Chương 186: Chapter 421: To be Mulch or not to be Mulch, that is the question

The Collective towered above Milo, unmoving, colossal Myconians rooted into the soil and deep mycelium up to their waists. They guided their progeny, for all were descended from them. They spent their lives in quiet contemplation, giving advice and speaking through others. The large plazas between their bases hummed with activity. Milo saw evidence that supported the ideas of a telepathic society and a partial hive mind. And yet, other things showed that at least some of the Myconians were individuals.

While the soldiers and laborers seemed very similar, there were other creatures with very distinct looks, accented with decorations and clothing. Many had humanoid faces and conversed normally in different languages. The city also had non-myconian inhabitants, although Milo wasn't sure if they were visiting for some reason or living here permanently.

He saw creatures resembling orcs and goblins, humanoid lizards, a spider carrying several bags on its back, dwarves with black skin and white beards, a tall ethereal-looking creature that might have been an elf, and gangs of small, winged humanoids that seemed intent on swarming and annoying anyone that took their fancy. They buzzed around a large, rotund lizardman, slowly pulling a cart, laughing and stealing fruit from him.

The cart's owner became annoyed and tried to shoo them away, but they ignored him until a long tongue shot out of his mouth and caught three of them in as many seconds. The buzzing creatures flew away, the cart puller removed the annoying creatures from his mouth, covered in sticky spittle, and pasted them to the side of his cart, where they screamed, begged to be let go. The refreshments were tasty. The drink was made from powdered blusher mushroom, powdered nuts, and fruit juice.

The cheese was thinly sliced, pungent, and highly spiced with cinnamon and vanilla flavorings. A tea made from blackroot, thistle blossoms, and mycena powder was served and proved to be an excellent ending to the meal. His guide had been silent as they ate, and Milo had followed his lead. He could feel the low hum of the Collective's thoughts around him, but they didn't try to intrude. At some signal from his host, the table was cleared, and his guide spoke.

"For this conversation, you may refer to me as Speaker. This is a title taken when one bears the yoke of the collective and acts as their representative. For the moment, I am the Collective. If we meet again, I will be Grothmar, a humble dealer in non-myconian artifacts, and have a shop near the foreign market where other races may conduct business. I would be pleased to meet you again, if you should wish to engage in further conversation."

Milo was intrigued to talk to the speaker when he wasn't channeling the Collective. How would he be different? And the Foreign Market was something he wanted to see.

"I would enjoy that and will do so. Assuming I am not mulch."

"An assumption we all wish to make, but it is not always possible for all sentients. I hope to see you then." He shifted slightly in his chair as if a great weight was placed upon him, and his eyes darkened.

"To cautiously greet you, Sage Milo, who should not be underestimated.

"To share knowledge with each other?"

"Yes, to share knowledge."

"To share knowledge of the Chimera?"

"Yes, to share knowledge of the Chimera."

"To be taking the first speaking position. The Chimera emerged from the great rift during the time of the First Collective, who had benevolently ruled here for thousands of solar cycles. Concern had been building for many tens of cycles. It was a time of great strife in the regions below our caverns. The Mountain King sent disturbing letters that were burned lest more fall prey to his madness. His armies swept through small caverns, assimulating many cultures that had existed for centuries into his growing kingdom.

Groups of renegades and outcasts from his kingdom, and from those who wished not to be assimilated, climbed from below, carving trails in the wall of the fissure. Many settled in our far caverns, but the dwarves feared his reach and wished to carve out new caverns where the stone becomes soft. They left, but we conversed and traded knowledge and physical goods. Query: The Dwarves of Finditurpetram still prosper?"

"No. The Dwarves of the City of Finditurpetram died long ago, and the city has sat silent for hundreds of cycles until recently rediscovered by the people of Limburgher Hollow and the Deep Rock Engineers. It was a city of the dead and the lair of the Chimera."

"To have more questions, but to not be rude. Continuing. The Chimera emerged from the crevice. All that confronted it were killed. The First Collective attempted to communicate, a mistake. The Chimera roared with anger and unpleasant thoughts and became aware of them. It roamed the caverns, destroying soldier and worker forms with ease. When it came for the collective, all forms resisted it, and more were grown from the surrounding fields.

Old spores were brought from the Mycelium to bring forth towering warforms to combat it. The deepsleepers were a last resort. Robazal was one of these, called forth to defend the Collective alongside many more. It fought until injured and driven mad and could fight no more. It left the First Collective and sought other caverns to heal, becoming a rogue. But the awakened ancients were able to keep the Chimera from the First Collective. Time and again, it attacked, and they were able to stop it.

They stripped it of its organic parts, sent armies of combat forms to make it use fuel and ammunition, anything to delay its advance. Their greatest strategy was decoying it into a deep mulch pit. Very difficult to climb out of. It spent days recharging its dreaded ruby eyes and cutting a passage to dig itself out. It was very angry and behaved quite erratically after that." The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Erratic? How so?"

"It roamed the caverns, attacking anything that lived, scarring the rock with its terrible weapons, and hunting for new organic parts. The Collective spent the reprieve shoring up their defenses, awakening more sleepers, and planting the spores to create mightier combat forms. We do not have all the thoughts of the First Collective; the Mycellium only holds so many thoughts, but there is a deep regret that the Chimera was not watched more closely.

It roamed further and further, and then it left, carving a path upward. After it left and the path was destroyed behind it, the First Collective relaxed, hoping it was gone for good. There is much regret over this course of action. We did not know of the eggs."

"Eggs?"

"So they were called. Large eggs made of metal, half-submerged and unmovable in pools of cooled, once-molten rock. Seventeen were found, distributed around the caverns. It was thought that they would spawn more Chimera or some type of creature. The shells were too tough to damage, so the combat forms were massed around them, and the First Collective waited. That is where the coherent memories of the First Collective end.

Only memories of the great burning come after that, then the sleep of ages, and the return to these blackened caverns and the time of regrowth." The Speaker paused and stared at Milo. He felt the will of the Collective pressing down.

"To ask again. To ask for details. To know how the Sage knows the Chimera is dead! The Collective must know!" Milo looked out over the vast fields of mushrooms, so many of them poisonous. If this entire cavern were fertile and growing, it would have been hundreds of tons of fungus that burned in the firestorm released by the 'eggs'.

"The Chimera left, because it knew you would die. Its actions also killed most of the city far above you, as the fissure acted as a chimney, carrying the heat and poisonous fumes upward. The dwarven clans scattered and fled, then fled again when the cataclysm rocked the ground and destroyed so many of the caverns and tunnels they were living in. The Chimera assaulted the few remaining defenders and then made the dead city its lair, rebuilding its corrupted minions and scouring the caverns for any life.

We didn't know what it was when we fought it. Didn't know the extent of its power."

"To know how you killed it?"

"Massed cannons and destructive weaponry. A brave guard and two Heroes who could not be subdued. It tried to get into our minds, turn us into its minions. It might have won if it hadn't done that. It gave me a chance to block it and invade its mind, turning its weapon on itself. It was a leftover from the first world, made by the Gods to destroy the Mountain King. It became corrupted itself, yet ironically continued its mission to destroy corruption, and targeted anything that lived.

I used a pre-system weapon to break it open, and one of its ruby eyes to destroy its core. It nearly killed me, and I lost an arm."

"To offer congratulations and condolences. Regrowing parts is tedious. Much itching. Heads are the worst." Milo agreed with that, heads would be the worst.

"While I recovered, the Engineers gathered the parts of its core and subjected them to the heat of the sun, destroying the last pieces of the Chimera. I have the word of she who carries spores to all crossroads that it is dead."

"You have met the spore-spreader? You are greatly blessed. Her words are truth. Many merchants who come to the Foreign Market offer their blessings to her where the pathways come together. The mulch grows messy with spilled offerings. To think now. To be quiet. To take refreshment." The heavy feeling of the Collective's will left, and more food was brought. Milo ate in silence and took a nap, one of his minds keeping watch. An hour later, the Speaker stood and spoke.

"To have come to a conclusion: Sage Milo is not mulch." Grothmar stretched, "The honor is great, but it is well to set aside such honor before one is erased. Let us explore the Foreign Market together and share knowledge of less weighty matters. Milo was happy not to be mulch.