Given the fact most of his building materials were either… broken and simplistic at best… meant that Allen had to improvise. So, how does one design a intimidating entrance besides building a magnificent temple of gold and gemstones?

The dungeon core pondered, ‘staring’ at the entrance into the largest volcano in the area.

Thinking back to the media of his previous life, would he find only one answer, magic fizzing in the air as stone began to extrude.

Turok was once more lifting his weights. A pleasant surprise of being conscripted into the Dungeon was that apparently, he required no more food to be active. He felt rejuvenated with every breath as the concentrated mana in the dungeon passed through every cell (the ones that remained, anyway).

Every few hours that passed would he prod and poke the metal covers that littered his skin, while rusted, it seemed that they had yet to cause any form of disease or infection. He tested the strength of the material by requesting a sword from his patron, finding it a slight bit more flexible then the normal material, which probably explained how it had yet to break. Even if it did, which Turok had caused by repeatedly hammering on a specific part, the Iron parts of his body would heal at a accelerated rate, white lines which the Dungeon Core had called ‘Welds’ replacing the usual scar tissue.

Turok had heard his Master mutter something about the tensile strength and flexibility, but after that Allen had blocked off the connection between them, and as such only raised more questions on what part he played in all this. The Half-Orcborg knew he wasn’t the smartest, but when Jigi had still been here, even he hadn’t known over half of the terms their host used.

His thoughts were roused from the sound of stone shifting, passing the set of golems guarding the entrance. He would have probably mistaken them for statues if not for the dungeon’s connection between all of the inhabitants. Since having upgraded (or downgraded, depending on whom one asked) his own ‘contract’, he even felt the multiple signatures in the floor below, debating on whether or not to tell Allen. Chances are, they already knew he knew.

Taking his first step outside, would Turok feel the now familiar strain on his body, with every step he took outside being more and more draining. As of now, he could use his legs for ten steps, give or take, before beginning to faint.

Still, being holed up in the mountain for the rest of his life was not a prospect he was looking forward to, as such, Turok always took the time to step outside for a while, even if his body felt as heavy as it did.

Something he had noticed, was that only after exiting the structure in front of the Dungeon, would the feeling begin even though he had been ‘outside’ previously.

It also seemed that his Patron had begun renovating the outside, as the strange temple-like structure had increased in size, even if he did not recognize the build-style of it, Turok was still astonished by the designs.

Allen watched as concentrated mana leaked out of his home, into the air and dissipating. First things first, he needed to put a stop to that. Maybe then he could at least begin expanding outwards, instead of further into the volcano and accidentally running into a pool of lava… He wasn’t going to count on his crystal being heat-proof anytime soon.

For now, he willed the mana to stop moving, creating a constant gravity-like pull towards his crystal, finetuning the amount of force created by his ‘magic’. While technically costing him more upkeep compared to when he let the steady amount trickle away into the atmosphere, it wasn’t about efficiency. What Allen was trying to do, was create a invisible ‘structure’ of some sort, where the mana would remain trapped and allow his constructs to exit the dungeon. That way he wouldn’t be required to depend on entities with a loose-contract for scouting. Coming from a more modern age, he knew information was the key to success. It’s why he had send the two Orcs out in the first place, instead of keeping them here for protection.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

One could argue that with a theoretically-infinite army of golems, he didn’t need two orcs, but the Engineer in Allen did not in fact, appreciate having to work with such crude constructs. He wanted proper steel, damnit.

Rising from his grumbling state of mind, would he confirm that, yes, the ‘spell’ had worked. Now all he needed was to imbue a structure with it, and the Mana would stay within that area.

Now. To pick a specific structure designed to increase one’s area of control...

‘’Hey, Turok.’’ Allen’s voice had always sounded as if he was standing in front of whoever he spoke to, which had caused quite a few ‘jump scares’, as the Dungeon had called them, to the Orcs, when they had still been using it as their home. At least nowadays, Turok had grown used to them.

‘’Yes, Master Allen, what is it you require..?’’ Turok held a slight, confused frown on his face. His master sounded in a awfully amused mood, which… well, he was unsure if that meant something actually good or not.

‘D-did…’ Turok paused his train of thoughts as he could have sworn he had heard his patreon… snort?

‘’We must c-construct additional pylons, Turok.’’

The Orcborg merely looked a definite confused at this point. The entity that had watched without care as his people died was currently… trying its best not to laugh. At a joke he didn’t even understand. The structural integrity of the dungeon was fine, wasn’t it? And even so, why would it be something to laugh about?

Watching the Half-cyborg orc look the way he did was the last drop for Allen, cutting off the connection as he tried his best to remain serious, one half complaining about the fact Turok hadn’t understood his joke while the other was double-amused at the confused and disturbed face the Orc had made.

Still standing outside, would the Orc in question watch as massively square pillar-like structures would rise on the edges of his rougly ‘ten-step’ radius, familiar tatoo-like ingravings present upon the surface of the stone, glowing softly with the magic-blue color. Using his connection with the Dungeon itself, would Turok see the saturation of mana present inside the two structures, seeing the magical energies slipping away into the atmosphere suddenly stop in mid-air and be drawn towards them. Walking up to one, would he let out a soft exhale in reflex, realizing that no fatigue had settled in yet. Even passing beyond said structures, would he walk another few before turning around.

Glancing back, would he see how the ‘pylons’ blended in with the structure, as if forming a gate without roof, standing in front and on both sides of the main building. If he had to describe the scene, would one thing come to mind, An ancient temple, long forgotten that had stood the test of time. Most of this description came from the fact nearly everything had been made of stone mixed with the mana-saturated kind, creating cracks and different textures from time to time.

There was one more thing that stood out, however. Above the entrance into the mountain, hung a massive skull, its opened mouth big enough for him to walk through. This was no normal skull however, as several cracks and openings littered its surface. With the light setting, would he see the insides being carved into stranges round shapes in a whole lot of different sizes, said circles having square-like protrusions coming out of them at regular intervals all along the sides. The skulls entire right eye would have fallen away, replaced by a singular massive ‘circle’.

A part of Turok was almost reminded of himself, as he now realized all these circles had been shaped using the rusted iron that was a part of his skin.

‘’How did you-…’’ Turok found that nobody was listening. The connection between himself and the Dungeon still lay broken. Considering it had yet to be re-established, it meant that his patron was nowhere nearby.

Speaking off the Dungeon, Allen had been forced to retract his consciousness back into the crystal, allowing himself to be taken by the comforting darkness it provided, suffering from a splitting headache, his ‘sight’ burning as a vague outline of a red-screen would keep popping in and out of view, blocked by something yet trying its best to break through…