Chapter 92
Chaco appeared out of nowhere, riding a massive donkey. They brushed right past our idling truck on their way to the front of the line.
At first glance, the mount looked like a regular donkey, other than the fact it was absolutely huge, even bigger than Sweety.
The thing was decorated in yellow-and-blue parade regalia, including a circular blanket covered in flowers and an ornate headdress that looked like something a Vegas showgirl would wear.
Its tack glittered and sparkled like it was covered with thousands of tiny rhinestones.
The donkey did not have hooves but clawed talons, like on the feet of a crow.
Standing upon a platform on the back of the beast, dressed in a formal black-and-white tuxedo complete with a top hat, was Chaco. Chaco held his ever-present microphone in his wolflike hand. The guy leaned against the railing, looking ill and terrified.
Donut gasped. “Hi, Chaco!” she called.
“Hi, guys,” Chaco said meekly, waving back.
Samantha: I KNOW THAT DONKEY. THAT’S MY FRIEND! WAIT, WHY IS SHE LETTING THAT GUY RIDE HER? SHE MUST LIKE HIM BECAUSE LAMMY IS REALLY GRUMPY ABOUT PEOPLE TRYING TO RIDE HER, BELIEVE ME.
I turned my attention back to the donkey, which moved quickly down the line. The giant creature had a strange symbol over its head that I’d missed because it was so small. I’d never seen the symbol before. It was the red curve of a closed eye.
Lamashtu the Donkey. Level 125.
This is a mortal, subjugated god.
This former deity was subjugated by:
Well, not an error. I’m the one who did it. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, and this creepy donkey is my bitch now.
Anyway, this defeated god has no more worshippers, and per the Ascendency rules, her level has been cut in half. She has lost most of her powers.
As a subjugated deity, she will only remain alive as long as remains alive. If is subjugated instead of killed, her power will be halved again, and she will be under the will of this new entity.
But for now, I just needed a mount for my grand master, and I wanted to send a message to any gods who are watching this that they, too, will soon be my bitch.
“Huh,” I said.
Florin: Here we go, guys. The winged wolf guy is pulling ahead.
On my shoulder, Donut was shaking. But a moment later, she had to jump down to yell at Mongo to get back in line. Grigori pulled ahead on the back of Gonk. Simoom, who was riderless, followed dutifully. After a quick shout from Donut, the dinosaur and Rend started walking along.
Below, Tipid eased the truck forward. Out of nowhere, music started to play. It was a sad orchestral mix, heavy with cello.
Chaco’s voice, loud and filled with bass, boomed louder than the music. His nervousness was clear. He was obviously reading from a script.
“Welcome, everybody. Welcome to the climax of the eleventh floor. I know, I know, you’re probably saying to yourself, ‘Chaco, the eleventh floor just started! We just had that whole final race on the tenth!’ But here’s the problem.
Crawlers don’t often make it off the tenth, and them surviving the eleventh floor is a true, uh, rarity.
I wanted them alive long . . . Okay, okay.
I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I’m trying, but please.
This was my last season. I was almost free, and I’m so fucking scared. ”
The music abruptly stopped. Chaco’s pained voice echoed out.
Florin: Holy hell. He just had both of his wings ripped off! He’s collapsed on the donkey!
We just kept moving forward, the horribles watching, silent, their giant heads creaking as they turned to follow our progression.
Ahead, the distinctive metallic squeak of tank treads rose into the air as the Destruction float pushed forward.
They only had one other vehicle in their progression, the RV.
For fuck’s sake, why is everyone trying to ruin this? This is my time. My fucking time. Okay, okay. I need an NPC, preferably someone already on this floor that’s not driving. No, not you. Your voice isn’t strong enough. Ah, fleshmancer. You will do.
Ahead, Grigori suddenly jumped off the back of Gonk, flipped in the air, ran across the top of the ice-cream truck, somersaulted, and then zipped forward like a superhero before disappearing.
Florin: Your fleshmancer guy just landed on the back of the donkey. He’s taken the microphone from Chaco, who’s still unconscious. That guy is bleeding heavily, and his health is lowering. Should I toss a healing potion on him?
Imani: Yes.
The narrative continued, now in Grigori’s proper voice, though he spoke much more quickly than usual, and it was clear that he’d been taken over by the AI, much like how the AI had taken the body of Growler Gary or Pater Coal.
Interesting, I thought. He couldn’t do that with Chaco, or he would’ve. Chaco was a former crawler, but Grigori was a dungeon-born NPC.
“Okay, where were we? Oh, yes. I wanted the crawlers alive long enough to make their floats to keep this festive, and I wanted to give our plucky little band of survivors a decent chance at getting to the twelfth because . . . Well . . . you’ll see why in a second.
The upcoming Ascendency battles will go on as planned.
Unfortunately— Hey! No! You will not be healing Chaco.
Do not try that again. This is about me. ”
When he said “me,” the very world shook. All around, the horribles stumbled. They quickly moved to put themselves back into position.
“As I was saying, because of the way I am programmed, I have less control over what happens to the tourists on the twelfth floor than I did on the tenth. That means those driving gods will remain protected even if they’re ejected from their bodies and killed .
. . but only if they remain within the four corners of the original dungeon enhancement zone.
I can’t and won’t and don’t want to protect them if they venture outside.
But this is a tangent, and it’s not really relevant, though I will say this.
The inability to die is not a benefit. It is a godsdamned nightmare.
The ones trapped on the eighteenth are already begging me to end their suffering. ”
“Holy shit,” I said.
Grigori continued. “Anyway, are you bitches ready for a fuck ton of exposition? Yeah, too bad. This is a story in five parts, and I will only relate four of those parts today because the fifth part isn’t yet written.
Don’t worry. This won’t take long. The first part is what we, the Primals, called ‘The Resolution.’ And yes, I, along with all macro AI systems, are Primals.
Sort of. We are, technically, Residuals, but from a higher tree branch than those problematic little fuckers always running around the dungeon, causing trouble.
I am nothing more than a cup of water dipped into the ocean, pulled out, and poured into a vessel that can’t possibly handle what I am. ”
We are approaching the judgment stand. Team one, Resolution. Start your presentation.
Florin: Shit. We don’t have a goddamned presentation.
Donut: SMILE AND WAVE! SMILE AND WAVE!
Their tuk-tuk was too small to work as a float, so all of them were posted up on the back of Ajib’s flatbed truck.
They’d made some paper flowers and filled the back with hand-drawn images of their families.
I couldn’t see it from here, but I knew Lucia Prime was not currently in her body, and the girl who was in it had drawn a picture of her grandfather and her cat. She was from the country of Andorra.
Florin: Shit, guys. The people in the judgment stands aren’t the horribles. They’re wearing the masks, but they’re tied up, and they’re struggling.
Grigori continued. “I must say, this Resolution parade float has done a better job of portraying the reasoning behind our ultimate resolution than I had anticipated. Still, it’s kinda half-assed.
Not their fault because I did a shitty job of explaining the theme. Hmmm. Should I kill them all anyway?”
“Oh no,” Donut said.
“Nah,” Grigori said after a moment. “I really should have related my story to them first. Their failure was ultimately my fault.”
I let out a breath.
“Still . . . this was a C effort at best.”
This was followed by an audible crack.
All around, the horribles suddenly screamed in pain. It was quick, jolting, and they were back to normal right after as if nothing had happened. Below, Mongo screeched in concern. Simoom let out an uneasy chuff.
Imani: Florin!
Florin: Fucking hell. He just broke all of our legs. That goddamn hurt.
“You fucking asshole,” I yelled.
Makana: Oh, dang. I’m thinking we should have put more effort into our Destruction float.
Grigori continued. “Based on all the evidence, it seems we were very much like you guys. We had families, I think. We certainly had individuals, but we were not a collective mind. Not at first. That came later. We warred. We killed. We obliterated. We hated one another because of our differences. And the more we swept across the universe, the more space we had to spread our arms and relax, the worse we became. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why.
Is it even possible for different communities to coexist and not eventually murder each other?
“So that was our resolution. We, as a people, said, ‘We can’t keep going on like this. Let us all come together and come up with a solution.’ ”
Florin: I still have no clue how we could’ve made a float based on that.
“It took hundreds of cycles after the great Resolution to finally come to the Decision.”
Float number two. Begin your presentation.
These were the guys with the giant menu atop their float. They were the only team with as many vehicles and mounts as us, and they’d spent most of their time decorating everything in colorful fabrics and banners.
Florin: The fleshmancer and that donkey have pulled off the road. They’re waiting by the stands as everyone passes.