Alpha Strike: [An interstellar Weapon Platform’s Guide to being a Dungeon Core] (Book 2 title)

 

The cavern forest echoed with the sound of combat. The clash of metal against chitin. Primal roars echoed through the tangled foliage. A dozen Adventurers, their faces etched with determination, formed a ragged line along the wide forest trail. To their sides, the forest seemed to come alive with movement as mud-covered creatures emerged from the shadows.

Among the fray, a house-sized ant scuttled forward, its mandibles snapping. Beside it, a massive serpent, its scales glistening with mud, slithered with deadly precision. And there, towering above them all, a Mossback Prime, its bulk casting a shadow over the combatants, pounded its chest in a display of dominance.

Their primal instincts should have told them to tear each other apart. Yet, here, the creatures fought as one. 

For every Adventurer who stumbled or succumbed to injury, a nimble goblin darted forward, pulling them from danger with surprising speed. Each time, a fresh Adventurer took their place. Meanwhile, the injured were tended to. Their wounds bandaged and their strength restored, they waited for their turn to rejoin the fray. 

Perched on the trunk of a massive tree, Alpha’s [Wasp] sat, surveying the battlefield below. Everything was unfolding according to plan. Despite a minor setback earlier in the morning. The plan Alpha and the goblins had concocted was going well, and the Adventurers easily believed the surrounding forest was filled with dungeon-born creatures due to the dungeon break. 

That helped to somewhat restrain their movement around the cavern. 

Honestly, using a combination of older model antborgs and MUD-controlled spirit beasts to create the illusion of endless swarms pouring out of the dungeon had been a stroke of brilliance, if Alpha said so himself. 

Of course, the illusion would be broken if the Adventurers pushed too far ahead, too quickly. That had been his first mistake. 

When the hunt to ‘clear out the area’ around the village started, Alpha had underestimated what professional Adventurers could really do. To be fair, all he had to measure them by had been Bosco’s rowdy bunch. 

The difference was immediately apparent. Alpha’s small army of mud-covered ants, which had ambushed the group shortly after leaving the village, would have buried Bosco’s group in seconds. 

The expedition party wiped out the ant army in less than fifteen minutes. 

That was a bit of an embarrassment for Alpha, but he quickly adjusted his plans. The next few waves comprised fewer — but far more powerful — creatures. He’d even had time to test out the new soldier-model antborgs!

“They’re doing better than I expected,” a voice said over comms. 

Alpha’s [Wasp] drone turned its attention toward the back of the group, where the injured had been gathered and where a tall goblin ‘stood guard’ in case something slipped through. 

Her folded arms and scowling face made it clear to anyone watching she would rather be doing anything else. Yet, the Adventurers insisted that Boarslayer take the duty after seeing her hold her own against such creatures. It was a wise choice from the party leadership, even if all the goblins knew Alpha was in control. 

“I’ll admit, they’re more impressive than the typical lot. The Guild must have put a lot of stock into the report to send so many skilled individuals on this expedition,” Dr. Maria replied, also over their shared comms line. She was nearby, coordinating the medics as they patched up the injured Adventurers. 

“That’s a good thing, though, right? If they’re this strong, Icefinger’s men don’t stand a chance,” Antchaser said. He stood with the group leadership, pointing to the large map on the portable table. Taking Dr. Maria’s advice, Antchaser volunteered to act as the expeditionary party’s official guide. 

Their story was that Antchaser had discovered the dungeon shortly after the goblins arrived in the cavern. They managed to earn some minor rewards from the dungeon’s shallows, yet the ‘Dragon’s Garden’ had proved too much for the village’s experienced, if rather weak, hunters. 

That helped explain some of the items scattered around the village and the goblin’s knowledge of the dangers inside the dungeon. As well as how they had fended off the bandits. 

“That depends,” Dr. Maria responded. “If the Guild is sending so many heavy hitters on this expedition, then we have to assume the Icefinger knows that as well. Coupled with the report from Seeker, we can expect the other side to spare no expense in capturing the cavern.” 

That made sense to Alpha. Not only would Icefinger’s men have a better idea of the apparent worth of the cavern, but they would also know what really happened to Bosco and the other bandits. And if what Dr. Maria said was true, then they would likely know what kind of forces Halirosa was sending as well. 

That meant they had a distinct advantage in their ability to prepare. Not that Alpha didn’t have his own advantages. 

“Then shouldn’t we be doing more than just sitting here playing make-believe?” Boarslayer said, frowning. 

“We’ve told you before, we have to think beyond just Icefinger’s men. We have to consider what happens after. Otherwise, Mr. Alpha could just swarm them with his spirit beasts and be done with it. You’re just mad you haven’t gotten to hit anything yet,” came Antchaser’s reply. 

Boarslayer’s eyes snapped to the smaller goblin across the camp. “I’ll hit you, if you don’t stop running your mouth, pipsqueak,” she said over the comms. 

Antchaser scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see you try, you overgr—” 

“Children, will you stop fighting? You’ll make our guests think you’re insane talking to yourselves like that,” Alpha said, cutting the goblin off. “Antchaser is right in this instant. We’re crafting a story here. I’ll step in if absolutely necessary, but what face you present to Halirosa will determine how we interact with them in the future. Keep that in mind.” 

That Alpha was also crafting his own story and face, went unsaid. If he was going to craft this place into the first Federation outpost on this planet, he needed to lay that foundation easily. 

“Yes, sir,” came the echoed response from both goblins. 

Off to the side, Dr. Maria only laughed and shook her head. 

————————————————————

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Later that night.

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Boarslayer sat on the large boulder and stared into the campfire, frowning. Her hands clenched and unclenched, wringing the nonexistent hilt of her hammer, as her leg twitched up and down. With a grumble, she reached down and grabbed a thick branch from the pile beside her, broke it in half, and tossed it into the fire with maybe a little more force than was necessary. She scowled at the flames, poking it with another stick to readjust the coals. 

The click of clayware on stone caused her eyes to snap to the side, though she showed no other reaction. 

A large human man stood in the firelight, staring down at her with a wide, cheesy grin. The Adventurer named Bert held out a bowl filled with rich stew for her. 

“Didn’t see at the pot, lass, so thought I’d bring you something to eat. Can’t have our healer’s bodyguard going hungry, can we?” he said, wiggling the bowl in her direction. The thing looked more like a teacup in his massive hands.  

Boarslayer turned, stared down at the stew, then back up at Bert. She sneered and turned away. 

Bert raised a brow and shrugged. “Not hungry, girly? Oh well. Though you should try to eat something. A hobgoblin needs to eat to keep up her strength.” 

Boarslayer’s head snapped in Bert’s direction, her teeth bared and eyes blazing. 

“I’m a goblin to you, human. Keep that filthy word out of your mouth!” she hissed. 

Bert took a step back, both hands raised. “Sorry, sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the Deep. I forgot how much you folk don’t like that term.” 

Boarslayer frowned and turned away with a tsk. She stared into the fire for a moment before speaking, “The barbarians in the mountain might wear that stupid nickname you Adventurers made with pride, but down here, we’re civilized. That doesn’t matter to you a lot though, does it? You all see us just like those evil little bitey bastards in their dirty caves.” As she spoke, her grip tightened until the stick she held shattered in her hands.

She stared at the splinters for a moment, then tossed them into the fire. “You think just because we’re goblins, you can burst in here and take what you want. Hurt who you want.” 

Bert sat in silence and stared into the flames. 

When he said nothing, Boarslayer looked at him and narrowed her eyes. “What? Not going to say anything? Try to give some excuse or defend yourself? Maybe claim you’re ‘not like the bandits?’ Yet, you’re here to do the same thing they were, aren’t you? You’re just here to take what isn’t yours.” 

Bert picked up a stick and poked at the coals momentarily before responding. “No. I won’t. It won’t change what happened here. Nor will it make it right. The fact is, we, from Halirosa, might call them bandits, but to you lot, they were just another group of Adventurers doing what Adventurers do. I’ll not try to justify that. That’d be insulting to those who suffered and died.” 

He turned and looked Boarslayer in the eye. “What I can do is promise we’ll try to do better by you. Maybe those seem like empty words to you. But if there’s one thing Big Bert never does, it’s breaking his word.” Bert gave her a wide, cheesy grin. 

Boarslayer stared back blankly before turning away with a tsk. Bert laughed but said nothing more. 

The two sat in silence for a few moments before Bert spoke. 

“I’ll admit, though, I wasn’t expecting to meet another Titankin on this expedition. We’re a rare sort, you and me. Halirosa has more than most, but that is more because of its nature than anything else,” he said, poking the flames. 

Boarslayer narrowed her eyes and frowned at the large man. “I told you, old man. I’m a goblin. Nothing else. Ain’t nothing similar between me and you. Not unless you’re the pinkest goblin I’ve ever seen.” 

Bert burst into laughter, though it quickly died as he noticed the confusion on Boarslayer’s face. 

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “You’re serious lass? Wait, has no one ever told you? What about your parents? Did they not explain your bloodline?” 

Boarslayer’s frown deepened. “Got no parents. My Father was killed by a beast attack when I was still a toddler. Mother died during the wars. I was raised by the village hunters. None of them ever mentioned anything about Titankin or whatever you’re on about.” 

Bert turned back to the fire. “Ah. I see. That would make sense, then. I assume your mother was… like you?” he asked. 

Boarslayer nodded, though said nothing more. 

Bert sighed. “A shame… too many of us are losing our history now these days,” he said, shaking his head. Bert ignored the look Boarslayer gave him and continued; 

“Ogers, Oni, Giants, Hobgoblins —” Boarslayer flinched as Bert spoke, “—even Nephilim,” he continued with a laugh, patting his enormous chest. “Throughout history, there have been people like us. Those… larger… than the common folk. And though what we’re called may differ, we appear in every known sapient species in some form or another. Don’t you find that… odd?” he asked. 

Boarslayer scoffed. “What’s odd about that? Of course there are going to be larger people. What are you getting at?” she responded. 

Bert grinned. “Aye, on the surface, it appears like it should be that way, doesn’t it?” he paused and stared into the flames. 

Boarslayer turned and looked at the man, but froze. The hair on her arms suddenly stood up at the look in his eyes.

When Bert next spoke, his voice was quiet, yet filled with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. “You’ve felt it before, too, haven’t you? That… burning, at your core. That churning furnace inside you that demands you feed it. Not with wood or food.” As Bert spoke, the fires of the pit swirled and twisted. The flickering shadows they cast seemed to contort the large man’s face into a cruel smile, like a demon watching sinners burn. 

“No. It’s a fire… a rage… that can only be fueled with violence. With flesh and bone and blood. It claws at you… no matter how you try to ignore it. It screams at you to cut and crush and tear your foes. And when there’s nothing left to break, you’re left… empty.” 

With a whoosh, the fire was suddenly extinguished.

“Then all that’s left… is cold ash,” Bert finished. 

Boarslayer stared wide-eyed at the man’s shadowed figure. She could feel the cold sweat drenching her back, and she had to steady her hands to stop them from shaking. 

Bert reached over, grabbed a log, and tossed it back into the glowing firepit. It caught fire instantly, dispelling the dark shadows. When Bert turned to Boarslayer, the grinning, slightly goofy-looking man had returned. He laughed at the look on Boarslayer’s face and shook his head. 

“It had been given many names over the ages, but now these days, we simply call it the ‘Titan’s touch.’ Not very fancy, but it gets the name across well enough. It’s something intrinsic to the Titankin.” 

Boarslayer shook her head. “You’ve still not said what that even means, old man,” she said with a frown.

Bert nodded. “That’s true. I really should, given no one’s ever explained this to you. But...” 

He paused, standing. “If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it in the traditional way. The way your mother would have had she gotten the chance.” He motioned her to stand. 

Boarslayer did so, though she raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that?” 

Bert’s grin stretched from ear to ear. 

The next moment… his massive fist slammed into Boarslayer’s gut. 

Oof! Boarslayer gasped before she was thrown off her feet. She rolled for a few meters before leaping to her feet and snarling at the large man. 

Bert only gestured her forward. “Come, girly. You’ve got a history lesson to learn.”