The Dungeon Child

I flick through the topics covered on Omnipedia, holding one hand out in front of me.

After my... experience... with the knowledge I'd acquired, I quickly realized that the modifications I'd made to myself would be entirely too noticeable for me to have any kind of cover, and so I'd regrettably removed the tungsten from my system. An unfortunate reduction in durability to say the least, but the subepidermal layer of graphite should prove sufficient for the time being. The problem I now faced lay not with projectile-based weaponry, but nuclear.

When I'd searched up what humanity's best armaments were, their bombs had shown up. I hadn't believed some of the destruction they'd been able to wreak on themselves without magic, but as I read more and saw more, I came to the conclusion that humanity was on its way to ruining itself.

Well, I'm not a human insofar as I'm concerned, and I need somewhere to keep my minions, keep the Mother, and improve upon my dungeon. My house isn't a rickety construction by any means, but it's still susceptible to break-ins and arson. Thesis and Theory would do an excellent job of defending it against anything up to military-grade munitions from what I'd learned, but it would be far easier to defend a place with fewer entrances.

I had been planning to do something along these lines for a while now, but with the assistance of the Omnipedia coupled with my own prodigious intellect, I should be able to pull it off.

I'm going to make a pocket dimension.

Back in my former home, a pocket dimension was a trivial thing. A convenience used to store one's things in, or to squeeze a little more room into a small space. Here, the mere thought of generating pocket dimensions was an impossibility, at least to the scientists of the world.

Taking a brief look at Omnipedia once again, I make sure that the universal frequency I'd picked was correct. A small amount of leeway would be fine. Too much could be catastrophic, both to the fragile dimension I was making and the one I presently occupied.

I take a deep breath and fold my legs, placing my core in my lap. I'll need all the power and intellectual oomph I can get to help with this; it hadn't gone so well last time.

Placing both hands on my core, I close my eyes and focus on the closet door in front of me. I'm not trying to look at the door itself. I'm paying attention to the space it occupies, the coordinates in time that it has to corroborate with. I push with my mind, extending the space it occupies and ballooning it outward.

This is the hard part. Much like a soap bubble, it's entirely too easy for the dimension to collapse under its newfound weight. I fuel mana into it, infusing the very space outside of space with my essence and reinforcing it as it expands. It grows larger and larger, swelling rapidly, and I'm forced to stop a moment later. Converting energy to matter, I quickly laid out the simplest of groundwork for a base and imitate the laws of nature that this world follows. It's a slapdash job, one that I would be ashamed of were there any creatures originating from psionic planes observing me. I haven't detected any such realities yet, but that's no evidence that they do not exist.

I open my eyes and I'm sweating, my clothes already soaked. How long has it been? A few minutes? An hour? A brief check on the house reveals the Mother in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Pop is nowhere to be seen, suspiciously enough. Whatever the case, it leaves me with an opportunity to continue my testing.

Setting the Mother's phone down, I open my closet door. My clothes sit behind it, dead and motionless. I close the door, flick a switch in my mind, and open it again.

A flat gray surface stretches out in front of me for several miles, ending at the base of a dome that envelops the entirety of the dimension. I suck a breath in and I'm satisfied to find it breathable. There's a lot of modifications that need to be done if I want it to be even remotely inhabitable, but it's suitable for the time being.

A sound alerts me to the floor, and my success is almost instantly shoved to the back of my mind. Dropping to the ground, I watched the wooden floor as a patch of it rises, four pairs of eyes looking nervously at me from underneath. "Are your modifications working all right?"

The trapdoor closes slightly. Thesis almost seems... embarrassed, for lack of a better word. I sit up straight, curious. "Are you all right, Thesis? You're normally so effusive."

She seems to consider her options for a moment before pushing the trapdoor open and attempting to come out.

'Attempting' being the keyword of the sentence. She is now far too large to fit through the opening and gets stuck halfway through. She stares at me, all primness and dignity abolished by her predicament.

I try not to laugh.

I try harder than I'd thought possible.

And yet, I fail.

She glares at me and I slam my mouth shut. "My apologies, Thesis. It was... unexpected."

Using her front two legs, she gestures to the gap she's stuck in, and I expend some mana to free her from it. Scrambling out of the hole, she collects herself and bows. I bow in return; my boss deserves all of the respect afforded to one of her position. Although... it's going to be a while before I get the image of her struggling to escape the confines of a gap so easily traversed in the past.

Sitting up straight, I carefully look Thesis over. There aren't any major issues I can spot. She seems to be in good health, all things considered. I smile and give her a soft rub on the head, and she leans into the contact. She is nowhere near as fragile as she once was, and there is no need for me to be worried I might somehow injure her anymore.

Looking expectantly into the hole, I ask Thesis, "What of Theory? Is she done as well?"

A slight scrape draws my attention from behind me, and I turn. I barely catch the slightest glimpse of a blur of gray before I feel a tap on my lower back, and I twist around even further, almost falling over.

Theory's form is vibrating, the edges of her shape dulled by the incredible speed she's moving at. Even then, I can still see her mandibles split in a smile, and I return the expression. "You've improved, Theory."

Turning back to Thesis, I give her another headrub. "Both of you have. I think we'll be ready to take Richter on without any trouble."

I can't imagine today going better.