Another day passed, and the endless rhythm of work continued. The sub-minds fed me wave after wave of reports, each detailing incremental progress across the warren. Construction, infiltration, and expansion are slow but steady, like roots weaving through ancient stone.

The construction sub-mind pressed ahead, directing the fungal farms deeper into the tunnels. Scouts charted dead ends and narrow, winding passages that branched beyond the warren’s core, marking the boundaries of my domain.

Each new corridor was a gift of space and a risk. The architects and burrowers followed closely behind, sealing off hazardous sections and transforming the remaining spaces into cultivation zones.

Fungal spores drifted through the air, clinging to stone, and blossoming in the sealed chambers. Enclosed and undisturbed, the blooms stabilized the fragile atmosphere within the closed section of tunnels, releasing thin strands of oxygen. As the ecosystem solidified, the spores spread, colonizing the outer chambers and reinforcing biomass production.

Harvesters swarmed the fungal fields like locusts, their mandibles slicing clean through the soft, pale blooms. They digested the fungus, breaking it all down to a Nutrient-rich slurry.

The slurry was gathered and funnelled into a sprawling network of pods, each lining the tunnel walls. These pods connected to a vast subterranean transport system, threading deep beneath the surface, linking every fungal farm to the growing number of bio-fabricators.

Burrowers sat idle, with less work to complete. I had stopped their production, diverting biomass to more critical drone production of harvesters, architects, and scouts.

The scouts became my main focus, spreading through the lava tubes and scouting the ever-expanding labyrinth. Every new corridor I claimed extended my reach but thinned my defences. A single enemy scout could slip through the cracks, unseen, and I might not know until it was too late.

The war sub-mind anticipated such dangers. It calculated risks relentlessly, accounting for orbital bombardments, enemy infiltration and nuclear escalation. Though the fleet’s fire would not be effective with how deep I was, the threat lingered. A single payload detonated deep enough, could irradiate the tunnels and cripple biomass production for kilometres.

The architects mapped choke points, identifying passages to seal or fortify. When the biomass reached surplus levels, resin barriers and defensive emplacements would be built up, locking down those vital arteries. Until then, the tunnels were vulnerable.

I watched with passing interest, but my focus drifted elsewhere. A stream of data poured into my mind from the implant lodged deep within my frame.

Centuries of knowledge stretched out before me, enough to occupy my mind for the foreseeable future. I marked the most critical sections for download, but with each fragment I absorbed, the list grew longer. Every page turned revealed a new path, each one essential, each one impossible to ignore.

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At the warren’s core, the architects struggled to keep the dormant drone alive. Its body steadily withered devouring more of its mass with every cycle. The drone had begun to metabolize its flesh just to sustain minimal functions.

Despite the architects’ best efforts, it remained unresponsive. Options dwindled.

In the end, I ordered the architects to construct a pod large enough to encase the drone and keep it alive at all costs.

Once biomass reserves grew sufficient, I planned to construct a new body one capable of housing the dormant drone’s implants directly.

If I could have my clones equipped with implants, I could share the bulk of the knowledge, letting each clone absorb the relevant knowledge of its field at a faster rate than I could. Progress would accelerate. A new science division of minds could take shape.

The thought lingered, tantalizing.

Valurian archives held blueprints for a vast array of devices which I couldn’t construct without the right tools and equipment some parts could be mimicked by my biotech, I was happy to discover they had worked out nuclear fission and fusion.

Their programming languages mirrored strange, patterns familiar yet alien. Some symbols echoed Earth’s scripts, resembling Southeast Asian alphabets. A curious parallel.

I shifted involuntarily, the phantom sensation of muscles that no longer existed. Old habits, persisted long after the limbs were gone.

The intelligence sub-mind reported steady infiltration across enemy sites. Parasites, embedded in clone hosts, spread faster than anticipated. Mining hubs, depots, and production lines became breeding grounds.

One host, deemed unfit for frontline duty, had been reassigned to a northern supply post. The parasites nested deep within the shipment containers, hiding between layers of metal and composite. Soon, the infection would spread along the supply chain.

I marked the depot on the map. Each infected facility flickered like a star across the moon’s surface, growing brighter with each passing day.

Fleet clones remained elusive. Those who piloted the larger ships rarely disembarked, reinforcing the divide between themselves and the surface-bound detachments. A perceived superiority that was collaborated by infected clones, no doubt. It complicated infiltration. Parasites couldn’t reach them without physical proximity. I would need to find one on the surface.

Still, the surface clones were vulnerable. A single accident had crippled one of their decontamination facilities. A reckless driver, colliding with the structure’s outer supports, rendered it inoperable for days. Without sterilization protocols, the infection spread unchecked.

Minor victories, but victories nonetheless.

I pulled back from the physical plane, drifting into the etheric layer. Here, the enemy’s presence loomed like shadows at the edges of perception. They watched from afar, their forms flickering with faint outlines. Whenever I approached, they withdrew, folding into their fortified spheres.

I tested them, chasing at times but never closing the distance. They recoiled more often now, sensing the shift within me. I felt it too. Something unseen. Even when I stood still, I was evolving.

But the material world beckoned.

The next offensive required infrastructure—supply lines, forward operating bases, and reinforcements. Logistics, not combat, would determine the campaign’s success.

A phrase resurfaced from deep memory: “Amateurs talk strategy. Professionals talk logistics.”

Modified scouts would serve as supply runners, ferrying architects, harvesters, and burrower eggs to hidden pockets across the moon. In those remote caverns, new bases would bloom, concealed beneath layers of stone and fungal growth.

Enemy patrol ships remained the greatest threat. Until the fleet fell, no outpost could remain secure. I needed surface-to-orbit weapons missile batteries, kinetic launchers, or bioengineered cannons capable of intercepting enemy craft. The cost of biomass would be significant.

If my current designs proved viable, I could begin constructing a fleet of my own. It would be costly, but necessity dictated a smaller scale, limited by resources and time. Still, the prospect of a planetary hopping campaign lingered at the edges of possibility.

To achieve this, I would need to refine the quadrupedal drone framework. The next stage of bio-metallurgy held promise, potentially allowing for scaled-up weaponry.

Explosive and acid-tipped bone darts, or even plasma-based systems if the prototypes succeeded. Expanding these designs could lead to missile platforms integrated directly onto quadrupedal units that could be scaled up for fleet engagements.

This would also require reworking the combat drones. If the redesigns proved effective, I could split the next generation of drones, equipping some with gel launchers as a secondary loadout.

However, they would still need a primary weapon. Recent battlefield reports revealed a critical flaw—during the last engagement, some drones were left defenceless when their integrated arm weapons were damaged. A carried primary weapon would ensure functionality even if the drone’s limbs sustained damage. This redundancy could prevent future losses.