A sparkling scaled critter cautiously pads past the swarm of noisy skin covered flies. Its six tiny feet pads silently as to not alert the swarm.
The noise of mandibles crunching bones and the soft squish of spike-like feet puncturing meat was all but silenced. All that's left is an eerie sight of winged legged balls feasting on something that used to be bigger then they are, more significant than they are. Yet all that's left in this corner of the silent world is nothing more than a mulch of insect's feed and spoilt meat.
Under the ever blue heaven of interconnected branches above them, life as is nature dictates trudges on. The rotting smell from felled prey and decayed souls masked by the sweet fragrance of shrooms carpeting the forest, a pleasant presence were it not for their lethality.
The tiny little lizard, unignorant of a pursuer paddles itself into a veinless tree in front. Tiny claws sticks into the hard bark of the plant, the critter stops when it arrived at the quarter point of the tree's towering height.
Clawed paws covered in innate adhesive grips tightly onto the cellulose covered surface. It's body turning translucent, glowing, a round shadow, no bigger than a pebble, began to make its way into sight.
Like balloons set free in events of festivities, the balloon bodied swarm removes their feet from meat and floats away to the dark roofed sky above as soon as they sensed the gradual luminance increase in their surrounding.
Perhaps realizing its prey has been made aware of it, a blurred shadow rush into action. Nimbly dodging glowing blue pillars of wood and foliages of fungi, the bulbous end of its pair of antennae sways in the rushing wind, brushing against its back and giving it renewed strength from time to time.
Sizzling saliva drips off bared fangs, a furless canine body sprints out of its hiding spot towards the ever brightening radiance in front.
There wasn't much distance between it and its prey now. One lunge would be all it takes.
One lunge it would never take.
The light grows beyond the strain of its eyes. Things that couldn't exist began snaking its way into the hound's vision. Seeping from the cracks between the ground, between the woods, between pores.
From every shadowed crevices touched by the radiance, shapeless blobs made of shadows fizzles into existence. Eyes made of dark turns their attentive gaze upon a certain dog.
The canine beast found itself unable to move. The shadows consumes it, four legs lost its joints, it's body slumps to the forest bed. Dirt is all but visible in the glow.
Encroaching shadows no longer formless as they are, shades of elongated muzzle and sharp shadowy teeth fills the lone hound's vision.
Laying without any hope to get back up, the hound's eyes wander to the source of radiance that becomes the only thing left besides dark shapes. The tiny lizard has become an image of a living god, surrounded by splendor and unspoken might.
Pain began to assault its nerves, supposedly illusory shadows bit into the hound's flesh and tore from it chunks of fresh flesh.
The stimuli of pain began to become more than it could handle. With nerves frayed and fear pumped endlessly into its brain.
The lone hound knows no more.
...
Seeing its adversary has been felled, the lizard dims its light. Thus the world returned to its normal form.
Below its beady gaze, the hound's body is unharmed. No torn chunks of flesh nor missing limbs. It's death disturbs none of its physical essence. Only froth and fecal wastes bubbling forth from its mouth and anus respectively marks the cause of its death.
Satisfied with how things are, the lizard made its way back to the forest ground.
Only to find that an azure stake has lodged its way into its stomach, the little lizard never made its way back to the ground.
The tree reveals its true nature, barks parts, a gaping hole was created with the stake puncturing the lizard's innards in the middle. The sharpened piece of wood retracts itself into the hole, bringing with it the lizard, still waving its tiny legs around as if it would prevent what is to happen next.
The hole closes, and the tree returns to its unassuming form. Now, with the unfortunate reptile acting as fuel, the tree began to dislodge its root. Skittering along the forest not unlike how an arachnid with too many legs do, the tree once more wanders to continue a vaguely formed circle.
Behind the crater of dirt it left, an object glints.
It was a curious little thing. Fist sized, brightly reflecting the glow of the forest's luminescent canopy, It lies there on the cold floor of the forest unmoving, merely observing.
For as you may have guessed, this is a core.
A core to what you say? A core to a dungeon of course.
And as of this moment, it is perfectly content to lay there still. More mana is required for it to be something more than just a mana absorbent marble.
The scuffle that just occurs above it in has helped in that regard quite a bit.
For the mana it gathers are the lifeblood of reality. An element not elemental in essence. A primordial force, a force ancient and yet endlessly adapting.
It makes possible the twisting of physical laws, altercations of what's natural, and elevation of common sense. Enough of it and everything can be yours to toy with as you please. That is if one could hold in control that quantity of mana and of their own sanity as soon as the mind inevitably came into contact of uncovering what lies beneath the real.
It removes all im from impossible.
And this little core needs to absorb the very same reality altering essence unto itself to be able to properly function as a dungeon.
A dungeon is a weapon of creation after all. Sculpting and molding what was already is into a new form.
For The Law dictates that nothing may be created from nothing. Though few waywards offenders still trespasses it anyway.
Topographical locations that produces theoretically infinite magical energy for example. One of such places is where the core is currently located.
For this is a forest of tranquility. A silent forest where no form of sound may travel within this godless domain.
The living towers dotting the landscape of the forest causing it stood as firmly as ever. The trees consume anything from the slight shifting of liquid to sorrowful wails of lost wanderers. Their crooked branches forever looms over the land, and the forest will be as silent as always.
As with many beings acquainted with the concept of adaptation, the unique energy the trees released into the air caused few to adopt the forest hunger over sound.
Beings touched by the forest and feel that touch lingers, until their identity becomes that of a voiceless. From pebbles to archfey and from a puddle of water to elder dragons, those marked as voiceless becomes no more than extension of The Great Silence.
Moving forth as the forest wills and silence becomes the only echoes they left in their waking trail of death.
Eyeing the little core was one such being. Called forth by the presence within its mind. Limbs moved in tandem to a strange rythm as the voiceless approach the object of the forest's interest.
Illuminated beneath the crepusculent glow of soft stems is a creature with skin of paling blue. Its gaunt but short figure draws similarity to the thin branches that acted as limbs for the trees above. Wide ears on the side of its head dangles uselessly from their sockets.
It cuts for a strangely imposing figure, a pair of eyes big enough to cover half of its face glowing in eldritch purple and a lipless maw filled with two rows of needle like teeth.
It was a goblin. One that has lost its nose as price for the forest's love.
And though goblins are considered civilized, clothes never seem to enter their version of primary qualities of civilization. A thought process that can be seen towards this particular specimen. Modesty as alien to it as centipedal intercourse to humans, the fact that it has no visible reproductive organs to hide may also factors into the growth of its sense of modesty.
It stalks forth, and wherever it goes foliages part, critters ran, and the trees seems to bend their body away from it.
Purple haze of visible malignant intent surrounding it meld with the soft blue glow of the forest. Within its hand, it clutched a single knife, unremarkable in design, as ordinary as any were it not for the similarly violet haze undulating from its blade.
The leathery skin cladding its form still decorated with unwashed bloodstain from before it was beckoned here.
The forest clearing that contains the core is now right in front of it.
The closer it gets to the inert form of the core, the more it could feel that something was different within its perception. As if sound-
Ah... It was hearing, it realized. What's more, it also realized that the core in front of it is the perpetrator of this oddity that's currently happening within this forest.
A source of filth unoppressed by the trees.
The malignant aura surrounding it grows larger, it drops on all four and rush towards the core. Everything coming into contact within the purple glow was corrupted. Shrooms decays, critters undergoes instantaneous necrosis, and even the ground itself becomes blackened. The timbers however, still stands. Still beckoning it onwards, for their own gift would bring no harm to their form.
Unlike the formerly living hound still laying near the core, there is nothing in its way to obstruct its path.
Within moments, it grasp the core within its hand. It raises the core high up in the air, fully intent on using the force of momentum and gravity to smash the little core into even tinier pieces.
But before it does, it stops. Once more it can feel that which lurks within it makes itself known, granting it with wisdom it could not possibly have known.
The creature now recognized the noise the core emits as whispers. Now knowing what is to happen, the goblin sat crosslegged, it stabs the knife in its hand to the corrupted ground.
No instruments would be needed in where it is going.
It lays still, immersing itself within the core's whispers. Unmoving when the palm holding the core enters the impossible depth within the core. Unmoving when the plum aura it surrounds itself with tunnels into the core. Unmoving when an iron arrow buries itself deep within the flesh of its back.
Fine, that gets it to move.
Lidless eyes swivels towards the direction of the offending projectile. Towards the edge of the clearing. Only to see nothing, merely another part of the forest.
The voiceless flicks with its free hand towards it. The impassive trees rained their branches from above, wooden spears stabs into the seemingly empty ground and completely punctures the invisible veil that masks a group of seven masked beings.
None of the spikes touches their body.
Elves, the creature recognize them. Similar in form to the humans that would invade its home were it not for their sharper ears and streamlined body. The goblin, however, recognize them for the forest too recognize them. Aiding the voiceless kin and the forest in repelling outsiders, the creature considers their kin as allies.
Yet today seems to be different.
Through an invisible pathway of minds connecting all within the forest, hidden to the many and known only to a few, the goblin felt a transmission of thought being sent straight into its mind.
'Halt creature.' It came from the elf staying in the center of their formation.
A bit taller than the rest, clad in hooded robe of deep blue that only expose a pair of branded forearms, but most important of all are the pair of antlers poking out of the robe's hood. The goblin recognize the "speaker" to be a high elf.
'Surrender the profaned object within your hand to us and there shall be no need for blood to be shed between us.'
A string of images and impressions that roughly translate to' Why?' was transmitted back in return.
Another string of information tinged with a glob of regret was received in return.
'The forest have grown old. Old and weary, weary enough to allow corruption to seep deep into its heart. That object in your grasp is possessed by a force which had held dominion over the entirety of the forest once.
Should the profaned thing be allowed to continue its part, then no more shall the forest holds its own will. Is it not the right of the free to desire to remain free? Your kin, the dragon kin and mine have spilt blood for the forest's will. The forest will that is also our will as well as the will of everything that stays within this sanctuary. Surely you would not wish for it to be replaced by another invader's will?'
Confusion and befuddlement, moving feeling and the presence of divinity enter the channel. Voicing the voiceless thoughts into the mind of the elves.
The elves posture drops. Behind wooden masks and carved skulls, eyes open wide as the their worst fear has been confirmed.
'Is this- No. Have you truly come here on the forest's will behest? Not a mere fragment of its will. Is this the true undiluted truth?'
This time, the string of transmission is filled with a strange aura that briefly disrupts the creature's thought, compelling it to answer without a single lie.
However, the creature has no reason to lie. It takes no offense of that rudeness and answers, only this time not through the mental channel.
Within the physical world, the creature nods its head at the high elf and the elves knows there is no lie within the gesture.
Many faces behind masks began to contort in despair, some clutching their own head. Grips over bows slackened. A gloomy atmosphere indeed. Only the high elf remained outwardly unfazed, pale tattooed hands still clasped in front of azure robe.
'Then it is true, it is just as the diviners have foretold. The forest's will have truly been corrupted by that influence. The profaned orb will disrupts the very cycle of life, ending what is nature and replace the living with mere replicas.
For the forest to abandon its own children is simply an impossibility i shall not entertain. The will that guided you here, creature, is not the same will that have guide you through all this time. Now, leave that object to us and we shall see to it that nature's order shall be restored.'
Another string of information, this time telling the creature to surrender the object that is currently in the middle of absorbing its elbow to them. The creature mused that it is not impossible for the forest's will to have been compromised, its original goblin mind after all has been compromised in order for it to become what it currently is.
Had it not sense a trace of doubt within it then perhaps it would hand the core away instead of simply coming into the conclusion it was nothing more than the high elf's deluded attempt to convince herself.
But as it stands, it has made its decision.
This time the high elf's clenched her hands. Cold tempered anger burns through the channel within the creature's mind.
'You would stand against us then? So be it. Then you can return to the abyss from whence you came.'
But the creature in question is no longer listening, it sits still. The core have eaten the entirety of its left arm.
Sensing something amiss, the high elf gestures for the archers to act. Four bolts of iron races through the air at breakneck speed.
Before the arrows landed, an orb of her own swirls into form within the high elf's hand. Only that this orb is composed purely of the destructive property contained within her mana.
Four arrows landed, each bury themselves deep into the back of the creature's skull at the same time. Oddly enough, the force of the quadruple blow fails to knock the head by even a single inch. Neck still glued to place, steady as a statue.
That steadiness was about to be tested further as a blazing comet of mana streaking a trail of light swiftly impacts the creature's unprotected back.
A blue dome of flame blooms into form, incinerating everything within it. The shockwave caused robes to flutter wildly and the ground scatters. The explosion caused even the trees around it to sway as if they're about to be felled. Although there still is nary a sound to be heard.
Trees both stationary and pretending to be stationary ate, as they always have.
The high elf flicks her hand and billowing clouds of smokes departs. Masked expressions became grim as what greeted them was not an singed corpse. Singed? Yes. But a corpse?
The sight that greeted them behind the curtain of dust is a beast still sitting cross-leggedly and the ball of crystallized power still gnawing on the stump of its left arm.
Four arrows stabbed into the back of its head and a single arrow still in its back were charred. However, the same doesn't seem to apply for the flesh surrounding those arrows. Pale blue skin remains pale blue, and the purplish skinless meat hugging the arrows shows no sign of burn.
The assimilation was about to be completed for two minds have meld. And so the newborn mind, flexed.
Hearing a command, trees pretending to be motionless began to sway into motion. But before they could fully draw their full wrath to bear, the two fur robed elves at the very back of the formation throw their slender arms into the empty air and from their outstretched palms, an emanation of soft yellow glow springs forth to calm the stirred trees.
The carved skulls they wear as helmet trembles, the jaws moved in motion not dissimilar from cackling.
Yet this seems to be insufficient to calm the forest as even the truly harmless trees began to make their move. Stakes of wooden limbs began to rain down from a false sky, fully intent on impaling the crew of elves that dares to transgress their station.
To this, the high elf claps her hand imitating a gesture of pray. The fake prayer resulted in wooden spears failing to find purchase in flesh, all that the sharpened wood digs into is a heavily distorted layer of air, shaped as a dome and acts as shield for the elves.
The high elf gestures towards the four archers. A brief unperceivable hesitation within a second and they obey.
Formation tightens, four of its members approaches one of the shaman and kneels. Within the barrier, four elves prostates themselves to the elven shaman.
Seeing that all are in position, the shaman dug her nails deep into the vein of her right arm. Blood spills in alarming amount, in volumes that couldn't possibly be stored within her body. Blood spills like water.
Disobeying gravity, not a single drop of the gushing blood so much as graze the ground of the wrathful forest below her feet. The stream of blood flows upwards instead.
Creating a swirling sanguine vortex rapidly gaining in size in the air above the bleeding elf.
Sounds of trumpets blares over the noiseless world of the forest from within the yawning door, overpowering even the primordial hunger of the trees.
"As the ancient will abides. You of balance and of glory. I beseech! Uproot the weed and graze this stray land of grass." Taking advantage of The Architect's bafflement, seven parched voices muffled by masks chanted as one.
A pungent stench of pasture descends upon the land. Blessed are those that stay, any who inhaled the smell felt something different about themselves. Insects chirps and beasts stomps their feet in joy for enlightenment has come to stay within them.
The elves can feel their thoughts becoming clearer, every problem they ever thought of were given a solution. This newfound clarity would be useful for when they return to the village, to navigate through the slow dance of politics and to better their hunts.
That is purely hypothetical however, as that would actually require the group of elves to make it back alive.
When at last her blood has been exhausted, the shaman too dropped on her knees and spends her last remaining energy raising her cut arm towards the swirling door in the air as if to reach for salvation.
A salvation that comes in the form of an ivory arm, bursting through the portal. It was decorated with simple patterns of golden lines all over it. But the aura divinity it exhudes however, exceeds any sense of beauty its physical form could ever hope to convey.
The golden divinity of the arm suppress even the ancient glow of cyan emission the forest had been known for since its conception. The transition between a world of blue into a world of yellow is overwhelming to the lives that witnessed this confrontation. Those who are blessed stay, and those who refused simply choose to walk away.
The arm moves faster than even bullets and bridged the gap between the edge of the clearing and the core within an instant.
It was an instant too long.
Right before the arm could reach the half eaten goblin, a drastic change occurred. The sitting goblin's body was completely sucked into the core's impossible depth within the blink of an eye.
And the silence made its return.
The arm stops right in front of the core, the outstretched middle finger of it could brush against the core glassy body. Yet the arm made no more movement in consideration of the thousands spikes of woods coming into existence from the ground, the trees and even from the empty air to put their tips inside the arm's juicy conceptual flesh.
This change doesn't last long before another change takes place. The wooden limbs moves as snakes, a thousand lines of woods slithers over the arm towards the door from where it came from. Neither patches of ivory skin nor gold circuits could be seen underneath the layers of azure wood. Blue returns and golden radiance of the outsider becomes memory.
The door closes. The arm was severed from the body, divine ichor full of concepts began to pour from cleanly cleaved stump. The remaining five stunned elves could only watch without composure as the forest around them came to life as branches and roots stabs into succulent golden flesh uncovered by the ivory skin.
And the forest prepared to feast.
Unresigned and taking the feast as signs of the force within the forest being distracted, the high elf mentally commands the terrified group around her to steel themselves to prepare one last attack towards the now floating core, unobstructed by branches to their angle.
A curse of malice began to take form as illusory mana circles comes into reality behind her back, she points towards the core and a ray of piercing light of crimson splits the air in its effort to reach the core.
The bolt of red curse fizzles out of form in but a moment later.
For the elven entourage who brought it to existence had suddenly find their body impaled on blue wooden stakes, stabbing through the ground and the barrier surrounding them as if there was nothing at all.
The high elf could feel the stakes grinding her innards, she could feel the wood impossibly undulating and contracting within her innards and the tight meat of her limbs. Blood leaks and pain becomes the only alternative to coherency.
She screamed and her mangled elven kin follows. But nothing comes through their mouth besides gouts of thick, red blood, for the sound has been eaten.
That fate becomes the fate of the elves who lived inside this forest, deemed as threat, they were all exterminated. Even those innocent and ignorant to the impaled high elf's actions.
Today marks the end of all elven life inside this silent forest. The children and the wizened, the ones with bright future and the one without. All of them becomes naught but skewered fertilizer for the forest to feast upon.
...
The ever lasting silent falls heavy.
The core continues to eat more and more. A voracious appetite for the lifeblood of the world that knows neither bound nor limit as it continues to consume. Slowly birthing a nascent form of something resembling a consciousness in the meanwhile, one that will replace the primal urges that is the core's primary directive upon its completion.
And just like that, not caring about any changes, it continues to eat.
A feast that ends at what may be called a year later. Marked by two brightly shining objects clashing into one another above the forest. As they do, within a certain clearing something will finally have made itself whole.
Alongside a slumbering behemoth coiled for so long that it's spines have turned into hills, a primordial consciousness stirs into wakeful consciousness.
And when that time came, the silence of the forest once more will be broken.
But for now, the core persuades a tree to approach it, nestles it's slowly dimming body underneath the safety of it's wooden protector, and rest.