Lewd Dungeon, Chapter 246

Chapter 246 – Theology

I decided to show up early for my little meeting with the president. While the exact status of the US President being the leader of the free world had been greatly eroded by the idiot that started the apocalypse, the office still carried a lot of weight and influence on a global scale. Even though questions about my citizenship could best be summed up as ‘It’s complicated’, like I was posting on social media, it would still be a bad idea to go out of my way to offend a potential ally who was reaching out to talk with me.

Manifesting my avatar in the shrine room of the newly renamed USS Raven, I nodded as I looked around the room. The gaudy gold and other ornamentation that had been here when Pofmis’s faithful ran the ship had been taken down, absorbed by my powers as the ship came under my control. Instead, this chamber looked not unlike the cathedral I’d made for myself in Swamptown.

Across from the door leading into the shrine, there was a statue of me, upon my throne, with a lovely, scantily-clad slave girl on either side, my hand holding the leashes attached to their collars. Unlike some other depictions of me, this was tame enough that it wouldn’t look out of place on a sci-fi or fantasy movie poster from the 70s or 80s. Behind the sculpture was my symbol, in red upon black, with the runes of my domains and my followers, as they were in the cathedral.

A gasp of surprise alerted me to the fact that I was not alone. Turning back to look at the door, I saw a man dressed in a US Navy uniform, with some extras that looked like the kinds of things I’d seen when I’d been dragged to church as a kid. That must make him part of the Chaplain corps.

Ethan Gallagher

Human Male

Level   13 Cleric / Counselor

Titles:   None

Highest   Ability: WIS

Market   Value: 1000 gp

I chuckled as I looked the cleric over. Couldn’t tell by the look of him what flavor of Christianity he followed, except that he didn’t have the collar that would have told me he was Catholic. Probably Baptist or Methodist, if one went by the numbers. Some form of Protestant, for sure.

Either way, I figured I’d have a chat with the man tasked to tend my shrine while I waited for my meeting with the president. But it wouldn’t do to look so threatening. So, I snapped my fingers, and my armor and weapons faded into shadows, which swirled about and reformed as a perfectly tailored vantablack three-piece suit with matching tie, and a blood red shirt under it. I kept my demonic features, but did add the touch of a silver ring on my right hand, bearing my symbol in red and black. Blood red runes floated above the ring, slowly circling it, listing the types of followers I had.

The chaplain had been surprised, but my transformation left him speechless. I smiled, and said, “Well, I’m sure you know who I am by now, but for the sake of politeness, I am known as Kuronoth, the Demon God of Pleasure and Domination. I take it you are the chaplain assigned to tend my shrine, here? How would you like me to address you?”

He coughed, and shook his head, trying to get his feet under him, metaphorically speaking. Finally, the chaplain got enough control over himself, and he said, “Yes, well, proper address would be Chaplain Gallagher, and I’m a Commander in the United States Navy, Chaplain Corps. My apologies for my reaction just now. It isn’t every day you get to meet a divinity.” He took a breath, and settled into a more professional tone. “How would you like me to call you?”

I smiled. “Excellent. You catch on quickly. A bit of free advice for you, Chaplain Gallagher, when you’re meeting anyone who isn’t human, ask them how they’d like to be called, rather than asking for their name. Some groups practice magic that revolves around a creature’s True Name, and even without that, there are creatures that can be bound by their True Name, as part of their racial makeup. Asking their name would be highly insulting, I assure you.”

I took a breath, and said, “As for what to call me, Kuronoth is fine for casual conversation. In prayers, or for those who worship me, Lord Kuronoth is sufficient. Master, for those I have under my collar and brand. The Demon of the Dungeon, if you want to beat around the bush, or wish to avoid drawing my attention.”

“You can hear whenever someone calls your name?”

“Yes, ever since I ascended to godhood, whenever someone says my name, I can feel it. I feel it a bit more if they are praying, or saying it with particular vehemence, and more besides if they are in one of my shrines or chapels. Every time someone calls my name, anywhere under the System, I know it.

“Of course, I haven’t gotten to the point where I have divine minions who make it their business to act as a ‘call center’, listening to individual voices and prayers, and directing my attention to those that most need my intervention, so it is often difficult for me to hear a single voice out of the multitude. I’m not the NSA with their teams of people and automated programs combing through wiretaps day in and day out, looking for certain key phrases. Later, when I’m stronger, that might be a possibility, though, so I would not fault you for getting into the practice of being oblique with your wording, until you need to call me directly.”

“Ah, I see.” The chaplain nodded, slowly. “If you wouldn’t mind me asking, Kuronoth, what brings you here so early? I mean, I know you’re going to be meeting the President, but that isn’t scheduled for another hour. And you obviously have no trouble showing up when you wish to.”

“Couldn’t I be just another poor sinner, looking for advice?”

Chaplain Gallagher barked out a short laugh at that. “Ah, ha! Lord bless me. No, I have no doubt you’re a sinner, but ‘poor’ isn’t a word I’d use for anyone who can just go handing out starships. But what could someone like you have to be needing advice about?”

I decided that I liked this chaplain. He could banter, and wasn’t immediately jumping on the fire and brimstone. But that probably had equal parts to do with the Navy being multifaith, and his Counselor profession. He was a good man, from what I could see.

“Well, you’d be surprised. After all, I got caught up in the Apocalypse, same as you. Only, I was changed, and far more than just growing elf ears like some people. Most people, they had their lives change, sure, but for me? It was like one moment I was driving on the highway, and the next I was sitting in the pilot’s seat of a 747, with no co-pilot, or even any idea where I was flying to, much less how to actually fly.”

“So, what, you’ve been making things up as you went along?”

“Yeah, at the start, especially. I was in a whole new place, stuck in a hole in the ground, and I needed to make sure that the dungeon thrived, all while not knowing the first thing about dungeons. The bit about being a god? Well, I’d already been attacked by some religious types a couple times by then. So, I needed a bit of protection.”

“And that led to the creation of the ‘Black Temple’?”

“Yes. When I started looking at the idea of a shrine or something to try and stay safe, the System gave me some news, saying that doing that would give the god I picked some control over the dungeon. Naturally, I wasn’t pleased with that.”

“So, you decided to have a bunch of gods there, making it so that they would have to fight each other for control?”

“Exactly,” I grinned. “And, on a whim, I put an altar to myself, playing up the demonic angle, and half-hoping that I could make use of it in the future. Turns out that the first part of becoming a god is making enough people believe you’re a god.”

“So, all those Pharaohs in ancient Egypt?”

I nodded. “If the System hadn’t been broken, they would have all eventually become demigods, at least. They would have to find some way to transcend mortality to start meeting the other conditions for true godhood. And, yes, being part of a dungeon counts. So, I had a head start on the path.”

“Is that why you targeted people of the cloth specifically? To try and weaken our Gods while they were still forming from the minds of the believers?”

“Hah! No, I never targeted anyone in particular, unless they did something to draw my ire. Unfortunately, the reason why most of the priests and holy men who went into my dungeon had more trouble than most is due to their tolerance, or lack thereof.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m not talking about how tolerant they are of others. No, I’m talking about the same kind of tolerance you’d have with alcohol or drugs.”

The chaplain frowned slightly. “I think I follow. Just not sure if I’m liking what I’m hearing.”

I nodded. “Well, let’s look at alcohol for a moment. Now, picture that we have three men, we’ll call them Tom, Dick, and Harry. Equal height and weight, roughly the same medical history. The main difference between them is in how much they drink.

“Tom, he’s a complete teetotaler. Doesn’t touch a drop of wine, except for a sip when his church holds Communion, and certainly nothing harder. Doesn’t mean he’s going to go and force those around him not to drink, mind you, but he won’t touch the stuff, himself.

“Dick, meanwhile, is your average guy. Might go out for some beers with his buddies, or have a couple of glasses of wine with a nice steak dinner. He drinks, but only rarely gets drunk.

“And then, there’s Harry. Harry is an alcoholic, no two ways about it. Maybe he’s a functioning alcoholic, maybe he isn’t, but Harry never has to worry about the ‘hair of the dog’, because he wakes up with a bottle next to him, and takes a swig before he even knows he’s awake.”

“A disturbing image, but I’ve counseled several young sailors like Mr. Harry, so I understand.”

“Right, so what happens when you put Tom, Dick, and Harry in a room, put a bottle of whiskey in front of each of them, and tell them they can’t leave until at least half the bottle is gone?”

Chaplain Gallagher groaned, and put one hand over his eyes. “I see. Dick and Harry won’t have any trouble. It is just another day for Harry, and Dick will at least be able to handle that much, even if he’ll regret it later. But half a bottle of whiskey will leave Tom a broken mess. And you’re saying that the more… righteous people were, they were Tom, and the temptations you forced on everyone were like the bottle of whiskey.”

“Correct. I never targeted men of the cloth in particular, unless they made it their business to interfere with me. But, in treating them the same as I did everyone who came to my dungeon, I inadvertently made the dungeon far more dangerous to their beliefs than it was to their health.”

The chaplain sighed, and I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be too upset. They were at a disadvantage, because of their nature. In other dungeons, they would be far more powerful, because of that nature. The psychology of the situation was against them, in this case.”

“Psychology? What do you mean, exactly?”

“Well, you know how torture is basically useless for getting information out of people? Sure, they’ll break eventually, and tell you something, but whether it is true, or a lie, or the half-mad ramblings of someone pushed to the brink is up in the air. People can resist pain. That’s what SERE courses are all about, after all.

“But pleasure? That’s a lot harder to resist. It doesn’t have to be just the pleasures of the flesh, mind you. Something as simple as rewarding good behavior with slightly better living conditions, and punishing bad behavior by taking the rewards away, will eventually break even the strongest of wills. It may take weeks, or even months, depending on how fanatical a person is, but eventually they will break.

“In my dungeon, the traps are less lethal than in others, but they steadily guide people towards pleasures of the flesh. For someone who gets sex regularly, whether from playing the field or from a loving companion, that’s not really an issue. But, when someone who is trying to lead a pure life ends up having sex with their companion in an exhibitionist display, then that can cause cognitive dissonance. When you get to the Black Temple, and start exploring the darker, kinkier, more taboo side of sex, then it starts fucking with people’s heads.”

The chaplain nodded slowly. “And those who are more… inured to such things will be less shocked by them, and suffer less emotional damage. I understand.”

I leaned forward, and said with a wink, “Between you and me, though? That was one of those little ‘happy accidents’, where I was going along, walking blindly and hoping for the best, and things turned out far better than I could have hoped. I was too concerned with not allowing any one deity to get too much control over the dungeon, while also trying to fit the temple into the dungeon’s aesthetics without also annoying the gods that were enshrined.”

“How is it you came to control that much of the dungeon’s workings, if you were the dungeon boss?”

I chuckled, and produced a contract from an inside pocket of the suit. “I could tell you, but I’d insist on you signing an NDA, first. Don’t worry, there won’t be any clauses that would infringe upon your duties as an officer of the Navy, and I would not be asking you to go against your God. There are simply things that should not be talked about openly.”

Offering a pen in one hand, and the contract in the other, I said, “So, will you sign?”