Dungeons & Deliveries - A Post Apocalypse Comedy Adventure [Book 1 Complete]

Book 1 - Chapter 37 - Tiny Rug of Wisdom


"Alex! Oh heavens and half a grave, what were you thinking? Hmm? Fainting from a new Skill–in the woods no less! Not even someone to watch over you. This generation, I swear…back in my day, the 2000s, we tested volatile sense Skills indoors, with drawn curtains and fresh towels! A pity, really, the distinct lack of morals of the youth."

Alex groaned, face planted in the mud and technicoloured Fruit Bloop vomit. His body was twitching like it had been left on a vibrating chair overnight. Every nerve and sensation hurt. Through his bleary vision, he spotted a tiny figure dressed in flowing purple, no taller than a soda can, standing perfectly centered on what could only be described as a genuine miniature Persian rug. Then the indistinguishable voice squeaked again, like every sassy uncle figure Alex had ever encountered after three glasses of imported wine.

"Ahh! You're awake. Come, come! Don't wallow in the mud like a cursed toad. It was just a bit of sensory overstimulation. Happens all the time. Especially to amateurs." Something thwacked Alex in the cheek. And through his haze he saw it was a little water bottle that read: Mystical Springs.

"Drink up," Mr. Mystical said and Alex saw the mouse twitching in his stiff way on the rug. "Hydration is vital to post Skill collapse. Also, it is quite rude to die unannounced near a ghost." Alex slowly pushed himself upright, wincing as his Core actually stung inside of his chest like a cut splashed with rubbing alcohol. It felt like half the Essence was gone. Still clean and whistling, just…tired. He uncapped the water bottle and downed the full bottle in one go.

What the fuck did that Skill do to me?

"Thanks," Alex said while wiping gunk off his face. "Rug this time? What happened to your pillow?" Behind Mr. Mystical was his dollhouse sized circus tent, complete with miniature burning candles and little waving banner advertising the traveling readings.

"Oh!" Mr. Mystical jittered forward in a very stiff attempt at a polite bow. "Thank you for noticing! One must always take pride in their setting. I perish at the thought of getting this body dirty."

Alex nodded, rubbing mud from his eyes. "Right. And yet no problem with murder and eating people."

"A ghost must eat as well, darling."

Alex sighed. "You know, every time you stalk me, I swear something bad happens."

"Oh yes," Mr. Mystical vibrated angrily. "It is my fault you date terrible women, piss off a Clan, and then turn her into a Dungeon Boss. You know–I told you to get rid of it–Not use it."

Alex blinked through the last of the haze. "Wait–what? How do you know about that?"

Mr. Mystical tilted on his side. "We ghosts stay in touch, dear boy! We have networks. Private ghost communication channels!...Ok we use apps like Biscord. But know this–we can be practically anywhere!"

There was a pause.

"Well, not anywhere, but mostly anywhere." He twisted as if gesturing to the air. "You must be nicer to Harold. He's a very sensitive, soft willed soul. Did you have to use the Stink Scrub on him?"

Alex reeled back. "Harold? You mean…the Ikea bookshelf!? Harold? That's the ghost in there that never says anything? We didn't use it on him, we just opened it near him."

"A dear friend. A bibliophile, and a bit of a coward. But loyal!" Mr. Mystical darted forward stiffly. "Intent matters. Anyway, I'm not here to lecture. I'm simply here to make sure you don't rupture your Core like an overripe melon, you absolute buffoon. And you, little pizza boy, need to stay alive."

"Alright," Alex threw up his hands. "Turning on a Skill randomly was stupid, yes. But why do you keep helping me? No more half-answers. You said we're on the same side." He meant it, Alex did want help. The Skill had completely knocked him on his ass, which meant it was definitely powerful.

Mr. Mystical didn't speak at first. He turned to face his circus tent and the little candles flickered in the breeze. "You see Alex, we are undoubtedly on the same side, even if you don't realize it." Mr. Mystical said with a softer voice. "But why? I can't answer that. Not yet. But…you will be helping me. And an old friend of mine if you continue your path. And if helping you helps us…" He didn't shrug, his taxidermied body didn't allow for subtlety, but Alex got the impression of a shrug.

"That is so cryptic it gives me actual heartburn." Alex answered.

"Great! Then your stomach still works. Consider that a win. I have no taste buds. Do I ever miss a nice pinot or a filthy martini."

"Yikes, ghost therapy. Alright, moving on," Alex groaned. "What do I do to not get overloaded like that again? It was like…everything all at once. I could hear the squirrels hairs moving. I could smell the dirt settling. The dirt, man! The smell–oh god." He gagged just thinking about it.

Mr. Mystical popped up on one side and down again, kind of like a foot tapping on the persian rug. "You activated a sensory Skill without anchoring your Core. With absolutely no filter frame. You opened the gates and it all came flooding in. Wonderous Skill, but my goodness that must have been terrible."

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"Oh, I noticed." Alex answered.

"You need control." The mouse twitched. "Practice, darling. Just a sip of Essence, not a gulp. You don't slam a Skill like cheap liquor."

Alex flopped backwards into the grass and stared up at the rustling leaves above him. It really was peaceful in the forest when the entire world wasn't trying to flood you with everything all at once. "Fine. Baby steps. No sensory nukes."

Mr. Mystical twitched and turned in a slow circle around the little rug. "Now. Ground yourself. Think of something you love to center yourself. A little fixed point in the storm, darling. Something you can picture with flawless clarity."

Alex did as told. He might as well trust the ghost. He was sure that Mr. Mystical would have almost no trouble killing him, and if he wanted to, it would happen with an obscene amount of flair for the dramatic.

Something grounded. Something I love…

He of course landed on Emilio. Steading his breath, he visualized the fat bastard lounging on his bed like a gentleman, tail curled just so. He imagined the slow blinking green eyes, and the immaculate fur polished from a routine grooming schedule. The enormous white paws that kneaded blankets aggressively for some reason. The cat who cat saved his life more times than he could could. Then he felt his Core easing.

"Very good," Mr. Mystical said in his best approximation of a yoga instructor. "Now…just the littlest prod. A little drizzle of Essence. You are not slamming open the floodgates, you are tapping a dainty glass with a little spoon at a wedding for silent nuns." The Silent Nuns of Sicily were well known for their absolute and routine decimation of the Eldritch Dungeon Boss in Cefalu.

Alex had never been a gentle Essence user. But he had read about how Essence could feel like strings for certain rituals and ceremonies. His whole Essence style was binary. On or Off. Go and Stop. A big stupid lightswitch that he crunched into place. So he reached inwards, and even though his Core still stung, he pinched the tiniest drop he could manage. Then, he pressed it against the Skill by intuition.

"Just the littlest bit!" Mr. Mystical squeaked.

Oh, he felt it. Like a little blip in his brain, [Burrow Sense] creaked open, and the world didn't crash in so much as shift into HD. The forest smell deepened to bark, wet rot, chlorophyll, and pollen on the back of his tongue. He could hear squirrels breathing and bugs slithering and scampering. His skin was wet, and cold, and hot, and slowly seeping oil, which was uncomfortable. Oddly enough, Mr. Mystical didn't grow louder or sharper. There was no slapping of banners against the wind of burning candles. But what really changed was the mental halo around his head, maybe three meters, where every wrongness stood out. To his right, something metal rusted and he could taste something like iron. There was a little pile of cigarette butts around a used…nope, he filtered that one out immediately. God, the city was disgusting sometimes. But the Skill worked. It didn't knock him out this time, and he could feel the bits and bobs everywhere. That's when the realization struck him.

Oh my god, I can feel the things that aren't supposed to be there…little burrows, and hidden places.

Excitement bloomed in Alex's chest. He could feel the hidden world. This meant he could sense hidden Relics, and the tucked away burrows like the secrets in the soil. It was going to be amazing for Dungeon runs! He'd be able to find the little treasure hidden and strewn about. Naturally, he did the dumbest thing possible and tried to pull more Essence into the SKill to find some hidden treasure around him.

"No! NO! STOP!" Mr. Mystical screeched.

Alex yanked the Essence back and gasped as [Burrow Sense] fizzled out. The world didn't snap back so much as fade to normal. It was like going from a riot of everything to a comfortable padded room. Still, he couldn't forget how full everything had been, how much was just there and waiting to be discovered. For now, just the forest loomed above and around him.

"One with the world, you are," Mr. Mystical intoned and kind of nodded his body.

"Uhh..what?"

"Star Wars?" With no response, the mouse continued. "The Force? Pop culture cornerstone of at least 100 years?"

Alex scratched his cheek and got up off the ground. "Is that the one with the wizards and the broomsticks? The toilet head thing? Skib force something?"

Mr. Mystical made a sound like nails scraping. "The gall! The moral failing of a generation!"

"I'm twenty dude, how old of a ghost are you?"

"A tragic waste," Mr. Mystical snapped, jerking around to face his tent. "Anyways, you're welcome."

Alex brushed mud off his knees. "Thank you, seriously. That Skill would've fried me without you."

"Yes it would have. You were minutes away from becoming a cackling shell in the moss." Alex watched the little circus tent give a flutter then fold into itself, collapsing into a miniature brown briefcase, candles and all. Mr. Mystical centered himself on his little persian rug, and began to rise into the forest air. He hoevered in front of Alex. "Stay alive, pizza boy. And learn to respect indoor testing protocols. Towels! Always bring a towel!" Then very carefully, Mr. Mystical floated off amongst the trees and complained about someone named 'Qigong' or something until the wind carried him away.

"Huh," Alex said to the forest. "Weird guy."

Alex sorted through this [Audio Player] Skill and selected the cat girl playlist he had bought yesterday. The moment he played it, overly enthusiastic J-Pop blasted on, but the beat was pretty good. Another weird thing about that Skill was that it wouldn't just shuffle or automatically continue. You had to queue up the playlist. He stretched and rolled his shoulders. The memory of twitching in mud was fresh, especially since he was coated in the stuff as well as the Fruit Bloops. But somehow he felt pretty good. He'd learned with a little help from a ghost inhabiting a mouse in a fez hat.

He broke back into a jog and wondered what treasures lay around him. He had plenty of time to get home, relax, shower off the mud, and then get ready for his date with Snu. He was looking forward to showing her the city. The same old lady in the visor passed him and gave him a scared look, but Alex didn't really care. So what if he was covered in mud and his own vomit? Things we're looking up for him. He had new Skill abilities, a clean core, and a hot date with a Dungeon Boss. Oh, and his friends were selling his tips to make him more money.

Life was pretty damn good.

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