of major blood loss.

-If someone must have their spleen removed, after that they are considered “immune compromised.” The body becomes more susceptible to certain diseases such as the flu.

Stem cell: A stem cell is the originator of all cells. It is the most basic type, capable of transforming into any kind of cell, depending on what is required. Original stem cells exist at conception and form the embryo. From then on, lesser stem cells are formed within the bone marrow to become red blood cells, platelets, immune cells, etc.

Thoracic artery: The thoracic artery is the blood vessel that delivers oxygenated blood to the anterior chest wall and the breasts.

Trachea: The trachea, commonly referred to as the “Windpipe”, is the conduit of air that proceeds from the larynx (voice box) to behind the sternum (breastbone), in the form of a tube. The nasal passages, throat, and larynx receive air, and the trachea is its pathway to the bronchi, which lead to the lungs.

Ulcer: An ulcer is any open wound that lingers or recurs, that is slow to heal; however, the most common use of the term, “ulcer,” is as a shorthand for “peptic ulcer”. A peptic ulcer can be either a stomach ulcer or a duodenal ulcer. A stomach ulcer is also known as a gastric ulcer. It is a sore in the lining of the stomach, and it can be quite painful. A duodenal ulcer is a sore within the duodenum. The duodenum is the upper portion of the small intestine. Peptic ulcers are commonly caused by medications or by infection with the Helicobacter pylori (H. pylori) bacteria, but they also can be caused by trauma to the stomach or stress.

Undulate, undulated, undulating: These terms refer to the phenomenon of smooth, often rhythmic, vertical motions, up and down, up and down, like the motion of a wave.

Veins: Veins carry blood back to the heart and lungs, and they are thinner than arteries and have valves, to prevent any airless blood from being left behind. Veins are closer to the surface of the skin and have a purple appearance, due to the darker-colored red blood cells resulting from them being deoxygenated, while arteries are bright red from the brighter-colored red blood cells.

Ventricle (plural: ventricles): The heart has 4 chambers: 2 on the top, and 2 on the bottom. The 2 on the bottom are ventricles. They collect the blood from the top 2 chambers and contract to form the pressure to expel it out to circulate throughout the body.

“Veteran Killers”: Memory T Cells.

Villi (singular: villus): Villi are small tendrils covering the inside of the small intestine. They are responsible for nutrient absorption.

Virion/Virus: A virion is a whole particle of a virus, consisting of a nucleic acid, meaning a strand of either RNA or DNA, within a capsid, meaning a shell made of protein. Viruses replicate by invading a host cell and forcing the cell to create multiple copies of itself before being released and spread to other cells. The process occasionally destroys the host cell in this releasing process, though not always. Regardless, the host cell will continue producing virions until the host cell is destroyed.

Vital organs: The vital organs are the organs most essential for human life to be maintained. These include the brain, the heart, the kidneys, the liver, and the lungs.

Viscous: A substance is viscous if it has a high viscosity, meaning, if it is neither quite solid nor quite liquid, is of a thick and sticky consistency between them. The substance might feel like glue or syrup. It won’t flow well.

Voluntary and involuntary nervous system: The human nervous system basically has 2 tracks. There is the somatic nervous system. This is the portion that is directly under the control of the will. The processes subject to this type of control, such as over many muscles, make up the voluntary nervous system. There is also the autonomic nervous system, also known as the automatic or visceral nervous system. This is the portion that is not under the control of the will. It manages organ function without conscious exertion, and thus, it is called the involuntary nervous system.

White blood cells: White blood cells are core components of the immune system. There are multiple types. These include lymphocytes (B cells and T cells); monocytes (macrophages); and granulocytes (neutrophils, eosinophils, and basophils).