Soon, a group of hunters entered the dungeon.

The forest had grown unnaturally silent as the group of hunters trudged through the dense undergrowth.

The air was thick with anticipation as they kept their eyes peeled for signs of danger.

Suddenly, one of them spotted movement up ahead.

“There! The wood golem!” someone whispered sharply, pointing toward the shadowy figure.

They had been chasing the wood golem for what felt like hours, the creature’s wooden limbs moving with startling speed through the forest.

It darted between the trees, its body camouflaged by the very environment that surrounded them.

The hunters were confident at first, spurred on by the thrill of the chase, but soon the golem’s swift movements left them bewildered.

"Where the hell did that thing go?" one of the hunters, a tall man with a scarred face, grunted in frustration, scanning the darkening forest.

"It was fast for something so big," another muttered, his voice tinged with unease.

The trees loomed around them, their gnarled branches twisting overhead like skeletal fingers.

Shadows danced between the trunks, making it difficult to discern what was real and what was a trick of the mind.

The hunters huddled closer, their eyes darting from side to side.

"Hey, this doesn't feel right," a younger hunter whispered, his voice shaky.

He tightened his grip on his weapon, his knuckles turning white.

The others nodded in agreement, the initial excitement of the hunt quickly fading into a sense of dread.

They had ventured too deep, far beyond where they had planned to go.

Something about the air was different here—heavy, oppressive, as though the forest itself was watching them.

"Yeah," the scarred man agreed, glancing over his shoulder. "We should head back. Fast."

They turned, ready to retrace their steps, but their path was no longer clear.

Where once there had been a trail, there now stood a line of massive figures blocking their way.

Dark, towering shapes emerged from the shadows, their hulking forms outlined against the dim light filtering through the trees.

The hunters froze, their breaths catching in their throats.

"What the—" one of them gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief.

There were golems.

Not just one or two, but a dozen—massive clay and stone sentinels standing shoulder to shoulder, their eyes glowing faintly with an eerie, unnatural light.

Their rough, angular bodies blended with the landscape, making it impossible to tell where the earth ended and they began.

"Golems!" one of the hunters shouted, his voice tinged with panic.

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"How can there be so many?" another whispered, backing away instinctively.

This was supposed to be a beginner dungeon. Golems weren’t supposed to be here—not this many, not this powerful.

The air felt suffocating, thick with the weight of something far beyond their understanding.

The leader of the group, a veteran hunter with years of experience, swallowed hard.

His instincts screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go.

The golems had them surrounded.

"Stay calm!" he barked, trying to rally his team. "We can take them if we stick together!"

But his words felt hollow, even to himself.

These weren’t ordinary golems—they moved with an intelligence that was unsettling.

One of them, a stone golem, took a step forward, the ground trembling beneath its weight.

The hunters raised their weapons, fear flickering in their eyes.

The wood golem that had lured them into the forest appeared again, stepping out from behind the stone behemoths.

It looked almost smug, its eyes glowing with a faint green light as if mocking their futile efforts to chase it.

The youngest hunter’s voice cracked with fear. "We... we should run."

But there was nowhere to run.

The forest had become a trap, the trees like prison bars, and the golems the wardens of this unnatural space.

The hunters exchanged glances, their faces pale, sweat trickling down their brows.

They had walked straight into an ambush.

One of the golems moved, raising its massive arm.

The sound of stone grinding against stone filled the air, a low, ominous groan.

Then, with terrifying speed, the arm swung down.

The hunters scattered, just barely dodging the blow, but the earth shook beneath them, throwing them off balance.

Panic set in as they scrambled to regroup, but the golems were already moving—slow, deliberate, and unstoppable.

"This is wrong!" one of the hunters cried out, slashing at a clay golem with his sword.

The blade connected, but it barely left a scratch. "This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!"

Another hunter, desperate, fired an arrow at a stone golem.

The arrow shattered on impact, the pieces falling uselessly to the ground.

The golems pressed forward, methodical and relentless, their eyes glowing with an eerie light.

They weren’t just mindless constructs—they were predators, and the hunters were their prey.

The leader of the group gritted his teeth, stepping in front of the others.

"We can’t let them surround us!" he shouted, trying to rally his comrades.

But his words fell on deaf ears.

The fear was too much.

One by one, the hunters were succumbing to panic.

A second later, another golem’s arm swung down, and a sickening crunch echoed through the forest.

One of the hunters was thrown to the ground, his body limp and broken.

The others screamed in horror, realizing the full weight of the danger they were in.

The golems advanced, their shadows swallowing the hunters as they closed in from all sides.

The last thing the hunters heard before the world went dark was the sound of stone grinding against stone, the earth itself seeming to swallow them whole.

And in the distance, hidden among the trees, I watched watched from a tree.

My eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction as I observed the chaos below.

The hunters had been lured into my trap, and soon, they would be nothing more than a memory.

After the battle ended, I descended from the branch and walked toward the remains of the hunters.

Their bodies were broken, strewn across the forest floor like discarded toys.

But I didn’t care about their lives, or the fact that they were once human.

What mattered were the items they carried—their weapons, their equipment, anything that could be of use.

As I rummaged through the remains, I felt nothing.

No guilt, no hesitation. Just cold efficiency.

Once I had gathered anything useful, I watched as the system, like clockwork, erased all traces of their existence.

In mere moments, their bodies dissolved into nothing, as if they had never stepped foot in this dungeon.

It was a fitting end, I thought—quick, merciless, and utterly forgettable.

With the cleanup complete, I returned to my golems.

Many were damaged from the skirmish, their stone bodies chipped and cracked, their clay limbs missing chunks.

But it was nothing I couldn’t fix. I set to work, repairing them with my matter manipulation.

As I did, I didn’t just fix them—I improved them.

The flaws I had noticed during the battle were ironed out, their structures reinforced.

More durable. Stronger. Better.

The materials I used became more complex with each iteration.

What started as simple clay and stone evolved into something more.

Steel golems, their bodies gleaming with the hardness of metal, were born from the stone golems I had initially created.

Brick golems, heavier and more resilient, were a natural evolution of the clay golems.

Each new creation was a refinement, an advancement over what came before.

And still, more hunters came.

It was as if they couldn’t resist the call of the dungeon, lured by the promise of glory or treasure.

But like the others, they too fell to my golems. I watched from my throne as they were systematically hunted down.

The wood golems, agile and cunning, led them deeper into the forest.

They chased after the figures, oblivious to the trap until it was too late.

By the time they realized their mistake, the other golems—stone, clay, steel, and brick—emerged from the shadows, crushing any resistance with swift, brutal force.

The hunters fought, of course.

They always did. But it was pointless.

Their weapons barely scratched my golems’ hardened exteriors.

They didn’t stand a chance.

And as they fell, one after another, I watched, unblinking.

There was no remorse. No regret.

I felt nothing for their suffering, their terror in those final moments.

They were just obstacles. Tools for me to learn from.

And as I watched their defeat, my mind wasn’t on their deaths.

It was elsewhere—focused on the golems.

How could I improve their design?

Could I make them faster? Stronger?

Could I enhance their intelligence, give them the ability to act more independently?

The ideas swirled in my mind, each one more ambitious than the last.

There was no end to the possibilities, no limit to the ways I could refine my creations.

An endless hunger for knowledge gnawed at me.

I needed more.

More ideas, more power, more ways to perfect my craft.

The thrill of creation consumed me, pushing me forward, driving me to push the boundaries of what was possible.

Perhaps this is what it meant to be a Matrivan.

To feel nothing for the lives taken, only the drive to perfect, to create, to seek knowledge above all else.

To wield power not just for destruction, but for the sake of mastery over matter itself.

And so I continued. Golems fell and rose again, stronger, more efficient with each passing day.

I didn’t stop.

The forest echoed with the sound of my creations, my domain expanding, my power growing.

The hunters would keep coming. And I would keep building.