…

As planned, I fashioned a domain-permeable fungiwood canister to contain my core. As my core is ten centimeters wide and the tunnel I’ll be bringing it through is a tight eleven centimeters in diameter, I had to bring the materials through the tight opening and assemble it in place. It never would’ve fit through otherwise.

The canister is a pill-shaped vessel with a diameter of twenty centimeters and a length of forty. Inside are pads of fluffy moss to cushion my precious core from any jolts it might experience in a last-ditch escape and leather floatation sacs filled with air occupy the interior of both hemispherical halves. It’s actually mole-squirrel leather and it was surprisingly easy to seal with the help of my merge ability. I didn’t tan it or anything, but I did command a swarm of carrion beetles to eat away extraneous flesh. It’ll suffice.

I was going to throw together some traps before I relocated my core, but my first priority remains putting it in a safer spot. I will add them immediately after. Still, one task I want to complete before relocating is expanding a thin thread through the canyon to the exiting side of my emergency chute. This means I’ll have no choice but to gaze in awe at the natural majesty of that place, something I’ve been intentionally putting off because I know how easily distracted I can get…

I pledge to not get carried away and only complete the task at hand. I’ll have plenty of time to study the environment after my latest safety measures are implemented. Indeed, it’s my next expansion target!

Stretching a hair-thin filament of domain into the yawning chasm, though quick, is anything but easy. What makes it hard? The sheer evolutionary splendor all around me! The organisms are so familiar, clearly being related to Earth life, yet so alien! As just one example of many, I am again astonished by the enormous spindly black crabs wading through the raging rapids at the bottom of the deep chasm. They resemble spider crabs more than anything else, though they stand seven meters tall above the depths on legs positioned vertically rather than splayed outwards as you’d expect of a normal crab. They plod sluggishly through the water atop their stilt-like legs, yet their clawed ‘arms’ flash with incredible speed as they snatch up equally oversized energetic salmon who can be seen leaping to-and-fro across the entire visible length of the canyon’s river.

And the visible length, girth, and height of this chamber boggles the mind. Its sheer scale makes even deer cave look like a little burrow. How can such a gargantuan hollow volume even exist at this depth? Surely the overhead pressure from all the stone resting above would render this impossible?!

And I want to emphasize; the entire canyon is not visible to me. It snakes away in both directions thus completely occluding my line of sight. Who knows how far it extends?

As I’ve made extensive note of already, many varieties of subterranean flora seem to have no trouble with taking root on sheer rock walls and ceilings, though some certainly prefer specific inclinations. Much like everything else I’d seen so far; each available surface is crowded with lush gardens. Though the dominant form of mega flora appears to be a titanic variety of brown shelf fungi, which I’d heard Urist refer to as “ledgeshrooms.” These table-like growths line the canyon’s edges providing yet more surface area for smaller species to sprout from. Most notably, I see thousands of diverse orchids growing on the large fungal shelves, some exhibiting strange optical properties which I’ll definitely need to investigate soon. Magic is undoubtedly involved.

The associated wildlife has, by necessity, grown quite accustomed to such conditions. Most animals here can fly or climb proficiently. And this includes larger critters too, colonies of black howling monkeys representing multiple species grapple onto the vegetation while they munch on fruit and even other animals they manage to catch. And straight from fantasy; miniature dragons of a few different kinds soar through the busy air on wings which appear to be repurposed front limbs.

Cave drifters float through the air on bulbous hydrogen-filled sacs, trailing long dangling tentacles to ensnare hapless insects. Especially bees. There are regular honeybees everywhere, and the reason is apparent; just above me hang dozens of exposed combs. This singular colony is far larger than it has any right it be. What could’ve encouraged this trait to emerge? Probably predation, which is both worrisome and exciting.

Well, I’ve gone and gotten distracted, haven’t I? I’m here for a reason, and my job is trivially easy. No excuses.

Finishing up with extending my domain to the emergency chute’s concealed outlet, I withdraw my focus from the majestic ravine.

I’ll come back, and when I do, this will all belong to me!

I am now ready to relocate my core.

And so, I prepare to do exactly that. What need have I for fanfare? I’ve done this before, it’s nothing special.

With a quick series of cuts, I slice away the vegetation which had grown to obscure my core’s current cubby and I call over four dungeon helpers to carry me as I’m unable to perform telekinesis on myself or any container which might house my core, for whatever reason.

I don’t want to leave such an important task to extremely stupid, often clumsy, arthropods. Therefore, I take direct control and stimulate them to gently clamp each of their oversized mandibles onto some protruding crystals.

With a coordinated heave, all four ants lift my core up in synchrony.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Excuse me? What?! I haven’t heard from you in so long Mr. Normal! And what’s with the flowery language? That isn’t like you at all!

As expected, my query earns no response. I do recall this behavior from ‘him’ once before though. When I’d first detected a mana flare, he used the same language to inform me that I could absorb ambient mana passively. That was over a half a year ago...

There’s a lot to unpack here, plastic consciousness could mean anything, but based on the name alone, I wager it has something to do with mental flexibility. Modular telepathy is anyone’s guess, and “enhanced mutation fields” implies I already had an inferior version of the unknown ability, which is news to me. Also, and this is key, what Directive? Is that my purpose? To fulfill some directive I’m unaware of? That seems like a design flaw if you ask me, wouldn’t it be better to be pre-informed?

Why should moving my core be important now? It’s not like it’s my first time.

What is going on?

So, should I try and figure out what this all means right now or finish relocating my core first?

Eh, probably the latter, safety is my number one priority. Or so I tell myself, my actions often say otherwise.

While I switch my focus back to the task at hand, something happens…

Something different. I can see in every direction from my focus point with perfect clarity.

It’s unreal, you’d expect something like this to be either disorientating or headache-inducing, yet it’s completely…mundane.

Is this the so-called “plastic consciousness” at play? I’m shocked by how subdued and normal this feels. I mean, I feel as if I’m already perfectly adapted for this when I really ought not to be.

Scary…

Some force, whatever’s behind Mr. Normal, has absolute control over my mind, and if their intentions were malevolent, would I even be able to recognize that? Am I even the same person as I was in my past life? I certainly think so, I react to stimuli the same way I always have, and I have the memories to support this. But what if even those were altered?

I’ll use my signature move: avoid all existential questions.

Trust me, it’s better not to worry about that stuff, it won’t get you anywhere in my experience. If I’ve learned anything in my century of life, it’s that you shouldn’t take it too seriously. Don’t get hung up on those anxiety-inducing questions.

Though my bias is apparent; I’m living after death itself.

Which I am grateful for, don’t get me wrong! Just in case some omniscient being is listening in on my thoughts…

Yeah, I’m losing it. I really need more social contact.

Onwards! Progress will not wait for sanity! I've got a job to do! Once more I take control of the four dungeon helpers and begin to haul my core to the new room. Along the way, I take some time to admire my progress.

I’m taking my core through my main passageways and am intentionally rerouting traffic to avoid it. I do not want my core carried along the walls or ceiling as I don’t want to risk it getting dropped from a height. My excavation has been unceasing, this whole time, and even now, a fraction of my focus is tasked with micromanaging stone block carving and logistics.

Perhaps one of the reasons the recent boost to my perception was so underwhelming is because I’ve been practicing something similar; my uncanny ability to multitask.

Performing a quick check, I realize that I can indeed perceive multiple frames of reference with greater ease than before. I’ll push this ability to the limit later.

My largest tunnels are several meters wide, allowing four or more typical ant-propelled carts to pass side by side at a time. If one could observe my dungeon, they would have no trouble identifying the most frequently used paths. Besides the constant caravans trundling past, the muddy floor is marred with deep ruts with cyan grasses and other small plants growing in between. Due to the constant trampling here, only the hardiest and fastest-growing plants are able to thrive. Though the walls and ceilings support larger growths as they see no cart traffic.

But even they are not unused; dungeon helpers march in branching paths to access different regions of the dungeon to achieve whatever task I’ve assigned. The most numerous travelers by far are regular-sized, tiny leafcutter ants who are intent on harvesting the bounties of these halls and the chambers they connect to.

For efficiency purposes, I’ve restricted the floors to just cart pushers and super helpers, the walls for other dungeon helpers, and the ceilings for normal leafcutters. And this makes sense; the carts must be floor bound and I don’t want to hinder throughput by impeding their passage. Regular leafcutters use the ceiling because they are the smallest and can thus cling to it the easiest. Dungeon helpers can use the ceiling too, but I prefer to keep them separate so they don’t harm the tiny ants. Also, climbing upside down is much harder for them due to their size. It wouldn’t do to have them wasting calories, after all!

Of course, regular leafcutters can and do visit the floors and walls when they need to harvest vegetation from there, they just use the ceiling for logistics.

Naturally, my dungeon is home to many other species, a great number of which are predatory and would happily ravage the easy meals which are leafcutter ants. I hate to interfere, but as they serve a purpose independent of being participants in the local food chain, I’ve compelled my other denizens to leave them alone.

Especially large critters such as giant cave centipedes, mole-squirrels, goliath^2 beetles, lizards, birds, rabbits, etc. would get in the way of my ant cart supply chains, so I’ve also commanded them to give my helpers a wide berth.

This whole time I’ve been focusing my querying on extending my tunnel network everywhere and have been neglecting the creation of wide-open spaces and more diverse habitats. Especially aquatic ones. Interestingly, in my largest chambers, the cavern included, the tree-sized pon pon mushrooms I’d engineered earlier are actually managing to compete with the native fungiwood trees. That’s surprising because you’d think an artificial species would be less equipped to deal with a natural competitor who’d had eons to optimize the domination of its niche.

I suspect some hidden process is to blame, perhaps it’s connected to the accelerated metabolisms of organisms within my domain? Or the just-mentioned “mutation fields?” It’s worth looking into soon.