"Alright, emo gremlin, that’s enough brooding for today. You’re not starring in a tragic opera… yet."
I didn’t respond, mine still lost in thoughts. Plus, screw him, I am not having a pity party.
Bookbite sighed, softer this time. “Look, I get it. You’ve been through... well, let’s call it a lifetime of crap. But you’re here now. You’re more than what they did to you.”
He walked closer, his voice gentler now. “You know, I know, what’s stronger than fear? Spite. And dungeon cores run on spite, sugar. Pure, undiluted ‘screw-you’ energy.”
I blinked slowly, my mouth twitching just a little.
“There she is,” Bookbite said, wiggling like a proud parent. “Now come on. I saw a perfect little hallway that was just screaming for a bone trap. You’re gonna make art out of vengeance. You’re gonna build nightmares. And me? I’m your cheer-shelf. Besides working for you, has already been better than working for some smelly old goblin warlord.”
I let out a soft laugh, wiping my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Damn right, I am. Now get up, Dungeon Mistress of Depression. We’ve got monsters to make.”
“Oh, fuck of you slut,” I said.
“Takes one to know one,” Bookbite smirks and offers his hand. I just laugh.
Nodding, while taking his hand, I got up. My fingers brushed the wall of the classroom again, but this time it felt different. My mana didn’t just respond, it surged. Dark tendrils licked out from my core, invisible yet undeniable, threading through the walls, the tiles, and the very air. It wasn’t malevolent.
It was mine.
The lights overhead flickered, and the fake sunlight filtering through the windows dimmed into something murkier, moodier.
Vengeful.
I press my hand against the bored. I picked the feeling and channelled my thoughts into the board. I stepped back from the wall just as the chalkboard cracked. Not like a little crack. Not like old-school wear and tear. It peeled like paint blistering off a surface under too much heat, and something crawled out. The air turned bone dry and cold. Chalkdust spilled out like smoke.
I stared. He was wrong, and I loved it. He had a stick-thin body, humanoid enough to make your skin itch. His limbs were too long. His hands were cracked stubs that scraped the tile with every step. Then, there was his head, it was so odd, like ovals scratched with jagged white scribbles like someone tried to draw faces with a child’s rage and a broken piece of chalk.
He blinked, without eyes. Then the others came out of the hole, with a pop. One of them hissed and the sound was like fingers on a chalkboard being ripped.
I should’ve been afraid.
I wasn’t.
I was thrilled.
I felt the surge in my chest again: my core pulsing. These weren’t memories like the Windigo-Moms. These things came from me. From my story. From my rage. I whispered without realizing it. “Chalkings.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
System Notification: [Updated Monster Pattern: Chalkings] Spawn Limit and Core Link Modified. Respawn once the area is clear. These creatures now reflect lingering emotional resonance: use wisely.
Monster Pattern: Chalkings
Rank: F+
Type: Evasive Ghostling
Origin: Core Memory Manifestation
Primary Affinity: Psychic / Disruption
Behaviour: Sound-Hunters / Ambush Predators
Description: Stick-thin, vaguely humanoid shapes composed of haunted chalk dust and fragmented childhood memories. Their limbs stretch too far and taper into sharp, cracked stubs. Their “faces” are barely-there sketches, constantly being erased and redrawn by some invisible, frantic hand. They leave behind white smudges and haphazard chalk scribbles on surfaces they pass, like forgotten lessons and silent cries for help.
A trail of powdery dust follows them, drifting in the air like ash from a burned schoolbook.
Abilities:
- Scratch Slash: Basic melee attack; deals light physical + psychic damage.
- Screech of the Unseen: A short-range psychic shriek; that causes disorientation and brief “hallucination” debuff (low level).
- Cling: Attaches to ceilings/walls, dropping unexpectedly on intruders.
- Smear Step (Passive): Leaves disruptive mana trails that lower stealth and perception in the area.
- Echo Drift (Utility): They vanish into walls or ceilings briefly, reforming somewhere nearby if they sense continued noise.
- Hysterical Echo (Trait): Occasionally cackles with broken laughter, drawing aggro within a small radius.
Spawn Limit: 4 per 1 Monster Point
Behavioural Quirk:
- Blind: They have no eyes and cannot see.
- Sound-Based Hunting: They stalk any noise, from footsteps to whispers.
- Staying still or silent lets prey pass by unnoticed.
- Lures like dropped coins or triggered traps can mislead them.
- Emotion Resonance: They grow more aggressive near fear or anxiety. Emotional surges (adventurer stress, panic) subtly draw them closer.
Bookbite hovered closer, a little more alert now. “Ohhh,” he said, tone chipper and a little nervous. “Birth by trauma. Classic Dungeon-Core moment. This is why you are my Core girl. Let me guess: feral, spite-driven, erratic movement patterns, scratch damage, maybe… psychic screech?”
One of the creatures drew a twisted smile on the wall with a nail. The drywall sizzled.
I nodded. “And they never stop laughing, even if it is just a whisper.”
Bookbite gave a delighted shudder. “Oh, you’re going to make such a terrible impression on the local wildlife.”
The Chalkings turned to me in unison, dragging their claws across the floor as they waited for direction. My monsters. My memories. My revenge made real. I smiled, and for once, it felt like I meant it.
I watched one across the scuffed linoleum. The Chalklings had already slipped beneath the desks, their smudged, shifting faces twitching.
“They don’t look like they could take a punch,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes. “Like they’d just blow away.”
Bookbite climbed lazily near the cracked blackboard. “They’re delicate,” he agreed, tone just a little too cheerful. “One good hit and they’ll go poof. Poof like a particularly dramatic sneeze.”
I smirked. “So… glass cannons?”
“Could be,” he said, giggling in that unhinged way of his. “But remember; no eyes, all ears. And that drift ability, with their claws? If an adventurer’s not careful, they won’t get that one good hit-off. Might not even get to scream.”
“Oh yeah, and those chalk dust effects. They might be able to dodge.” I crossed my arms and stared into the quiet corners of the room, dust ghosting in soft trails. “So it’s all about positioning. Catch the loud ones off guard.”
“Exactly!” Bookbite bared his tiny fangs, delighted. “They don’t have to last long. Just long enough to terrify. They’re the whisper in the dark. The last thing someone hears before they can’t speak at all.”
“Until they are reborn from the goddess,” I said.
“Which means, loot and experience for you.”
I paused for a second. I let the silence stretch, just for a beat, then let a slow smile tug at my lips. “Guess it’s time to teach adventurers the golden rule of every classroom.”
“Oh?” Bookbite tilted his head.
“Use your inside voice.”