Legacy 8 (1/2)

As Boxxy walked into the dungeon following a debatably restful Dreamweaver-induced coma, it grumbled inaudibly at the small row of cages lined up underneath the glowing core. They were all delightfully cubic in shape though infuriatingly grate-like in their construction, and none were any taller than its knees. These seven containers held an assortment of relatively harmless critters. From left-to-right, there was a mangy pooch, a pissed-off mega-termite, a tortoise, some kind of mutated squirrel, a janther cub, a sleeping boar, and a desperately floundering catfish.

The monster approached and deprived itself of any and all organs capable of perceiving sound since it did not want to deal with the cacophony of noises these things were making. It then got busy inspecting and appraising each captive critter. Moments later it lifted an arm, which was shapeshifted into a comically large mallet, and then smashed the dog-sized insect and six-legged feline into paste along with their cages. Creatures harboring the violent and vicious instincts normally found within monsters were not suitable for its purposes. Something it thought had been made crystal clear when it sent its minions out last night, but it would appear this was not the case.

The mongrel was clearly diseased and not exactly full of life and vitality, and was thusly also summarily rejected. The oddly proportioned squirrel, on the other hand, was deemed contaminated by some unknown purpose and was also smushed. This narrowed Boxxy’s options to the tortoise, the boar, and the fish. It ultimately decided to go with the shelled reptile, as it felt a weird sense of camaraderie with the animal and how it refused to come out of its ‘box.’

“Yessstktktkt!”

A chittering cheer was heard from about a dozen meters away. Drea, whose ‘offering’ had been picked, pumped her fist in triumph while dangling upside down from a line of webbing. This mild celebration was immediately interpreted as gloating by the rest of Boxxy’s entourage. It wasn’t just Kora, Xera, Fizzy, and Jen. Even Lavender and Ambrosia had somehow gotten suckered into participating in this little ‘competition.’

“What are you idiots standing around for?!” Boxxy yelled at them. “Don’t you have work to do?!”

The monster girls all scattered, except for the dryad.

“Excuse my ignorance, milord, but what was the purpose of this event?”

“To find the final ‘ingredient’ I need to cure myself of my corruption,” it answered plainly.

“Apologies,” Ambrosia bowed. “I did not realize thy request was of such importance.”

She had initially assumed this to be some kind of game, an idle distraction. That was why she had chosen to ‘borrow’ that baby janther from one of the Monster Tamers that lived on her branches. If she had known what Boxxy actually needed it for, she would’ve chosen more wisely. She would’ve also kept Lavender from spawning a termite with the dungeon core’s power.

As for Boxxy, it put the caged tortoise in its Storage, along with a generous amount of air for it to breathe, and then exited the dungeon. It was still early morning shortly before dawn, so Azurvale’s streets were blissfully empty as it made its way towards the graveyard. It reached Tol-Saroth’s hidden laboratory without incident, arriving at about the same time as Claws. The arachnid demoness was discreetly transporting what appeared to be an older elf with a somewhat regal appearance, though the man was thoroughly paralyzed and securely wrapped up in webbing. Fizzy arrived shortly afterwards with Snek in one hand and Minic in the other, and it took several more minutes before Snack, Arms and Jen flew in under the cover of the djinn’s illusions.

“Wait,” Boxxy halted the trio before they could enter. “Where’s Mouthy?”

‘Mouthy’ had been the shapeshifter’s nickname for Torzessirth, the book-bound beholder it had instructed these three to bring with them. He was Tol-Saroth’s final surviving familiar, and was deemed an important source of information just in case things went bad. However, the pointed lack of loud, drawn-out cursing suggested he was not currently in their possession.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Kora awkwardly scratched her head. “He kind of… exploded.”

“… He what?” the shapeshifter asked dumbly.

“The weakling committed suicide, Master,” Xera clearly stated. “This red idiot was complaining about being carried by this other idiot’s talons, so we failed to hear the book chanting a Spell. The result was a point-blank Fireball that exploded inside Dicks-for-brains’ hands and turned the book into ash.”

In other words, it would appear the group had collectively overestimated the beholder’s prideful nature, as he was clearly not above admitting ‘defeat’ through suicide. In truth Torzessirth would have already offed himself if not for the wards and restrictions placed upon his holding cell within the dungeon. In retrospect, bringing him out of there had been a terrible idea, but it was too late to do anything about it. The harpy and the two demons had likely put off telling their boss about their screw up until they were in position to subdue it should the news trigger a fit of rage.

Though it would seem the shapeshifter’s reaction wasn’t one of anger, but something even worse - disappointment.

“Forget it, just… get inside the damn dungeon.”

It ushered the rather ashamed-looking trio into the underground facility and was about to follow them inside when it heard a very familiar ringing noise at the back of its head.

*Click*

“Hi?” it asked tentatively.

“Hey, Boxxy. Carl from Demons ‘R’ Us here. Got a minute?”

“I guess. What’s up?”

“So, I’m calling about a demon called Torzessirth.”

“What? Why would- Oh wait, you’re his agent, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

From what Boxxy understood of how Demons ‘R’ Us ran things, each devil had a list of mortal clients and another list of potential contractors. Barring exceptional cases, the same Warlock would usually be redirected towards the same operator every time they mind-dialed the Beyond. In short, this meant that, since Carl was Snack’s handler, it stood to reason that Tol-Saroth’s other minions would also be part of his responsibilities.

“What does he want?” the shapeshifter asked indignantly.

“Oh, nothing in particular. He just called me a few minutes ago, wanted to complain about something or other, entitled beholder bullshit. Thing is, I accidentally let it slip that the entirety of the Beyond knew your little secret and were banned from revealing it to mortals.”

Which was to say that ‘Mouthy’ had realized that its brilliant deduction regarding the true identity of the Hero of Chaos was effectively worthless. It would certainly explain his sudden and successful suicidal tendencies.

“So, I’m calling to say sorry about that,” Carl added. “It was deeply unprofessional of me. Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure he won’t be able to get another contract for a decade or two.”

“… Why, exactly?”

Though Boxxy recognized the devil was trying to make up for his gaffe somehow, it failed to comprehend why preventing the beholder from making any contracts would be any of its concern.

“Oh. Uh… You know that ‘no spoilers’ policy we have over here? The one the big brick upstairs put in place to protect your secret identity?”

“Yeah?”

“That only applies to what’s seen on the Boxxy Show broadcasts. But since Torzessirth learned about it on his own, then he has every right to spill the beans to his next contractor out of spite. Which, as far as I can tell, had been his intention all along. And since that was my fault, I thought I’d do you a solid and keep a lid on things. Discreetly, of course.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

“Hey, it’s the least I could do for sort-of ruining your plans. Hope you won’t be too mad about it.”

“No, it’s fine. I already got quite a bit of data out of him.”

The demonic tome had been less than vital to the shapeshifter’s endeavors, though it was still rather pissed about losing a valuable source of information.

“That’s great. And again, I apologize for doing that, I was just kinda happy to hear that old bastard’s voice again and got sloppy. Oh, speaking of which, you know that spire fiend you ran into? Freallausiz Aurphoirriz Zalathraxas de Thotealphiol?”

“You mean the one with the axe?”

“That one. Apparently being able to retain her sanity after four centuries of perpetual drowning had allowed her to Rank Up into an archfiend the instant she returned to the Beyond. She now struts around like some kind of half-dragon made of steel.”

“Half dragon, huh?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, this is just her soul-self and not her physical manifestation, but she has these four thick horns that sweep back over her head, a pair of metallic dragon wings and this long and thick spike-tipped tail. Also her tits look even bigger and perkier than I remember. You should see her, it’s really quite something.”

Boxxy took a deep breath before urging the conversation in a slightly more productive direction.

“What’s this all got to do with me?”

“Oh, right. She told me to tell you that she’s thankful for freeing her from that living death, and that she’s willing to work with you if you can arrange a proper rematch between her and Koralenteprix. It was actually rather uncomfortable how many times she used the phrase ‘tail pegging,’ but that’s besides the point.”

“I’ll think about it,” Boxxy lied. “Is that all?”

“Yup, that’s everything from my end. So unless you have anything I can help you with…”

“No, I’ve got it. Bye, Carl.”

“Bye.”

*Click*

Having concluded the informative-yet-pointless conversation, Boxxy followed its minions inside the dungeon and headed towards Tol-Saroth’s mimic making machine with the intent of putting it to good use.