Acid arced through the air, frothing and heavy. Kelter's invention had not been designed as a weapon of war but as a mining aid. It wasn't built for accuracy or efficiency. It was designed to burn deep into rock without leaving my domain or having to stake a claim upon the river. No more, no less.

Against mortal flesh it was horrifying. The cohort reacted to the stream swiftly, catching it on their shields. They fell into place in a nearly seamless ceiling, a practiced manoeuvre that would have seen slingshot, arrows and bolts scatter like rain. Against the Thaumivore's bile all it did was allow the thick soup to find purchase. Wood and metal fizzed, losing cohesion and integrity in seconds. Disintegrating slop fell on the warriors below, slapping onto limbs, helms and armour.

And through. The formation lost cohesion before Kelter did, scale, leather, skin, muscle, fat, meat and bone sloughing away from screaming vermin. The sight and sound was horrific enough to wipe the grin from his face, an unhappy frown falling into place. He kept his improvised weapon levelled, making as much use of his remaining ammunition as he could. Where the disgusting mixture hit stone, the ground hissed and frothed into a fearful slurry. I rapidly consumed the fallen, replenishing my reserves. They were far superior to their filthy brethren, 43 Dungeon points apiece and almost double the mana. It would be costly but I could replenish the tank despite the interference, given enough time, a luxury I could now affo-

The tumult of mana flared, drawing inwards like a giant drawing breath. One heartbeat I couldn't find any purchase, the next I was freed for a glorious instant before it shivered forward anew. To my sight it was a awesome display, like a map made of gold dust drawn like a wall. It surged forward, an unstoppable force of interlocking sigils and orbitals. The ward rolled over rat and stone like an eyelid blinking, acidic sludge scooped up against the surface of the shield. The interface blazed, a searing white of spent mana that rippled with every contact. A second force swept across the ratfolk, obscured by the blazing shield. It was a gentler motion, an amorphous entity of diagrams and symbols that wrapped itself around the survivor's wounds and coalesced. While Kelter pumped the last of his tank against the brilliant ward and acid cut a deep line in the path, I glared at the spell in envy. In only a few minutes, twelve enemy soldiers scuttled to the rear of their formation. Angry red flesh marked their injuries, bald and smooth as a newborn's.

Purple mana formed new wargear, not the true creations of a Dungeon but lent a greater permanence by its origin. The warlock weaved his staff in sharp movements and wiggling his fingers. I'm sure it looked very impressive to his followers. In my sight it was clumsy and awkward, an imprecise and transient copy of items he could see. The crude duplicates were created with all the finesse and skill of dripping sediment forming a stalagmite - and none of the grace of nature. It was slow, one action at a time trying to add matter all at once instead of growing like the constructs I created. Worse, each exercise of his will was like a spike driving into my psyche. Tempestuous mana swirled and slammed together, it was as disruptive to my sight as lightning to a mortal eye.

Perhaps that was what led to me missing the first Evolution complete. Though scoured by the warlock's ward, the path along the ravine had run like wax beneath the acid rain and was no longer steep and sheer. Sharks threw themselves up the fused slope, two Frilled Sharks leaping into the air to writhe on the narrow path, disrupting the rat's formation and knocking soldiers to the ground. Lightning cracked, blasting the cavern ceiling as a marksman was knocked sprawling into the river. Here the rats long polearms worked against them, too long to be swung at the flailing eel-like bodies of the Frilled Sharks diving through their formation. They slapped and stabbed with shields and spear butts, kicked and scratched to no avail.

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The first of my new Cave Sharks reared out of the river, blind and terrible. Its eye sockets remained, a vestigial legacy of empty concave bone, stark white against ochre placoid scales. Its fins were large and broad, moving in diagonal pairs to clamber up the slope. They clung to the stone, hauling the monster from the water. It galloped up the slope, nictitating membranes in its nostrils vibrating with each pulse of its sonar. The mage's guards attempted to intercept it, axes hacking into fin and flesh. The amphibian predator opened its maw, seeming to stun the closest elite with a sonic blast before crushing scale and leather in its jaws. It slide back down into the river and below the water, blood from its own wounds mingling with the torrents pouring from the mangled guard.

Just as hope began to kindle the witch stepped forward, extending his blasphemous stave. The river boiled, an actinic fulguration flowing from the orb. My guardians were stunned, the current lashing at everything living within. Even the Cave Shark was incapacitated, electricity coursing through it and its half devoured prey. With the power of a bound Core his reserves replenished at an extraordinary rate, not bound up in maintaining living creatures and conjured traps. Even with Kelter's cunning improvisation, the attack of the sharks, the ambush of my first Evolution all it had bought us was seven dead rats. Argent had faired better, her second strike collapsing the tunnel roof on the second force. She and the Granite Mob were swiftly overwhelming the bludgeoned enemies, spearpoints flickering into meat by torchlight.

The enemy still had over half his troops and the full might of his magic. The river was too deep for his lightning to kill my remaining Selachii or their evolving brethren, a small mercy. I continued to carve out the stone between the well, desperately trying to create an escape for my trapped minions.

Acid depleted, they crouched with knives in hand. Kelter was silently prying rivets, nuts and bolts from the acid spitter. He passed them into a pouch at his waist, creating ammunition for his sling. Nervous sweat glistened in the reflected light from the arcane ward, their torches left behind in their retreat. They wore no armour for we had not expected an incursion so quickly or capable of defeating my spiders so handily. Only the evolving Chimaera, Saurian and a single Vermillion remained - the remaining Viridescent Scincids had all been butchered. All three were now submerged in their cocoons in the river, swelled almost to its full depth now by the Igërtulon. The well chamber was largely dry but the first hints of spilling water now licked up the path to the arch.

I tried again to bite into the surface of the shaft to little result. It took seconds for my light to fully cohere around a single outcrop, half a minute to consume that single stone. Even contained in three simultaneous workings the tempest of the caged core interfered with my efforts; my knowledge or raw power simply too inadequate to wrench the storm of mana into order. I could do little but watch and attempt to learn as the warlock ended his lightning storm and resumed conjuring crude wargear. I consumed the bodies of the slaughtered rats in the Craftwind's tunnel, leaving their equipment to the victorious Granite Mob. It wouldn't be of much use immediately but if we survived this it might prove useful to the amateur smiths. They continued to argue at their primitive forge, too busy debating the best method to begin attempting to create the engine they had agreed on. My warriors, blooded and excited, collected their loot with the trembling limbs of survivors. Exhaustion warred with lingering adrenaline, dark humour traded for naive reassurances.

In the blockhouse the remaining mob were as ready as they could be, slingers and crossbows at the ready, spearmen at every window and stacked by the gate. Four warriors were nailing wire in seemingly random lines to trip and slow attackers. That simple act of cunning malice reassured me more than Argent's victory in the tunnel. So long as a goblin remained in my halls with just a few minutes to prepare, I would never be fully defenceless. Even the Ochre Tiles were attempting to do their part, organising a makeshift hospital beneath the barbican for the inevitable wounded.

The warlock finished his conjurations, the ratfolk cohort reforming. A new working emerged, a pane of solid purple light bridging the melted stone and the advance resumed, the ward dropping. I could spare no more time, burning mana at a prodigious rate to tear through the stone -