Knowledge Is Power 3 (1/2)

Boxxy was chesting patiently outside a jail cell. Much like the rest of the Dryad’s Domain, this chamber as well had an overwhelming ‘tree’ theme to it. The ‘door’ was made out of various Ironbark spikes that jutted out of the frame and overlapped each other at random angles rather than a metal grate. The interior was all made out of wood, bark and leaves, and a bioluminescent flower of some kind bathed the chamber in a serene blue light.

It was a space monitored by the dungeon’s Prison Management module, which made sure that those trapped inside remained that way for as long as feasibly possible. This included emergency healing magic should they get hurt or attempt suicide, as well as maintaining a magical field that helped stymie the onset of hunger and dehydration. It couldn’t produce food or water out of thin air, but all things considered it was rather fancy and comfortable as far as prison cells went. Not even basic inn accommodation was this nice.

However, no matter how relatively luxurious it was, it was still a place to hold living things prisoner. Such as a very special ‘comrade’ of Boxxy’s who was, unfortunately, currently unavailable.

“Claws? You sure you didn’t get carried away and use too much poison?”

“F-fairly sure, Master. Why do you ask?”

“Because Reggie still isn’t waking up.”

It had been over three hours ever since Drea captured the brainwashed doppelganger mob boss. The paralytic toxin released by her original subspecies’ racial Skill should have worn off after only thirty minutes at most. Yet the older monster remained as unresponsive as ever while within the prison area of Boxxy’s personal dungeon. Granted, this had given the ex-mimic plenty of time to adequately reward Snack for her performance over the last few days, but the captive’s continued silence was a problem.

“Should I come back to base, then?” offered the stalker.

“No. You wouldn’t be able to do anything even if you did.”

The Mimic had tried several restorative alchemical products, as well as the Purge Spell courtesy of its first familiar’s Pyromancer Job, but nothing seemed to work. It also tried zapping the thing with the same Stun Stick he had tried to once use on Keira in an effort to jolt him awake. It was deliciously ironic to be sure, but all it did was make the shapeshifter revert to his base form. Needless to say, a spider-demon who was only good for webbing up, slicing up and eating people was not going to be helpful in any way, shape or form. Besides, Claws had her own assignment to fulfil.

“Just focus on finding my dinner. And be quick about it.”

“Y-yes, Master…”

Strictly speaking though, all that amounted to was Boxxy poking and prodding what might as well be a corpse. It had no idea how to help Reggie snap out of his unresponsive state. Of course, it wasn’t trying to do so out of some sense of responsibility or feelings of camaraderie. It just wanted, among other things, the information the once-banker had gathered on soulstones. Unfortunately, such a thing would be inside his head, and getting at it in his current state was problematic.

Not even Snack’s Dreamweaver was proving useful, as Reggie was not so much asleep or unconscious as he was just staring off into the infinite void without moving or saying anything. Boxxy also considered killing him on the spot and absorbing the corpse with the Broken Reflection Skill, but immediately gave up on that idea. Doppelgangers in their base forms didn’t have a singular organ that could be identified as a heart, and as such their corpses would not make viable targets for that Skill. But even if it could use it, Boxxy would likely avoid doing so unless absolutely necessary. There was no telling whether absorbing a mind addled by magical drugs would result in unintended consequences or side effects.

Those were undoubtedly the cause of the elder ‘ganger’s comatose-ish state. Getting rid of their influence was going to be rather difficult, too. The prolonged exposure of Attitude Adjuster had caused the substance to became as much a part of his body as his own ichor-like blood. This meant that using regular means and ways of detoxing him, such as all-purpose antidotes or cleansing magic, were not effective.

Then what about a more irregular method?

“Ambrosia!” shouted Boxxy. “Are you here?!”

“I am always here, milord,” said the dryad as she rose out of the dungeon’s floor. “Thou needs not yell.”

“Sorry. Anyway, could you please prepare a pool of your Waters of Life?”

That stuff was way more potent than any healing magic or potion that the Mimic had ever seen. And it had seen a lot of those during the war. It was honestly a shame it couldn’t be brought out of the unique environment that was a Hylt tree’s mana-saturated trunk. Otherwise Boxxy could probably make a killing selling the borderline miraculous stuff. If such a thing could not cure Reggie’s condition, then nothing would.

“Why? Is milord injured?”

“No, it’s for our guest over there.”

The chest-shaped monster’s lid flew open and a tentacle pointed towards the prison cell where its ‘patient’ was. The tree-woman peered inside to see a human-sized doppelganger in its natural form, laid out on a cot made of wood with leaf-based bedding.

“Ah. One of milord’s playmates?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Very well. Thy request is a simple one, so I shall oblige.”

A tub of timber rose up from the floor as per the dryad’s will, and a small waterfall of green liquid fell into it from somewhere overhead. It took all but a few seconds to completely fill the vessel. Boxxy thanked Ambrosia for her help and retrieved the unresponsive Reggie from his cell. It brought the elder shapeshifter to the tank of rejuvenating fluid and dunked him into it.

Several tense seconds passed while the Waters of Life bubbled and stirred, but sure enough a four-fingered hand covered by gnarled black skin erupted from it. The rest of Reggie followed immediately afterwards as he leapt out of it, scattering the magical liquid everywhere. He flew through the air and landed several meters away, frantically taking in his surroundings.

“… Where is this place? And how did I get here?”

As one might expect, he had quite a few questions after waking up in a vast cavern surrounded by bark with nothing for company but a vibrant green woman and a plain-looking treasure chest. Surprisingly enough, that last one was the most interesting bit of scenery around. It was far too mundane. Aside from the pair of perfectly round yellow eyes that seemed to gleam out of the box’s barely open lid, of course.

“You’re Boxxy, aren’t you?” he asked in a somewhat expectant manner.

“Yes, I am..”

“Figured,” said the old ‘ganger while relaxing his stance. “You’re the only being I know absurd enough to be standing side-by-side with a dryad as if you were somehow equals. Ah, do forgive me for intruding upon your splendid interior, madam,” he offered with an impeccable bow that oozed class despite his monstrous appearance.

“My! Milord’s playmate is quite courteous,” she remarked with a light smile.

“May I inquire as to milady’s noble name? I know of Sabatia, Alderis and Roseris, but your beauty does not match any of them.”

“Thou may call me, Ambrosia, young one. And what might thy name be?”

“… I never really had one of my own. I suppose I’m just a nobody now, aren’t I?”

“Well, ‘nobody,’ I’m afraid I must leave to attend to certain matters. However, I would appreciate it if thou played nice with milord in my absence.”

“Of course.”

The dryad then sank into the floor, leaving the two doppelgangers to keep each other company. The first to break the silence was Reggie.

“Excuse me for a moment, I have some things I need to work through.”

Now that the truly dangerous entity was not around anymore - at least not physically - the shapeshifter dropped all pretense of being calm, collected and polite. What flowed out of him was cursing, screaming and yelling in a fit of rage. He kicked at the walls and slammed his forehead against the floor over and over. He even changed his head back to that of his banker persona, only to rip it off, throw it on the ground and stomp on it viciously enough to splatter it all over the place.

Reggie was, for lack of a better term, actively trying to kill the side of him that embodied everything the Foundation put him through. The sheer animosity and hostility he gave off while engaging in this self-destructive act was the first time in years he’d been able to unleash his more monstrous nature. And, as was befitting of a volatile and violent existence like that, he showed absolutely no mercy while kicking his own ass.

This carried on for a solid half hour before he finally calmed down enough to engage in rational conversation. However, it was quite clear the anger simmering within him had not even come close to being sated.

“So. You got a dryad to call you ‘milord,’ did you?” he finally spoke to Boxxy.

“Long story,” it replied. “What about you? You seemed to know a lot about them.”

“Please, youngling. How long do you think I’ve been in this town? Truthfully speaking, many of the major players in the Republic know the dryads are there, they just keep it under wraps. Wouldn’t want the sheep knowing they live amongst a dozen demigods who could wipe them out in an instant if they so chose to.”

“Ah. I guess that does makes sense. People around here have a habit of hiding away from realities like those.”

“Tell me about it…”

“What about the other ones you mentioned?” asked Boxxy. “Sabatia, Alderis and Roseris?”

“Oh, I’ve only met the one called Roseris myself, and only briefly. The others are either hibernating or extremely antisocial. You would know all this if you actually tried visiting the rest of Azurvale’s dryads though. I’m honestly a bit shocked you haven’t done that yet.”

“Yeah, I’m not too keen to invade an immortal plant lady’s insides without a plan.”

Admittedly Boxxy didn’t really have one when it first confronted Ambrosia, but it wasn’t quite aware what sort of powers it was messing with back then.

“You made that sound quite rude,” noted Reggie.

“I know, realized it the moment I said it.”

“You need to watch your tongue better. From what I gather, dryads respond well to flattery and good manners, but comments like that could get you killed. I honestly have no idea how an upstart like you managed to earn the favor of one. Seriously though, how come this Ambrosia’s so nice to you?”

“Not entirely sure. I think some motherly instinct is making her treat me like a surrogate child.”

It made sense in an odd sort of way. After all, Boxxy became a Hylt Creeper while in her care, so it was possible she felt some sort of familial bond with it. And since dryads were born out of the Goddess that best personified ‘mother nature,’ they placed a great deal of importance on such things. Even though they were technically monsters.

“I don’t really understand it,” continued the junior shapeshifter, “but it makes her happy to spoil me with tasty things, so I am not complaining.”

“Tch. You got all the luck, huh?”

“The good and the bad, yeah. Sort of comes with the Hero of Chaos gig, I suppose. What about you, though? How much do you remember?”

“Everything,” was the immediate answer. “I’m still piecing it all together, but yeah, it’s all coming back to me. How those elves captured me, tortured me… Broke me. About how they used me and my kind to fund their own private projects behind the government’s back. About how you tried to do the same. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“To be fair, you did try to get me killed by sending me after the fake Jones Alexis, so I’d say we’re even. Actually no, not ‘tried.’ You succeeded.”