77. Winter Underworld (II)

Zane had a theory.

…Maybe "theory" was giving himself a little too much credit. Really it was more of a hope.

If he poured in enough power, he could throw all logic out the window.

He had a lot of essence. Even he wasn't sure how much. He'd never come close to truly exhausting himself. These Orcas kept hitting him, spinning him around and bowling him over—but that was it. They were annoying, but they couldn't actually hurt him.

He had more strength in an arm than these things had in their whole bodies. If he wanted to make a Cyclone, could any of them stop him?

Time to find out.

His Axes began to spin. Essence gushed through him, coursing with Laws of Fire.

His Chains wound their way into motion. Sparks began to fly.

Ice Laws smothered his Chains, smothered his Axes. It felt like he was trying to force them through mud. They sparked and sparked—but they couldn't take flame.

One. One horribly slow, frozen revolution.

The Orcas could tell he was up to something. They rammed harder into him, started sinking their teeth into his arms, huge tails flapping ferociously, making whirlpools, straining with all the might of those giant heaving bodies. He roared soundlessly, bubbles leaking from his lips, and wrenched his arms on. Just brute-forced the stupid thing through.

Still too slow.

He had to give it more. His Cyclones burned on his essence. His fires lit on his essence. He shoved more in—as much as he could bear at once. His head was getting light.

Two. Flames sputtered down the Chains, sputtered up the Axe-head; barely there, tiny against the vastness of the cold, but they were there. The edges of the Axes started glowing, going deep red to bright yellow, verging on white. His whole body screamed with the brunt of it. He forced another cycle through.

Three! Now things were really heating up. The water around the flames started to warm, started to boil as Zane's Laws poured out, burning away those Ice Laws, burning out the dark blue cold. His Chains caught a smattering of Orcas as they swept through, branding trails of sizzling crimson on sleek black skin. They screeched, flailed away.

Four. And now he was really picking up momentum. He could feel his Cyclone getting off the ground. He felt a stab of fierce joy. It spurred him on.

But he was fighting the world. He was fighting a whole school of Orcas, trying to pummel him into dust. Fighting this whole lake laden with brutal Ice Laws, mired with essence—made perfectly to counter him. Fighting the dungeon itself, feeding this death trap its powers…

And all he had was his body and his essence.

He had to believe he could win.

Five. He started screaming with the effort; every muscle ran taut; all over his body veins bulged with the effort. The Chains were swirling fast now, slapping whales all over the place. The ones unlucky enough to get in the way of the Axes made quick, brutal, bloody ends. Like hot knives through huge lumps of butter. A few of the Beasts still got through, screeching those nail-on-glass screeches. They tried ramming him, all desperation.

But they bounced right off.

Zane didn't care about kicking to the surface anymore. His body was one giant chunk of Spirit Steel, held up by two giant Chains just as heavy. He was in motion now. If they couldn't stop him earlier…

Another revolution and they were sucked screeching into those boiling, fuming currents. They vanished. Those blooms of red—was that their blood or just more fire, raging faster, brighter, climbing to a fever pitch?

Zane lit up the lake bottom. And now the light could not be denied. It was exhilarating.

Seven. Eight.

He stumbled. Blinked.

…There seemed to be black spots dotting his vision. He was getting lightheaded. And not just from a severe lack of air. The power rushing out of him was breathtaking. In a lot of ways.

Nine. And the Cyclone broached the surface. He felt it hit air. He felt Scorched Wrath Laws seeping down the length of the lake, burning up every inch of it. And the whole thing began to steam, began to swirl in on itself, bending to the shape of his Cylcone…

The whole chamber began to shake.

Ten!

Everything was blinding now. There was a huge hissing, a huge whooshing as great masses of water turned to steam. All at once. Hundreds of tons of water swirled above him, held aloft…

Eleven.

He felt drained. He was shocked—a sudden, cloying fatigue was spreading down his limbs, tugging at his eyes, making his thoughts go slow and sluggish. And he realized—with some shock—for the first time, he was feeling his limit.

He was getting low on essence.

Twelve, and he couldn't see anymore. The world was a mass of steam. He felt the massive load growing lighter, lighter, lighter still…

…Where had all those whales gone? All the water? All the ice?

He couldn't think. He just had to keep going. Had to—

Thirteen, and something snapped.

It was him.

He dropped, and his head cracked against hard, dry ice.

For a few seconds, he just lay there. He couldn't even think. He was just dragging in huge lungfuls of air, trying to blink the black spots out of his eyes. He was so bone-tired there was nothing he could do but lay there, face down, spread out, whole body heaving massively, just trying to breathe. He felt scraped raw from the inside. Utterly wrung out. He had nothing left. He felt he could pass out at any moment.

𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℍ𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕔𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕕!

He got such a burst of simple joy from seeing that message it almost sent him over the edge.

He smiled.

It took a few minutes before he was ready to sit back up and assess the damage.

He blinked at an empty, rounded chamber—a chamber much bigger, much deeper than he'd thought. The ceiling must be a few hundred feet in the air. And it just went on and on all around him…

It was big enough for a school of giant Orcas to live in. He hadn't really appreciated that fact until now. It was like seeing an iceberg once you drained away the water.

It had been full of liquid. And ice. And bodies—flesh and bone. Now… nothing.

It was like he'd done some kind of weird physics experiment. He'd converted everything in this giant room to gas. Including all the monsters in it.

𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝕌𝕡!

𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕠 ℂ𝕪𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕀𝕀𝕀 -> 𝕀𝕍

Neat.

He hobbled to his feet. So. His body did have limits. He blinked at the size of the room. He wasn't sure how much essence he'd just used, but…

Yeah. It'd make what that Vanessa girl used to kill the Basilisk look like a cantrip in comparison.

It was good to know. Unless he planned on evaporating another Arctic Ocean in one go, he probably didn't have to worry about hitting his limits.

He scratched his head. Why was his essence pool so abnormally big anyway? His soul was the other thing about him that was abnormally big, physical traits aside—he wondered if they were connected somehow…

He got the feeling Avery also had an unusually large soul—though nothing like his. And she could spew essence at her mirages like no tomorrow.

Then he got another notification and forgot what he was thinking.

𝕊𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕…

A crystal popped up before him, spinning slowly, shimmering in a halo of warm white light.

ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕤𝕖𝕦𝕕𝕠-𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖, 𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕪 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕦𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝔼𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕕𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕥-𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖-𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕚𝕣𝕔𝕒 𝟟𝕥𝕙 𝕄𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕦𝕞 (𝔹+)

𝕀𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕤𝕖𝕦𝕕𝕠-𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪. 𝔸 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕘𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕥 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙-𝕦𝕟𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕒𝕥 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟—𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 ℙ𝕤𝕖𝕦𝕕𝕠-𝔽𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕒 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣.

𝔻𝕦𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕔 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤, ℙ𝕤𝕖𝕦𝕕𝕠-𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕗𝕖𝕨 𝔽𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕓𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕔 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔼𝕝𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝕃𝕒𝕨𝕤.

A B+ treasure? It was the highest-grade treasure he'd ever seen. He assumed it meant 'Treasure between B and A', just like C+ Dungeon meant 'Dungeon between C and B'. He was a little shocked he got it in a C+-ranked Dungeon. Had he just gotten lucky with the System's draw or something?

And it was tailored just to him, apparently—looking at the Laws, that made sense.

He read it over again. It sounded pretty darn cool, though the terms themselves didn't mean a lot to him.

Too bad he was too burnt out to use it. He pocketed it for later.

He drank in a few lower-grade Vials of Essence.

When he recovered fully about an hour later, he made his way over to the exit tunnel some fifty-odd feet off the ground, hopped to it, and kept on moving.

The next chamber was studded with yellows—a big treasure area? He poked his way through.

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝔹𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 (ℂ)

𝔸 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕦𝕝 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕫𝕖 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕝𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤, 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪 𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕦𝕝 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕤, 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕔𝕖.

He emerged at what looked like some half-finished archaeological dig.

A set of pale white bones, each big as canoes, lay frozen in the ice, close enough to touch.

𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕤 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕖 (𝔹)

𝔸 𝕣𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕤 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕖.

They lay scattered across the ice. When he touched them, he could draw out their essence. There were three or four in total. Not enough for a level, but they got him fairly close.

There were some other knickknacks. A few C-grade frozen eyeballs that promised to help comprehend Ice Laws. He burned those out of the walls and took them for safekeeping. It was shaping up to be a pretty good haul, even if he couldn't use all of it.

What really intrigued him, though, was a black pearl as big as his fist, shining softly in the low light. Spiderwebs of frost smothered its surface.

ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕆𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣'𝕤 ℙ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕝 (ℂ)

ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝟛𝟘𝟘 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕆𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕕𝕠𝕞 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖. ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕡𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤, 𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕧𝕚𝕘𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕥.

He burned it out and grabbed hold of it. There was a certain dewy, milky essence hidden in this thing. When he drew it out, he felt a sudden burst of clarity, of energy—it was like he'd taken some kind of caffeine shot for the soul.

It didn't heal his weariness. He could still feel it dragging at him under the surface. But for just this brief moment, he felt… normal. Better than normal. He dragged more of it in until his head was filled to bursting with it. He felt sharp, clear as a freshwater lake in spring.

He couldn't waste this.

Instantly, he sat down and grabbed for the recording. He went into it excited.

The world around him dissolved, fading out, losing definition…

A new world filled in. New colors—rich greens and warm browns—all soaked in a layer of fuzzy white mist. He was looking at a mountain rising out of the mists, one of many quaint, calm peaks flowing into the vague distance. It was picturesque, beautifully simple, like something out of an old Japanese painting. It was early morning. Birds chirped softly.

There was a lake at the peak of this mountain, from which waterfalls trickled gently all the way down.

And at this peak was the gathering of white-haired folk, most of them sported long, flowing beards. They all wore these silky robes woven of faintly luminous threads. Some were shades of red, some of blue, some of white. The red ones seemed to smolder a little as they moved; the blues and whites crackled softly, like distant lightning. Each was carefully embroidered, sporting a little crest. If you looked at them they seemed to move subtly over the fabric. A bird with an elephant in its claws, flapping its wings. A slowly shifting cloud. A sun rising over the mountains…

An Elder stood at their fore on a little wood dais by the lake. He was utterly plain-looking, insignificant except for his eyes, which shone with a burning intensity. He cleared his throat.