The Cabin Is Always Hungry (A Dungeon Core Horror Slasher)

DEAD PACIFICA

Part 4

I had about twenty-eight days until Dylan Griffin and his gaggle of cameras and influencers arrived at my dungeon.

Lights, camera, action, and all that jazz.

Truth was, I had no clue how their delving night would unfold. Besides my special plan of “peeling back the curtain” so to speak of what’s going on around here (and enticing more delvers in the future), my goal was to collect eighty-nine essences.

Eighty-nine.

That’s the magic number to bring the war closer to the cult.

Hit that mark and I could push the war closer to the cult’s front door, maybe shove it straight down their throat. And if I earned a few extra essences along the way? Well, then I could upgrade some traits on my archetypes. Sharpen the edges. Add a little bite.

“Such a bold plan, my lord,” Elvis said from the armchair opposite of me, and took a sip of his black tea in the lake house living room. I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or not. I couldn’t read their minds. I wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s all you’re going to say? Nothing about what traps to build? What monsters to unleash? I’ve got essences, crystals! I can make a whole new archetype right now. Throw me a bone. What should I summon?”

Instead of answering, Elvis picked up a scone—the Administrator’s favorite Terran dessert, or so he claimed—and took a thoughtful bite. He chewed slowly. He made me watch.

“You know I can’t give you ideas on how to run your dungeon,” he said eventually. “I am only here as an advisor.”

“And my therapist.”

He blinked. “What’s a thera—oh! Yes. I am, sort of, like that, I guess?”

“You don’t have therapists where you’re from?”

“We don’t believe in it.” A beat. “We have no need for it.”

“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “With the amount of culling and genocide your people do for sport, I’d say you all need it desperately. Go ahead. Tell your Elders, whoever they are. Maybe they’ve got a suggestion box back home. ‘Please stop murdering your neighbors just to impress my species.’ Or something like that.”

Elvis glanced up from his cup but stayed quiet. He didn’t take the bait.

I noticed my discussing his world was a very touchy subject. I might not be able to read his mind, but I could still read his body language, the way his shoulders tightened under the fabricated human musculature and the slight stiffening around the eyes when I talked about the Administrators. He had told me too much once before. And he knew it.

Too late for that, buddy, I thought.

As my point-of-contact Administrator, Elvis visited my domain once every two months with a posse of his armored guards just to check up on my progress as a Dungeon Lord, saw to my needs and little upgrades, and sometimes gave me compliments and occasional commentary from his homeworld about his people’s opinions about my domain, especially how important my ratings were. Apparently, an almost arcane-deficient world like Earth was a very interesting concept to most of his kin, and they could always rely on me to deliver the violence and brutality they hungered for. Other worlds had too many overpowered adventurers that would make dungeons a cakewalk, according to Elvis. When I asked about Death Cores and how often they got wiped out by “overpowered delvers,” Elvis shut down and refused to tell me more. (Demon hinted Death Cores still had a pretty high success rates against highly-skilled delvers).

Elvis prattled on—guild missions, commitment to excellence, quarterly metrics, the usual. I’d heard the spiel so many times it was practically background noise. My ears tuned him out. My attention drifted to the menu hovering in the corner of my vision that read: [ GUILD ].

After three months of my grace period, I finally debuted in the rankings within the guild based on how many viewers I had over the past six weeks in the air. I debuted at thirteenth then quickly climbed to fourth place and stayed there consistently over the past year.