Hundreds of small, intricate runes cast a faint glow over an elder gremlin and around its small cave. Dust, tiny bones, and pebbles lay strewn across the floor, permeated with the pungent aroma of iron and decay. Oblivious to its surroundings, the elder hunched over a nearly completed circle of runes, its gnarled fingers etching new symbols into the stone with precise movements. Every stroke of its sharp nails added to the intricate web of power that it was creating.

Mumbling to itself while it worked, the creature slowly recited ancient words in a harsh and guttural language. It paused only to critique the intricate patterns on the wall, each new rune drawing it closer to closing the circle of power. As it worked in earnest, its beady eyes gleamed with a sharp intelligence, taking in every detail of its creation.

Since Vex first abandoned this cave months ago, the decrepit creature had claimed the hovel for its own, consuming the last of the dried blood to force its evolution. There were very few physical changes since it first consumed blood. It was still a hairless abomination of teeth and claws. However, its skin had become more scaly, and its features more pointed, making the retched creature look more and more like a tiny demon spawn.

With its advancement came heightened intelligence and access to the collective knowledge of its kind. The memories and machinations of blood gremlins didn't come without a price — dark promises and vows of loyalty. But in exchange, the elder gained absolute control over its lessers and learned what it needed to break the seal on the pocket dimension. An endeavor that the creature was now driven to accomplish with a fervent desire.

From a certain perspective, the elder gremlin's existence was almost pitiful, as it spent nearly every waking moment practicing and testing rune script and limited bits of ritual magic in its tiny cave. Its entire life was dedicated to its eventual escape. It bent the lesser's wills into service for its other needs. It forced them to surveil the pocket dimension, to bring back the materials it needed for its rituals, and to die as the elder deemed fit.

Not that the creature generally could empathize with misery, even its own. Otherwise, it might have cared that it, like its kin, was starving due to a lack of blood within the damnable pocket realm. The ambient mana sustained the gremlins but didn't fulfill their bloodlust. And the sole source of reprieve couldn't be harvested because it was needed to unlock the prison gates, where the elder hoped to find a feast.

With a slow and methodical cadence, the elder's dark task ended as it closed the miniature ritual circle with the last of its tiny etched runes. The creature examined its work closely, and then, with a snap of its gnarled fingers, the elder gremlin summoned one of the lessers from beyond the cave's entrance. The timid creature scurried forward, its eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe as it approached the commanding presence of its superior. The tiny ball of fluff quavered softly, its whimpers barely audible.

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"Quiet," the elder gremlin snapped in a broken, guttural tongue, scooping up the lesser in one swift motion. Its clawed hand gripped the helpless fluffball tightly, causing the smaller creature to whimper softly.

Muttering under its breath, the elder gremlin turned its attention back to the cave wall as it scrutinized the tiny rune circle etched into the stone. Its beady eyes darted between the carefully carved lines, searching for imperfections that might hinder the success of its ritual.

With a seeming sense of satisfaction, the elder gremlin's talons gleamed in the soft rune light as they dug into the lesser's flesh. With a swift, brutal motion, it yanked the head off the terrified creature. The lesser's body went limp as a half-formed scream died an instant before it could part the pathetic creature's lips.

"You are excused from bothering me further with your pathetic existence," the elder muttered with dark satisfaction, unfazed by the gruesome act.

Black gore dripped from the decapitated head, pooling on the ground beneath the elder's feet. Ignoring the viscous liquid, the gremlin began smearing the same thick fluid from the decapitated body over the runes etched into the cave wall, ensuring that each carving was fully saturated.

Once satisfied with the coated carvings, the elder discarded the body on the ground and gathered a few small primitive tools from within the cave. It first took a small plank of wood that was wider at one end and tapered at the other to scrape off the excess fluid from the wall. Then, it gathered a handful of finely crushed pebbles that were practically powder and liberally dusted the wall and carving.

Patiently waiting for the wall to dry, the elder made a sharp, growling noise. In response, several of the lessers raced into the cave and drug the remnants of their kin out in a mad frenzy while doing their best not to draw attention to themselves.

Once the ichor had sufficiently dried, the elder finally pulled out a small tuft of fur that looked suspiciously like the lessers' fluffy coats and used it to wipe away the excess residue from the wall.

With the runes now coated and cured, the elder drew upon its mana reserves—wisps of ethereal energy coiled around its gnarled fingers, pulsating with raw potential. Channeling the energy into the rune formation, the elder watched closely for any signs of success or failure.

After several moments of the wretched creature holding its breath in increasing anticipation, a sudden crackle of energy thrummed and echoed through the cave. Then, the runic circle cracked, and the cave fell into silence.

Frustration seethed beneath the elder's features as it snarled. Inwardly, it pondered what had gone wrong despite the near certainty that its mastery of the rune script wasn't yet complete. It knew it was getting close to success but needed time to ensure it could execute its dark craft flawlessly.

And yet, despite the continued failures, the elder remained undeterred because its precious sack of blood wasn't ready for the ritual. It was getting closer, thanks to the steady supply of lessers that the elder let slowly trickle to their deaths. However, the vessel hadn't yet absorbed enough refined mana. So, the elder contented itself with its inevitable machinations of freedom.

A wicked, toothy grin crept across the elder gremlin's face as it contemplated its next attempt. At the cave entrance, a writhing mass of lesser gremlins had gathered. They chittered and hissed, their beady eyes reflecting a primal hunger for power. With a slow, practiced cadence, the elder gremlin returned to the cave wall and began etching another tiny rune circle into the stone. Its fingers moved deftly, each stroke imbued with purpose and intent.