Temperature in the core room dropped and yet sweat rolled over the orc’s back. The situation was tense, so much so that a sound could be produced upon it being touched. Whoever blinked first would surely be the defea-…

‘’Oi, Neith, drop that!’’

The spider in question would hold the arm from one of the larger invaders in its claw-like ‘arms’, body tilted sideways in confusion as its mandibles nibbled on and corroded the flesh.

‘’No, don’t give me that look. I already told you twice now, drop. It.’’

Neith would, in turn, merely clutch the arm closer, lowering her body closer to the ground as if trying to make herself as small as possible.

‘’So much for the ‘tense’ situation…’’ Allen mused, view rotating back towards the three Orcs. They weren’t so much sweating from fear as much as awkwardness. Especially Ozram, who didn’t understand, or did not wish to do so, how exactly it was possible for something so… carefree at times to essentially having sacrificed his entire tribe.

‘’So… Allen… Core.. whatever you prefer, what will you do with us now? We’ve overstayed our welcome, considering you willingly gave up the lives of our people.’’ A strong yet low voice came from the largest of the three, the Half-Orcborg had been busy inspecting his own enlarged body. He felt stronger, yes, mightier then ever before. But at what cost had it come? Even if his two brothers would leave, he could not. A part of him was latched onto this place, a part of his very soul. He could yet barely manage to ignore the orders of the core, much to its both mild amusement and irritation. However Turok knew, he could hold no hostility in his heart towards it. Even know, ancestors forgive, he knew why Allen had done what he did. It was survival of the fittest, and they had demanded more then they could give. The Orc tribe had essentially leeched off the housing and protection the Core had ‘willingly’ offered.

‘’Turok, Only Ozram has yet to realise you cannot leave. And I think that, for the both of you, it would be severely unwise to leave. Of course, I won’t stop you.

Ozram wanted to leave. He really wanted to leave. However it would mean abandoning one of his two remaining brothers. And he did not wi-.

He suddenly noticed the way Turok was staring at the core, muscles twitching and eyes narrowing, before the Orgborg (A name Ozram found quite amusing, much to the dismay of its owner) let a sigh pass his chest.

‘’Jigi, Ozram. You two must leave.’’

Both smaller Orcs would open their mouth in protest as Turok would raise a open hand.

‘’We, both Allen and Myself, need your ability to still leave this place. I can no longer, in return of my life have I been bound in servitude. The Core has told me of the mineral deposits. We will be stuck in this place if nothing is done. Find the Dwarves or even humans in the border-region and get them here. Allen has allowed me to view glimpses of the power he can wield. We never stood a chance.’’

The core in question would scoff softly, tugging on the bond between himself and the Orgborg to reign in that train of thought and finish trying to convince the two, finding that Turok did not wish to speak any further.

‘’I need materials and partners. We’re going to need some form of non-hostiles in the area to bargain with. As such, I require you two to set out the wild to find people willing to settle near a dungeon.

Unlike with you Orcs, I will not provide any form of home, merely a opportunity to trade. While I cannot fabricate anything other then things I have already ‘received’, I have the capability to produce countless numbers. If you find anyone in power that does not see the benefits in such a partnership, well, I don’t count on such a thing happening…’’

The two orcs looked at one another, Jigi slowly swallowing before asking a question all three of them had on their mind ‘’What if we… perish?’’

Allen would have loved to smirk if he could, producing four ‘Soulspheres’. Though unlike their more simple brethren, would these come- in pairs, a smaller size, and hold a different pattern on the surface. ‘’Activate these with your mana, and your death will be prevented…’’

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Well, Death was a… objective to its viewer… Allen did not see the perishing of ones body as death anymore. It was merely a… temporary setback. He would have simple golems waiting for their cores to fit into, should anything happen to them, or any future partners he might ‘acquire’.

Then again these were just prototypes, the only way he could guess they would work was considering none of the previous prototypes had malfunctioned, even something with arguably more difficulty then the ‘Soulsphere MK1’, which used a Mana-vortex to acquire the soul before it could leave the body... The Mark 2 used the owners mana signature to transport one’s soul from one sphere to the other. Of course, the Mark 2 was not a permanent container, it used all available ‘space’ inside the mana-concentrated rust-crystal to produce a similar effect used by the Dungeon core, transporting Items in what could only be called a ‘inventory’ of some sort. He really needed some test subjects… if only a few goblins would wander into here.

Both Orcs would touch the spheres in front of them, Jigi having to take a moment with helping Ozram activate his own. Of course, neither knew of the internal dilemma which had struck Allen mere moments ago, not even Turok, as the Core had, with the ruse now over, blocked its connection between the Orcs and itself, leaving only their ‘brotherly bond’ with one another which had been reinforced by their conscription into the dungeon’s service.

So, Two orcs left, leaving with equipment, food, clothing and eachother.

One Orc remained, taking up housing in the abandoned shack-camp that made up the left wing.

And for a moment, having paused since the Orcs first arrived, the dungeon was quiet.

Well.

If one ignored the constant shifting and grinding of stone in the background.

Allen was quite busy, unlike the lazy guardians he had. He’d shake his head if he could, working on the chamber of his favorite (and only) Mechspider. Said chamber needed a overhaul for one specific reason.

Neith, for something that did physically not require to eat, had cleaned up all the bodies. All the bodies. Even the blood had vanished, the spider using its corrosive acid to scrub away the filth off the floor, as if the liquids and grime were a offense to her in and of itself. This however, meant that all he mass had to go somewhere, and that somewhere being in the spider itself. Said bear-sized spider was currently huddled up into a hole in the wall, mandibles and claws covering its face in what could almost be called shame.

Allen supposed that, no matter the species, women did not like being viewed as gluttons.

Now that the spider had ‘grown’ (He really didn’t understand how exactly a metal-construct had increased in size, but a theory would suggest somehow using the miniscule amount of iron present in blood, as even thought they were monsters, both species did have crimson-colored blood.) too large for its previous enclosure, meant that Allen had been forced to begin renovations a bit earlier then expected. So he turned her previous home into a simple square room filled with stone furniture, namely a chair, desk, bookcase and, well, that was it really. He did realise that there was a distinct lack of lighting in most of his dungeon because of Turok walking by to inspect the room and only getting a ‘’Whats this dark part for?’’

Said issue was solved by creating a rough, rusting chandelier filled with unfilled soulspheres. They would produce a infinite source of (albeit blue tinted) light, making Turok question once more what the room was for.

Simply said, Allen really didn’t enjoy having people near his core room, and as such this little office would have to be used as a meeting-ground for any visitors.

Using the now bear-sized Neith, which gave a bit of extra trouble on the already crude and simplified construction work, would the dungeoncore re-attach the operating system of the portcullis from Neith’s chamber behind the stone bookcase.

How did that work? Well, something Allen found out was that, even if it was created or removed by dungeon shenanig-… magic, dungeon magic, it was still for all intents and purposes, stone.

So when he made a bookcase grow from the ground with extra-long ‘feet’, and cut them off right after, it meant that the bookcase dropped down onto the floor and could be moved.

The only one that could do this, of course, was Turok. Well, Neith could technically also shove the thing aside, but for repeated use, only the dexterity of the Orcborg (Or Cyborc? Turok didn’t like either, a question showed.) allowed for the mechanism to remain intact. However, in the end, it could be moved and accessed by ‘technically’ everyone, so Allen’s in-built warning systems did not go off.

In any case, finally, a law of physics that had to be-…

Nope. Whether it be because of Allen’s immense quantity of magic, or every dungeon functioned in a similar manner, a tiny strand of ‘dungeon stone’, could hold up a infinite amount of itself, unless Allen either ‘inscribed’ it to behave differently, or if he cut off the mana supply.

Yay, more testing…

The life of a Engineer is spent with two fases.

Theorising and prototyping.

In this case, instead of a new household item, or construction site, Allen was tasked to overhaul his entire ‘house’. Or, technically, was it body?

The ride never ends…