Wandering Tech-Priest in Multiverse

From a remote perspective —

Bell sat behind a crushed boulder, his eyes wide as he watched the fight unfold far ahead. The Ryuu was a blur of speed, darting beneath the big beast, each movement beautiful. She swung between death and wrath, swinging the massive axe as if it were nothing.

"Is she fighting the beast alone?" Bell mumbled, astonishment racing through his breath. It was both scary and beautiful. He felt the same ache in his chest, the need to rise and fight with her, to defend his colleagues just as they had protected him.

Then he heard something.

A low, strange hum that becomes louder by the second. He took a quick peek skyward.

Ryuu abruptly disconnected, disappearing into the treeline-like mist.

Liliruca, who had previously braced her lasgun against a hill, slid back and hurried into cover, attempting to get as far away as possible.

"What is happening?" Bell mumbled, his brow furrowed.

He was not alone in his perplexity.

Throughout the peaks and hollows around the battlefield, dispersed adventurers froze in mid-motion, holding weapons and protecting their eyes. Some were completely frozen. Others looked up, as if they sensed a shift in the air, the way pressure thickened like the quiet before a volcano eruption.

Then the sound arrived.

A concussive blast beyond anything Bell has ever experienced. It did not thunder; it tore. The air condensed in on itself, sucking forward toward a fixed point before exploding forth with terrible intensity. The tremor rushed through the trees, crushing everything in its path. Bell felt the blow from where he crouched, his ears ringing and his chest crushed as if struck by a hammer of sound.

And the brightness.

A blazing spear of light pierced the sky and earth alike—white, gold, and flaming red—followed by a surge of raw heat. The trees it touched became atomized. Rocks smashed. The earth has cracked.

The Black Goliath never yelled.

reduced to ashes. A twisting column of smoke rose into the sky, leaving behind a cloud of quiet.

Bell slowly arose, astonished. His words stuck in his throat.

"What was that?"

He was not the only one asking inquiries. Adventurers appeared from higher cliffs and distant ruins, first in small groups, then in clusters, to stare down at the ruin that had once been a living horror.

"Was that a magical weapon?

"There is no way. This was beyond the capabilities of even magical weapon."

"That was a heavenly relic..."

"Who fired that?"

Bell was already moving, gently and cautiously approaching the shattered area, his boots crunching on broken soil. The haze had lessened, and he could see Luthar standing alone by the gigantic weapon, which was still burning at its heart and leaking steam from its side.

Ryuu and Liliruca approached from separate directions, with unreadable looks. The servo-skull hovered quietly nearby, recording everything.

Luthar cocked his head slightly as the others gathered.

"I believe," he said quietly and steadily, "it is time we headed back."

Ryuu took a step forward, her foot firmly on the shattered stone, her cloak billowing in the blistering wind created by the weapon's discharge. Her eyes, which were normally calm and focused, were instantly filled with rage.

"What do you think you are doing?" She demanded in a raised voice. "You should never hurt the dungeon when it answers to a threat—you could have caused another beast to grow!"

Others who had lately arrived also froze.

Bell, too, remained utterly still.

Luthar did not adjust his course. He exhaled quietly and lifted one gauntleted hand to the still-smoking cannon next to him.

"I am just deploying small versions, but I believe I have demonstrated enough restraint," he said quietly.

Then Ryuu blinked.

Luthar's head cocked slightly. "I still have a full-size, fully operating Quake Cannon. Which I did not use."

Ryuu shot back, incredulous. "You are driving the dungeon to create another monster."

The servo-skull moved between them, silently humming, its sensors registering the increasing strain.

Luthar eventually turned to face her directly, the helm buzzing slightly. "If the dungeon dares to create another monster..." A subtle hum emanated from the cannon's core once again, as if in response to its master's mood.

"Then I can only remove the dungeon itself."

Silence fell again.

The words were not loud. However, the confidence behind them made the air feel heavier than before.

Ryuu stumbled for a time, her protest trapped in her throat.

Luthar did not press any further. He merely moved away from the weapon, the vents still hissing behind him. Before inserting the pack into the system space, he readied Canon for the next time it was used.

"I am going an hour after that," he stated. "I still have an appointment with Miach.

---

From the ridge above—

Hermes didn't speak at first.

He stood still, mouth slightly wide, eyes mirroring the column of smoke rising from the battlefield far below. The echo of the weapon's discharge remained in the air, thin and uncanny, as if the dungeon was holding its breath.

Asfi dropped her goggles slowly, astonished. "I hope he does not target you."

"That is not humorous," Hermes murmured, his voice unusually raspy. "I would be lot pleased if he would killed the beast with his axe."

He took a swallow.

The God of Travel and Trickery, who had previously laughed in the face of peril, mocked politicians, and danced through crises, now stood still. His fingers twitched faintly at his side.

"At the very least, that would make more sense," Hermes mumbled.

The air tugged on his cloak, bearing the aroma of burnt dirt and evaporated stone.

"So, do you think he can show me how to create that thing?" Asfi asked gently.

Hermes did not respond straight away. His attention was fixed on the fractured basin below, where even the earth appeared injured. The Dungeon had not shattered; it had recoiled.

He breathed long and slowly, a shadow falling behind his eyes.

"You are overthinking everything; he had no need to educate you," he muttered. "But you could try."

Asfi gave a frown. "I only hope he does not murder me because of you."

Hermes simply looked around. For the first time in ages, the ever-smiling deity felt a chill creep over the edges of his celestial being—fear of losing control of the tale.

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