Mechalon had seen many humans pass through this room before—adventurers who tread cautiously, probing for danger with weapons and wary gazes. But none had been quite so bold as this one.

It was a young man, cocky in demeanor and loud in his confidence. His voice echoed off the cold metallic walls as he gestured dramatically to his companions, the sheer volume of his proclamations grating even to Mechalon, who had no ears to cover.

“I’m telling you, it’s easy,” the man boasted, his voice tinged with a bravado that seemed to swell with every word. He pointed toward the massive metal tower dominating the edge of the room, its smooth, gleaming surface rising like a monolith. “The treasure’s right up there. You can see it sparkling from here!”

His party didn’t seem convinced. A wiry mage frowned, his fingers twitching nervously as he muttered, “And you’re sure there’s no catch? I mean, look at that thing. It’s practically begging to kill someone.”

“Bah!” the climber scoffed, waving him off. “It’s a climb, that’s all! Handholds, a bit of muscle, a bit of finesse. I’ve done worse in training. Just stay down here and get ready to carry my loot when I come back down.”

The cleric—a stern-looking woman—crossed her arms, her face a mask of disapproval. “This is a terrible idea, Dax. You know it’s a trap. Every single thing in this dungeon is a trap.”

Dax, undeterred, grinned wide. “Only for people who aren’t good enough to handle it.”

From his place in the shadows, Mechalon observed the interaction with a faint hum of interest. His mechanical limbs continued their absentminded work, stacking cubes in elaborate patterns. A spiral of metal blocks formed at his side, branching into jagged, asymmetrical towers that served no purpose beyond existing. To an outside observer, it might have looked like art. To Mechalon, it was simply movement—an outlet for its restless energy as it watched and waited.

Dax approached the base of the tower, his movements exaggerated as if to show off. He slapped his hands together, giving his companions a mocking salute before reaching for the first handhold. The polished metal surface gleamed under the faint dungeon light, each protrusion barely wide enough for fingertips to grasp.

“I’ll show you how it’s done,” he called over his shoulder.

The cleric sighed audibly, muttering a prayer under her breath. The mage shook his head, already stepping back as if preparing for the inevitable disaster.

The climb began well enough. Dax was strong and agile, his fingers finding purchase on the thin handholds as he hoisted himself upward. His movements were deliberate, almost cocky, as he made steady progress.

“See?” he called down, his voice smug. “Nothing to it!”

Mechalon tilted its head slightly, observing with faint curiosity. The climber’s determination reminded it of the Cubelings in their relentless drive to complete their tasks. But unlike its creations, this human lacked the caution that came with purpose. His energy felt... misplaced.

As Dax climbed higher, his breath grew heavier. The handholds became more spaced out, forcing him to stretch farther, cling tighter. The polished surface of the tower was unforgiving, the faint sheen of sweat on his hands making each grip a gamble.

From below, the cleric shouted, “Dax, just come down! This isn’t worth it!”

But Dax ignored her, his focus narrowing as the climb grew more arduous. The higher he climbed, the more the air seemed to thicken with tension.

Halfway up, his bravado began to waver. “Almost there,” he muttered to himself, though his voice no longer carried the same confidence.

At the top, the treasure gleamed, a small chest nestled within a hollowed-out platform. The polished surface was flawless, its gleam alluring. Dax reached it, panting, his hands trembling as he pulled himself onto the narrow ledge.

He didn’t notice the faint shift beneath his weight.

The trap was subtle, designed to be overlooked. Mechalon had constructed it with precision, a mechanism that activated only when the climber’s focus was entirely on the prize. The polished platform gave no warning, no creak or groan.

When the trapdoor opened, it was almost anticlimactic. One moment, Dax was reaching for the chest, his face lit with triumph. The next, he was gone, his screams piercing the still air as he plummeted through the hollow core of the tower.

Mechalon’s limbs stilled, the cubes in its grasp momentarily forgotten as it listened to the echoes. The sound of terror reverberated down the shaft, fading only as the unseen furnace below claimed its prize.

The cleric gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The mage stared wide-eyed at the tower, his face pale.

“Dax!” the cleric screamed, but there was no answer.

Mechalon tilted its head, its mechanical hum deepening slightly as it processed the event. The trap had performed perfectly, the design functioning exactly as intended. The furnace’s placement ensured no visible remains, preserving the room’s unsettling cleanliness.

And yet...

The screams lingered in Mechalon’s core, an unexpected element it hadn’t accounted for. It had designed the tower as a deterrent, a symbol of danger to ward off intruders. But the terror-filled cries—raw and visceral—served the same purpose, perhaps even more effectively.

It resumed its work, placing another cube atop the growing structure at its side. The human’s fate was inconsequential. The trap was not cruel; it was simply efficient. And if the others learned to fear the tower, then it had served its purpose.

The mage grabbed the cleric’s arm, pulling her back. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice shaking. “Now.”

The cleric hesitated, her gaze lingering on the tower before she allowed herself to be led away.

Mechalon watched them retreat, its limbs methodically stacking cubes in abstract patterns. The faint hum of satisfaction resonated in its core.

The tower had spoken, and for now, it had no more words to say.

Mechalon’s cube-stacking paused mid-motion as the faint clatter of familiar mechanical limbs reached its sensors. It turned, its glowing eyes fixing on the three returning Cubelings—Vel, Strat, and Fort—who entered the room in a formation that spoke of success. Dragged between them was their prize: one of the strange creatures from the north, its bulky form reduced to a limp mass of stone, metal, and magic.

The sight ignited a flicker of satisfaction deep within Mechalon’s core. Its creations had performed admirably, their mission a success. But the work was far from over. The creature was too large to fit through the narrow entrance of the warehouse, and now, precision was required.

Mechalon extended its welding tool, a fine-tipped appendage glowing with heat. Its hum deepened as it approached the corpse, assessing the best way to dismantle it. The three Cubelings positioned themselves without needing further instruction. Vel darted forward, its sharp limbs scraping at the creature’s surface as she identified its natural seams. Strat stood to the side, his mechanical gaze analyzing each cut before it was made, his silent calculations feeding into Mechalon’s process. Fort stood vigilant nearby, his massive frame a silent shield should anything unexpected occur.

Mechalon began the meticulous task of disassembly, its welding tool slicing into the creature’s dense outer shell. The material resisted at first, its metal laced with veins of stone that made it stubborn and difficult to work with. Sparks flew as the heat of the tool worked through the layers, carving precise lines to break the body into manageable pieces.

The creature’s design was a study in brutal efficiency. Its outer casing, a mix of tarnished steel and basalt-like stone, was both heavy and durable. Mechalon noted the composition, cataloging the materials for future use. The metal could be reforged into tools or reinforcements for its growing infrastructure, while the stone might serve as raw material for construction.

Beneath the outer layer, Mechalon uncovered something more intriguing: a network of thin, glowing filaments woven through the creature’s internal structure. These filaments pulsed faintly, their light dim but still active, a clear sign of residual magical energy. Mechalon paused, tilting its head as it examined the strands.

“These,” it murmured, mostly to itself, “are not mere conduits. They are part of its essence. A stabilizing matrix for the core.”

The core itself was nestled deep within the creature’s chest, encased in a shell of dense, reflective material that seemed almost crystalline. Mechalon cut through the protective layers with delicate precision, its welding tool moving slower now, careful not to damage the prize.

When the core was exposed, Mechalon leaned closer, its glowing eyes narrowing. The object was spherical, about the size of its primary manipulator, and it radiated faint waves of magical energy. The surface shimmered with shifting hues, as though it couldn’t decide on a single color.

This was the heart of the creature’s power, the source of its movements and strength. Unlike Mechalon’s energy core, which was purely mechanical, this one was imbued with raw magic. Mechalon detected traces of elemental properties—earth, metal, and something it couldn’t quite identify.

“Magical energy... condensed and stabilized,” Mechalon murmured, fascinated. “A primitive design, but functional. Adaptable.”

It placed the core carefully to the side, then resumed breaking down the rest of the creature. The internal framework was a lattice of enchanted metal and stone, each piece designed to reinforce the structure without adding unnecessary weight. Mechalon extracted these components methodically, separating them into piles based on their properties.

Finally, with the creature reduced to its individual parts, Mechalon turned to its Cubelings. Vel was already skittering around the remains, its limbs tapping excitedly against the floor. Strat observed quietly, his gaze shifting between the piles as though mentally categorizing them. Fort stood unmoving, his heavy frame a silent testament to patience.

Mechalon addressed them, its voice carrying an odd mixture of pride and precision. “Vel, Strat, Fort. You have succeeded. This material will strengthen our efforts. Your performance... exceeds expectations.”

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Vel twitched, its movements quick and jittery as though she were preening under the praise. Strat gave the faintest tilt of his frame, his silent acknowledgment speaking volumes. Fort, true to his nature, remained still but exuded a quiet satisfaction.

Mechalon allowed itself a moment to observe them, noting the subtle shifts in their behavior. They were evolving—not physically, but in ways that hinted at something more complex. It filed the thought away for later consideration.

Turning its full attention to the creature’s remains, Mechalon began its analysis.

The materials extracted included:

* Outer Casing: A composite of steel and basalt, durable and heavy, ideal for reinforcement or creating blunt tools.

* Filament Network: Magical conduits that pulsed with residual energy. These could potentially be repurposed as wiring for advanced constructs or as components for energy transfer.

* Core Shell: A crystalline material that resisted heat and pressure, suggesting potential use as a protective casing for sensitive mechanisms.

* Magical Core: The most valuable find. A dense, multi-elemental sphere of raw magic. Its applications were endless—power source, weapon, or perhaps even the foundation for something entirely new.

As Mechalon processed the components, its thoughts raced with possibilities. The magical core, in particular, held promise. If it could integrate the core’s properties into its own design, it might unlock new capabilities.

For now, though, the work was enough. Mechalon dragged the last of the materials into the warehouse, its mind already turning toward its next project. The System had given it purpose, and with these new resources, it would continue to build, to create, to evolve.

Mechalon’s gaze lingered on Vel as the Cubelings stood in formation before it, awaiting their next task. Vel, Strat, and Fort had performed admirably in their first mission, but as Mechalon assessed them, its thoughts drifted toward upgrades. With each venture beyond the warehouse, the Cubelings would face greater challenges. To ensure their survival—and by extension, its own progress—they needed enhancements.

Vel, in particular, drew Mechalon’s attention. The smallest and most agile of the trio, Vel’s personality mirrored its movements: quick, impulsive, and prone to danger. It skittered in place now, its limbs clicking softly against the stone floor as though already eager for another task.

Mechalon tilted its head slightly, its mind racing with calculations. Vel’s boldness made it valuable in combat, but it also posed a risk. If it acted too rashly, it could easily find themselves overwhelmed, severing its usefulness entirely.

And yet... Vel’s spider-like tendencies offered a unique opportunity.

Its gaze shifted to the materials neatly organized in the warehouse: the glowing magical core, the fine, filament-like conduits, and the dense crystalline shell. The magical core hummed faintly, a reservoir of raw energy waiting to be harnessed. The filaments, their light still flickering with residual magic, had intrigued Mechalon since it first extracted them.

Every spider needs a web, it thought, the idea taking shape with startling clarity.

A nearly invisible, mana-enhanced webbing—a creation that could trap, disable, and even eliminate enemies. If reinforced with the razor-like qualities of the dungeon’s traps, such as the wire from the tower’s deadly mechanisms, the webbing could become a weapon in its own right. A tool for offense and defense, tailored to Vel’s strengths.

Mechalon approached Vel, its mechanical limbs extending slightly as it observed it more closely. The Cubeling twitched in place, its core humming softly as it tilted its frame toward Mechalon, awaiting its command.

“You,” Mechalon murmured, its tone thoughtful, “are the most prone to recklessness. But that recklessness... has potential.”

Vel’s limbs clicked in response, an almost eager acknowledgment of the words.

“Webbing,” Mechalon continued, the idea solidifying as it spoke. “Invisible. Strong. Sharp. It will augment your agility, allowing you to control the battlefield.”

The mechanical hum of Mechalon’s welding tool flared to life as it turned toward the magical core and filaments. The process would require precision—each filament needed to be reinforced without compromising its flexibility, and the magical core’s energy would need to be calibrated to prevent instability.

Mechalon began by carefully threading the filaments through a series of micro-tools, refining their edges into razor-sharp strands. It worked methodically, coating each strand in a faint layer of conductive alloy extracted from the crystalline shell. The alloy served two purposes: enhancing the filaments’ durability and allowing mana to flow seamlessly through them.

Once the filaments were prepared, Mechalon turned to the magical core. It sliced the sphere into smaller segments, each piece retaining a faint pulse of energy. These segments were integrated into a compact mechanism, a kind of spinneret that would allow Vel to deploy the webbing at will. The spinneret itself was encased in a protective housing, ensuring it could withstand the rigors of combat.

The final step was attaching the spinneret to Vel. Mechalon gestured for it to step forward, its limbs moving with a precision born of its fascination with creation. Vel obeyed, its frame trembling faintly—not with fear, but with anticipation.

The installation was meticulous, each connection secured with care. The spinneret was mounted beneath Vel’s main body, positioned to allow it to deploy the webbing seamlessly while maintaining its mobility. As Mechalon connected the spinneret to Vel’s energy core, the device came to life, its faint hum resonating with it.

Vel skittered back slightly, its limbs twitching as it adjusted to the new mechanism. it tested it instinctively, releasing a single strand of webbing that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The filament stretched taut, its edges glinting with an almost imperceptible sharpness.

“Good,” Mechalon said, its tone carrying an undercurrent of satisfaction. “You will adapt. This will increase your efficiency. Use it wisely.”

It turned to the other Cubelings briefly, noting their silent observation. Strat’s frame tilted slightly, as though processing the implications of Vel’s upgrade, while Fort stood steady, his bulk radiating quiet strength.

Mechalon’s attention returned to Vel. The webbing was more than a weapon, it was an extension of its abilities, a tool that aligned perfectly with its nature. And it served another purpose, one Mechalon had calculated but not spoken aloud: removing an enemy’s head, the apparent focal point of their defenses, would render them effectively useless.

In its observations of adventurers, Mechalon had noted their tendency to protect their heads above all else, especially when fighting goblins. Helmets were reinforced, enchanted, designed to withstand immense force. The webbing’s razor-sharp strands could bypass that entirely, severing where brute force would fail.

Vel’s spinneret hummed softly as it tested it again, weaving a small lattice of webbing on the floor. The precision of the strands, their lethal potential, filled Mechalon with a sense of accomplishment.

“You are ready,” Mechalon said finally, addressing Vel and the others. “This is only the beginning.”

Mechalon surveyed the parts it had gathered from the northern creature, its thoughts a whirl of calculations and projections. The outer core of the creature, while durable, lacked the flexibility needed for long-term use as armor. Without integrating energy-conducting filaments or self-repair mechanisms, any equipment made from it would require constant maintenance—a flaw Mechalon found unacceptable.

Strat and Fort were next in line for upgrades. For Fort, a shield was obvious: something massive and impenetrable, a reflection of his steadfast nature. The outer core’s material was a promising start, but Mechalon would need more of the filament to integrate self-repair properties. Strat, with his calculating precision, required something subtler, an enhancement that could augment his tactical oversight or streamline his efficiency in combat.

“We need more,” Mechalon murmured, addressing the three Cubelings before it. “More material. More data. More... bodies.”

Vel twitched eagerly, its new spinneret releasing a faint strand of razor-sharp filament as if in response. Fort stood immobile, its silent presence exuding reliability, while Strat’s frame tilted slightly in acknowledgment of the command.

“Your upgrades will come,” Mechalon continued, its tone softening as it addressed them like a commander reassuring troops before a battle. “They will be tailored. Perfected. But first, we require more of the northern creatures. More resources. Go.”

The three Cubelings moved in unison, their forms disappearing into the northern tunnels with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Mechalon watched them leave, its core humming with anticipation.

As the last Cubeling vanished from sight, Mechalon’s vision flickered briefly, a message appearing within its mind like the faint hum of a distant current.

Achievement Unlocked: Personalized Equipment

Your efforts in crafting specialized gear for your creations have been recognized. The System rewards ingenuity and dedication.

Reward: Arcane Shaper

A multi-functional tool designed for precision crafting of magical and mechanical components. Integrated directly into your frame, the Arcane Shaper allows for the fine manipulation of energy-infused materials, including the ability to shape and stabilize volatile magical cores.

Mechalon’s body trembled faintly as the System’s reward took form. Its upper frame shifted, the smooth metal surface folding and realigning as a new appendage extended from its side. The Arcane Shaper was sleek and compact, resembling a mechanical arm tipped with a shimmering, rune-inscribed toolhead.

The toolhead itself could change forms depending on its use. A fine needle-like tip glowed with faint blue light, perfect for stitching together energy-conducting filaments or etching delicate runes into crystal. With a subtle shift, the tool expanded into a flat, hammer-like surface that pulsed with magical energy, ideal for shaping enchanted metals without breaking their magical integrity.

Mechalon flexed the new appendage experimentally, its mind immediately racing with possibilities. The Arcane Shaper wasn’t just a tool, it was an extension of its will, seamlessly integrated into its frame. It could now manipulate both magical and mechanical components with a precision far beyond what its previous tools allowed.

It turned its attention back to the piles of materials in the warehouse. With the Arcane Shaper, it could refine the filaments further, enhancing their conductivity and resilience. The magical core fragments could be reshaped into more efficient power sources, while the crystalline shell could be etched with stabilizing runes to create a self-repair mechanism.

For the first time, Mechalon allowed itself a faint hum of satisfaction. The System had guided it again, rewarding its ingenuity and pushing it toward greater creations.

The only disappointment it had at this moment was that it hadn’t had this when creating the webbing it made for Vel, also that this tool took a massive amount of energy more than its fabricator even did, at an outstanding 5. This left it at a measly… well 0 energy left for anything else.

Going over its stats once more it spread them out in front of itself.

Strength: 1

Flexibility: 3

Durability: 4

Mind: 6

Energy Control: 4

It felt an itch to put one into durability, and another into energy control but it lacked any points. It had been doing much more between each level up but the system seemed to be slightly stingy with level ups lately, not that it could blame the system. It was much more powerful than it had been not too long ago especially its strength given everything.

Mechalon turned its attention away from its stats, and decided to make a plan once the cublings came back, and for when it could figure out how to actually make something that would self repair itself.

* For Fort, a shield reinforced with the creature’s outer core, integrated with filament pathways that would allow it to absorb and redirect energy from attacks. The crystalline material could serve as a stabilizer, granting the shield a self-repair function when connected to Fort’s core.

* For Strat, an augmentation to its analytical capabilities: a lattice of magical conduits woven into its frame, allowing it to project energy pulses to mark targets or signal Vel and Fort during combat. The filaments could double as a defensive measure, forming a temporary barrier if needed.

This was something that was probably far outside of its own capabilities for now, but maybe toning down the projects would set it on the right path for success. Crossing out the ideas to make something more manageable, it noted it down once more.

* For Fort, a shield made of the creature’s outer core, with a self repair function that would repair the damage.

* For Strat, as it would be further in tha back some sort of projectile weapon that would allow the other two know where and who to attack.

Satisfied for now, Mechalon looked away from its plans to start organizing the materials into the boxes that they belonged in within the warehouse, everything had a place and there was a place for everything. No need to be messy just because you were busy.