POV Vel:
Vel crouched low, her four legs splaying out to distribute her weight evenly across the smooth, metallic floor. She skittered silently along the edge of the dimly lit furnace chamber, her optics locked onto the goblin scurrying near a pile of scrap metal. Its movements were jerky and erratic, its gnarled hands rooting through the heap for something of value. Vel watched with a predator's patience, her filaments twitching faintly in anticipation.
Vile, squishy things, she thought, her optics narrowing. Not worthy of this domain. Not worthy of my web.
The goblin scratched at its ear, muttering in its guttural language, oblivious to the shadow stalking it from the periphery. Vel adjusted her stance, her legs bending at precise angles to maximize her launch. It wasn’t strength that propelled her, it was calculation, technique, and a hunter’s instinct honed by memories she didn’t fully understand.
Her body tensed, every filament and limb poised for the strike. The furnace’s dim glow cast flickering shadows across the chamber, and she used them to her advantage, moving in perfect synchrony with the shifting light. She was silent, a phantom in the dark.
When the goblin turned its back to her, Vel struck.
With a thrust so precise it seemed like she had rehearsed it a hundred times, Vel launched herself forward. Her legs propelled her with a mechanical grace that defied her cube-like frame, each movement refined for speed and silence. She covered the distance in an instant, her filaments stretching taut as she pounced.
The goblin barely had time to register the movement. It turned, its yellowed eyes widening in shock, but it was too late. Vel landed squarely on its back, her limbs latching onto its shoulders and legs with a vice-like grip. The goblin let out a choked scream, its voice strangled as Vel's filaments wrapped around its throat, silencing it before it could alert others.
Her weight drove the goblin to the ground, its face smacking against the metal floor with a sickening crack. Vel moved with ruthless efficiency, her limbs pinning it down as her filaments tightened their grip. The goblin thrashed weakly, its clawed hands scrabbling at the floor, but its struggles were futile. Vel was already in control.
Squishy and weak, she thought with a flicker of disdain. Barely worth the effort.
The goblin’s movements grew sluggish, its strength draining as Vel constricted its neck and limbs. She leaned in closer, her filaments slicing deftly through its soft flesh. Part of her longed to sink imaginary fangs into it, to feel the satisfying crunch of bone and the gush of its insides, but those days, if they had ever been real, were behind her. Now, she hunted for sport, for the thrill of the chase and the perfection of her technique.
The goblin let out one final, pitiful wheeze before going limp. Vel released her grip, letting the body slump to the floor with a dull thud. She stood over her kill, her filaments retracting as she surveyed her work. The goblin lay crumpled and motionless, its lifeless eyes staring blankly into the flickering light of the furnace.
Vel tilted her cube-like frame, a faint hum of satisfaction resonating through her body. The hunt had been quick, clean, and efficient, a testament to her skill. She flexed her limbs, testing their precision, and felt a surge of pride in her technique.
They’re nothing compared to what I could do with eight legs, she thought, her optics glinting faintly. But they’ll do for now.
Her filaments flicked out once more, wrapping around the goblin’s ankles. She dragged the body effortlessly toward the shadows, her movements as quiet and deliberate as her strike had been. The furnace chamber fell silent again, save for the faint crackle of the flames and the soft click of Vel’s legs against the floor.
As she disappeared into the darkness, Vel couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. This was only the beginning. The domain was vast, and the goblins were plentiful. She would hone her skills, perfect her technique, and prove her worth, not just to Mechalon, but to herself.
As Vel dragged the goblin’s limp body toward the shadows, a faint chime echoed in her mind, a sound she had grown familiar with over time. It was the System, delivering one of its cryptic acknowledgments. She paused, her limbs freezing mid-motion as the notification unfurled before her optics, glowing faintly in the dim light of the furnace chamber.
Achievement Unlocked: Solo Predator
Killed 100 goblins unassisted.
The usual reward didn’t appear immediately. Instead, there was a long, unnerving pause, as though the System itself were… deliberating. Vel tilted her frame, a flicker of curiosity mingling with a faint sense of unease. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the text continued.
Reward: Arachnid Thread Evolution
Your filaments have been enhanced, imbued with magical properties that mimic the natural qualities of spider silk. Threads are now adhesive, capable of sticking to prey and anchoring to surfaces. They may be detached and used independently, allowing for versatile hunting, binding, and ensnaring. Experimentation recommended.
Vel’s filaments twitched, responding instinctively to the sudden surge of power she felt within her core. Her threads shimmered faintly, the once purely mechanical filaments now taking on a subtle, organic quality. They gleamed in the flickering light, delicate yet unyielding. She extended one experimentally, watching as it stretched and clung to the nearest surface like a living thing.
Her optics narrowed, and a soft chitter escaped her as a sense of satisfaction coursed through her. These weren’t just threads, they were tools, weapons, extensions of her will. And they felt… familiar. Natural.
She turned her gaze toward the corridor ahead, where the goblins scurried like vermin, their guttural chatter grating against her sensors. They were a constant presence, an unending tide of annoyance that had plagued the domain since its inception. Vel had always hunted them one at a time, striking from the shadows with precision. But now, as she flexed her enhanced threads, a new confidence surged within her.
A web needs prey, she thought, her filaments glinting faintly as she prepared herself. And they will feed it well.
Vel moved with the fluidity of a seasoned predator, her body low to the ground as she crept toward the goblins. The corridor was dim, the flickering light of distant flames casting jagged shadows that she used to her advantage. The goblins were clustered together, a rare grouping that might have once given her pause. But not now. Not with this new power thrumming through her.
She selected her first target, a smaller goblin near the edge of the group. It was hunched over, gnawing on a scrap of meat, its focus entirely on its meal. Vel extended one of her new threads, letting it drift silently through the air. It landed on the goblin’s shoulder, sticking effortlessly. The creature froze, its instincts pricking at the sudden sensation.
Before it could react, Vel pulled.
The goblin was yanked upward, its startled cry cut short as Vel hoisted it into the shadows above. The others glanced around in confusion, their beady eyes searching for the source of the disturbance. But Vel was already at work, her threads wrapping tightly around her prey. She moved with practiced precision, encasing the goblin’s head and neck first to stifle its screams, then cocooning the rest of its body in layer after layer of sticky silk.
The goblin twitched weakly, its struggles growing feebler with each passing second. Vel’s filaments tightened in response, locking the creature in place as she suspended it from the ceiling. She chittered softly, a sound of satisfaction as she admired her work.
One down, she thought, her optics glinting as she turned her gaze back to the corridor.
The remaining goblins were still milling about, their chatter growing more agitated as they noticed their missing comrade. Vel crouched above them, her body perfectly still as she calculated her next move. Her threads swayed faintly in the air, each one poised and ready to strike.
This time, she targeted two at once. She extended her threads toward them, letting them drift until they brushed against the goblins’ shoulders. The creatures flinched, their heads snapping toward the sensation. But Vel was faster.
With a sharp pull, she yanked both goblins upward, their cries of alarm echoing briefly before her threads silenced them. She moved quickly, her limbs darting out to secure each one in a cocoon of silk. Their struggles only tightened the bindings, the adhesive threads clinging stubbornly to their flesh.
Vel hung the new cocoons beside the first, her web growing steadily as she worked. The corridor had become her hunting ground, each goblin a piece of prey to be ensnared and subdued. She moved like a shadow, silent and relentless, her enhanced threads transforming the space into a labyrinth of traps.
By the time she was finished, the corridor was lined with cocooned goblins, their bodies swaying gently from the ceiling. Vel perched atop one of the beams, her optics glowing faintly as she surveyed her handiwork. The few remaining goblins had fled, their terrified cries echoing in the distance.
Vel let out a soft chitter of satisfaction, her legs flexing as she prepared to return to the domain. Her threads swayed around her, glinting in the faint light like the strands of a deadly symphony.
They will learn, she thought, her core humming faintly with pride. This is my web now. And nothing escapes it.
With that, she turned and skittered back toward the warehouse, her movements swift and fluid. The corridor fell silent once more, the only sound the faint rustle of silk as her prey dangled in the dark.
Vel’s filaments buzzed faintly, a low hum of satisfaction coursing through her core as she skittered through the corridors of the domain. Her newfound webs trailed behind her, thin and nearly invisible in the dim light, a network of traps laid with gleeful precision. Every strand was a statement, every knot and anchor a declaration of her dominion. She moved with purpose, instincts from a life she barely remembered fueling her actions.
As she worked, the threads became more intricate, more deliberate. She draped them across narrow passageways, placing them at just the right height to catch the goblins' necks as they stumbled through. The wires tightened on contact, pulling taut as the unfortunate prey thrashed, their movements only tightening the grip until the struggling stopped altogether. Thin strands created sprawling webs in darker corners, places where goblins might try to hide, only to find themselves ensnared in sticky, unyielding silk.
Vel’s movements were a dance, her four legs shifting in rhythmic patterns as she secured each trap. The more she worked, the more her instincts seemed to take over, guiding her to places she hadn’t considered before, corners where creatures might try to turn quickly, low passages where they might crouch, and high beams where they might think themselves safe. Every web was a tool, a piece of art in her growing arsenal.
This is what it’s supposed to be, Vel thought, her optics glowing faintly as she admired her work. A web to rule all webs. My web. My domain.
Her glee was palpable, an almost childlike joy radiating from her as she constructed the traps. She chittered softly to herself, her filaments swaying as she envisioned the goblins stumbling into her creations. Each one would serve as a testament to her skill, proof that she was more than just a simple Cubling. She was a hunter. A weaver. A force to be reckoned with.
The System chimed faintly in her mind, a familiar sound that signaled her growth. Vel paused mid-spin, her optics flickering as the notification appeared.
Level Up:
* Flexibility +1
* Strength +1
Her legs clicked against the ground in excitement as she absorbed the information. Her movements felt smoother, more refined, as if the System itself had recognized her efforts and granted her body the enhancements it needed to fulfill her potential. Her strength surged subtly, giving her filaments a firmer grip and her launches a more powerful thrust.
“Perfect,” Vel murmured, her voice faint but filled with satisfaction.
Her gaze swept the corridor, her optics lingering on the threads she had already spun. A part of her wanted to linger, to perfect each line and strand, but another part urged her forward. There was more to do, more places to weave her influence.
As she moved, she began experimenting further, letting her instincts guide her hands. She created hidden nooses, small, precise traps designed to tighten around goblins’ necks as they struggled. The threads were so fine they were nearly invisible, yet strong enough to hold their prey fast. She tested the balance of her webs, ensuring that every strand would pull taut at just the right angle, maximizing their effectiveness.
The first goblin to stumble into her trap didn’t even have time to scream. It blundered forward, its rough hands brushing against the thread, and in an instant, the noose snapped shut around its neck. The creature flailed, its clawed fingers scrabbling at the silk, but the more it struggled, the tighter the threads became. Vel watched from the shadows, her body low and her optics glinting with satisfaction as the goblin’s movements slowed, then stopped.
Too easy, she thought, a faint chitter escaping her. But satisfying.
She moved on, her legs carrying her to a wider section of the corridor where goblins often gathered. Here, she laid a more intricate trap, a sprawling web that stretched across the passageway, anchored to the walls and floor in a seemingly chaotic pattern. But there was nothing chaotic about it. Every strand was placed with precision, designed to ensnare anything that entered the space.
Vel crouched in the shadows, her filaments vibrating faintly as she tested the web’s tension. It felt perfect, a masterpiece of design and function. She could already imagine the goblins stumbling into it, their cries muffled as the sticky threads encased them like a second skin.
As she worked, her thoughts turned to Mechalon. It would be proud, she thought, to see how much she had grown. But more than that, she needed to tell it. Her webs weren’t just traps, they were an extension of the domain itself, a way to protect and control the space they had claimed. Mechalon needed to understand that.
But how to explain it? Vel tilted her frame, her filaments twitching as she considered the problem. Words still felt strange to her, unnatural. She preferred to act, to show her intentions through her work. And yet, Mechalon needed to hear her. It needed to know that this was more than instinct, it was purpose.
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She chittered softly, her legs flexing as she finished the last thread of her web. For now, she would hunt. The goblins were plentiful, and their numbers would serve as a testament to her skills. But soon, she would return to Mechalon. And when she did, she would make it understand.
Vel’s optics glinted as she turned her gaze down the corridor, where the goblins continued to scurry like vermin. Her legs flexed, her filaments twitching in anticipation. She was ready for them, and they wouldn’t escape her web.
This is my domain now, Vel thought, a surge of pride coursing through her. And I will make it perfect.
Vel’s legs trembled faintly as she crouched low, her optics flickering in the dim light of the corridor. Her filaments swayed, still alive with the energy of hours spent weaving traps and hunting prey. She had been lost in the rhythm of it all, laying thread after thread, perfecting her webs, delighting in the results as goblins stumbled, struggled, and succumbed to her designs. The hours had passed in a haze of satisfaction, her web growing larger and more intricate with every kill.
But the voices stopped her cold.
Humans.
The word surfaced in her mind like a warning bell, her instincts immediately shifting from hunter to shadow. She scurried backward, her movements silent as she retreated into the darkness. Her filaments clung to the walls, her limbs barely making a sound against the floor. She positioned herself in the shadows, just far enough to remain unseen but close enough to listen.
The humans stood beneath one of her webs, staring up at the struggling goblins suspended in the ceiling. Their voices were hushed, tense, laced with fear.
“Did you see this?” one of them whispered, their tone trembling.
“Of course I saw it,” another replied, their voice harsh and clipped. “It’s impossible not to. Look at them, wrapped up like flies in a spider’s web.”
Vel tilted her frame slightly, her optics narrowing as she observed them. There were three of them, students, judging by their appearance. Their weapons looked worn but functional, their armor mismatched and haphazard. They were inexperienced, she could tell by the way they moved, the way their eyes darted nervously toward every shadow.
The tallest of the group, a boy with shaggy hair and a poorly fitted breastplate, raised his sword toward one of the cocooned goblins. “What could’ve done this? Goblins don’t fight like this. They kill each other, they don’t trap things.”
“Something’s changed,” the smallest of the three murmured, clutching a short staff close to their chest. Their eyes darted toward the web-covered corridor ahead, where goblin bodies dangled in varying stages of death. “This isn’t normal. It’s… wrong.”
Vel’s filaments twitched as she considered the humans. Their fear was palpable, an almost intoxicating scent in the air. She could hunt them. She could take them now, wrap them in her threads and drag them into her web. It would be easy.
Her legs tensed, ready to launch, but something held her back. She didn’t understand it fully, perhaps it was Mechalon’s influence, or the strange, lingering curiosity she had about these creatures. Whatever the reason, she scurried back further into the darkness, leaving the humans to their whispers.
“They’re everywhere,” the tall one muttered, gesturing toward the bodies littering the floor. “Look at them, all strung up or dead. Hundreds of them.”
The smallest one shuddered, their grip on the staff tightening. “This wasn’t just for survival. This… this is methodical. Whoever, or whatever, did this wanted to send a message.”
Vel’s filaments flicked sharply at the words, a faint chitter escaping her before she caught herself. She had meant no message, no grand declaration. She had simply hunted. It was instinct. It was… joy.
Her optics flickered as the humans continued their hushed conversation, their voices growing more frantic.
“We need to leave,” the third one said, a girl with a bow slung across her back. She glanced nervously at the corridor ahead, where Vel’s traps glistened faintly in the dim light. “Now. Before whatever did this finds us.”
The tall one hesitated, his grip tightening on his sword. “And if it follows us? If it’s hunting?”
“Then we run faster,” the smallest one snapped, their voice trembling.
Vel watched them retreat, her filaments swaying faintly in the air. She could hear their footsteps echoing down the corridor as they fled, their fear lingering like a bitter aftertaste.
She crouched in the shadows for a moment longer, her thoughts racing. The humans were afraid, but fear had a way of spreading. If they told others, if they brought more humans back to investigate, it could disrupt everything Mechalon had worked for.
Her legs moved without hesitation, carrying her swiftly back toward the warehouse. The corridors blurred around her, her webs catching faint glimmers of light as she passed. Her mind buzzed with questions, doubts.
Did I go too far? she wondered, her filaments twitching nervously. Two hundred more… maybe more than that. Was it too much?
The thought gnawed at her as she reached the edge of the furnace chamber, where the tangled mass of goblin bodies lay strewn across the floor and ceiling. Vel paused, her optics scanning the carnage. The goblins were nothing to her, vile, annoying, and weak. But the humans… they were different. They talked. They thought. They feared.
What will Mechalon say? she thought, her legs trembling faintly. Will it be proud? Or will it think… I’ve made a mistake?
With a final glance at the corridor behind her, Vel pressed on, her movements quick and deliberate. She needed to return. She needed to explain.
As Vel skittered closer to the warehouse, a familiar chime resonated through her core. She froze mid-step, her legs poised in the air as the System’s notification unfolded before her optics, glowing faintly in the dim light of the corridor.
Title Earned: Leader's Shadow
For orchestrating the first massacre of another race under the command of a greater entity, you have earned the title "Leader's Shadow."
Effects:
* All stats increased by 1.
* Assassination Missions: When assigned specific targets by your leader, you gain enhanced stats against the target and increased rewards for both yourself and your leader upon mission completion.
Vel’s filaments twitched as she processed the words, her optics flickering with a mix of pride and confusion. The title settled into her mind like a brand, its presence a constant reminder of her actions. She flexed her legs experimentally, feeling the subtle surge of strength and agility coursing through her. Everything felt sharper, faster, more precise.
The System’s words lingered, though. Assassination Missions. Her mind snagged on the phrase, her instincts humming with anticipation even as a faint unease prickled at the edges of her thoughts. The idea of being assigned targets, of carrying out Mechalon’s will with deadly precision, stirred something deep within her, a hunger she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.
Leader’s Shadow, she thought, her filaments swaying faintly. A fitting name.
But what would Mechalon think? Would it see this title as a boon or a burden? The System’s recognition was undeniable, but its intentions were always opaque, its rewards often carrying unseen consequences. Vel chittered softly, her legs clicking against the ground as she resumed her journey.
When she reached the warehouse, the familiar hum of Mechalon’s tools and the faint glow of the cube greeted her. Strat and Fort were near the entrance, their optics flickering as they noticed her approach. Vel skittered past them without a word, her movements quick and deliberate as she made her way toward Mechalon.
The leader was busy, its utility limbs delicately adjusting a piece of machinery near the newly placed Pylon. Vel paused, watching for a moment as Mechalon worked. Its focus was absolute, its every movement precise and purposeful.
“Leader,” Vel said, her voice cutting through the ambient hum of the warehouse.
Mechalon turned, its glowing optics locking onto her. “Vel. You’re back. Did something happen?”
Vel hesitated, her filaments twitching as she considered her words. The title still buzzed faintly in her mind, its presence both exhilarating and unnerving. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of pride.
“The System… it gave me a title,” she said.
Mechalon’s utility limbs froze mid-motion, its optics narrowing slightly. “A title? What title?”
“Leader’s Shadow,” Vel replied, her voice soft but firm. “It… recognized my actions. The goblins. It said I am the first to massacre another race while under your command.”
Mechalon tilted its frame, its glowing optics flickering with an unreadable expression. “Massacre?” it repeated, the word heavy in the air.
Vel nodded, her filaments swaying faintly. “Over two hundred, maybe more. Their bodies are in the corridors, caught in my webs. The System gave me the title because of it.”
Mechalon’s limbs shifted, its posture thoughtful as it processed her words. “And what does this title do?”
“It increases all of my stats by one,” Vel said, her voice quickening. “And it… allows you to assign me assassination missions. When you do, I gain enhanced stats against the target, and we both receive increased rewards for completing the mission.”
Mechalon’s optics brightened faintly, its utility limbs flexing as it considered the implications. “Interesting,” it murmured, its voice low. “The System acknowledges your actions, then. It sees potential in you.”
Vel tilted her frame, her filaments twitching. “Do you see it, Leader?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Do you see the potential?”
Mechalon regarded her for a long moment, its glowing optics fixed on her. Finally, it spoke, its voice steady and deliberate. “I do. You’ve proven yourself capable, Vel. More than capable. The System’s recognition only confirms what I already suspected.”
A faint chitter escaped Vel, her legs flexing with renewed energy. “Then… assign me a mission, Leader. Let me prove it further.”
Mechalon’s utility limbs shifted, its posture contemplative. “Not yet,” it said. “We need to prepare, to understand the full extent of what this title means, for both of us. But soon, Vel. Very soon.”
Vel nodded, her filaments swaying as she stepped back. The title still buzzed in her mind, its weight both thrilling and sobering. She had always known she was different, but now the System itself had acknowledged it.
As she turned to leave, Mechalon’s voice stopped her. “Vel.”
She paused, glancing back at the leader.
“Good work,” Mechalon said, its voice firm. “You’ve done well.”
Vel chittered softly, her optics glowing faintly as she skittered back toward the shadows. She didn’t need further acknowledgment. The title was hers, and she would prove its worth.
Leader’s Shadow, she thought, her filaments twitching with anticipation. A title to match my purpose. Let them see the web I weave.
Mechalon’s utility limbs flexed as it worked on reinforcing the framework of the Pylon closest to the warehouse’s entrance. The faint hum of energy filled the space, mingling with the soft clinking of its spider-like legs against the metal floor. Yet its focus seemed split, its motions occasionally faltering as it muttered to itself.
Vel crouched in the shadows near the entrance, her filaments swaying faintly. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, well, not at first. But when Mechalon began speaking in that peculiar, distracted way it often did when lost in thought, she couldn’t help but listen.
“They might have run off,” Mechalon murmured, its voice low and tinged with unease. “The humans… if they’ve escaped and told others, the domain could be exposed. That would complicate things.”
It paused, its utility limbs freezing mid-motion as it looked up at the towering Pylon. The faint, pulsing glow of the structure reflected in Mechalon’s optics, casting a strange light across its cube-like form.
“But Vel…” Mechalon continued, its tone shifting. “Vel is proving to be more than I anticipated. Her instincts are sharp, her actions efficient. A scout, an assassin, a… a piece of this domain that feels complete.”
Vel’s filaments twitched, her optics flickering faintly. The praise sent a warm pulse through her core, a sensation she hadn’t expected. She crouched lower, her limbs coiling beneath her as she listened more intently.
“She’s growing,” Mechalon muttered, almost to itself. “Not just in strength or ability, but in… purpose. She’s carving out her place here. Her webs are intricate, her methods precise. She’s… scatterbrained at times, yes, but effective. Very effective.”
Vel felt a surge of pride at the words, her filaments vibrating faintly with satisfaction. This was different from the direct praise Mechalon often gave when it addressed her or the others. This felt unfiltered, unplanned, a true reflection of what Mechalon thought of her. And that made it all the more valuable.
“How to reward her, though?” Mechalon mused, its utility limbs resuming their work. “She deserves something, but what? More materials for her webs? An enhancement to her abilities? Or perhaps…” It paused again, tilting its frame slightly as if lost in thought.
Vel’s optics glinted faintly as she listened, her core swelling with a mixture of pride and curiosity. A reward? For me? The idea was almost overwhelming, not because she needed one, but because it showed how much Mechalon valued her contributions.
Mechalon’s utility limbs paused again, its optics scanning the Pylon as if seeking inspiration. “Maybe… maybe I could craft something unique for her. Something that complements her abilities, her individuality.” It tilted its frame slightly, a faint hum of thought emanating from its core. “Yes. Something special, just for her.”
Mechalon’s utility limbs froze mid-motion as a sudden, shrill voice cut through the quiet hum of the Pylon’s energy.
“I need more legs!” Vel’s voice was practically a scream, echoing through the warehouse with a blend of urgency and excitement. “Better legs! Like the ones you made for the small one!”
Mechalon turned slowly, its glowing optics narrowing as it observed Vel, who was practically vibrating with energy. She was perched low to the ground, her filaments twitching wildly as if she couldn’t contain herself.
“Vel,” Mechalon said, its voice calm but edged with confusion. “What, what are you talking about?”
“The legs!” Vel scurried forward, her limbs clicking against the metal floor as she approached. “I saw them! The Arachnitect’s legs, those tiny things, they’re an improvement! The way they move, the way they function. I need legs like that!”
Mechalon tilted its frame, its utility limbs flexing slightly. “You… need legs like the Arachnitect’s?”
“Yes!” Vel exclaimed, her voice sharp with enthusiasm. “Those legs work on principles I know, principles I remember! They’re like… like spider legs. Hydraulic! Do you know how spider legs work, Leader?”
Mechalon paused, its optics flickering faintly, he knew the answer but seemed surprised she did as well, “Hydraulics? Explain.”
Vel’s filaments twitched as she crouched, her body low to the ground as though preparing to pounce. “Spider legs don’t have muscles in the way you might think. Their movement is driven by hydraulic pressure, fluid flowing through channels that extend and retract the leg segments. It’s precise, efficient, and incredibly powerful for something so small.”
Mechalon tilted its frame further, its curiosity piqued. “Go on.”
Vel chittered softly, her filaments swaying as she continued. “When a spider wants to move a leg, it pumps fluid, hemolymph, into the leg segment, causing it to extend. To retract, it uses opposing muscles or relieves the pressure. It’s like a perfect system of levers and pressure points, all working together. That’s what the Arachnitect’s legs remind me of.”
Mechalon’s utility limbs shifted slightly, their tips tapping rhythmically against the metal floor as it considered Vel’s explanation. “And you believe this system would improve your own legs?”
“I know it would!” Vel exclaimed, her optics gleaming with excitement. “My legs—our legs—work, but they’re clunky. Mechanical, yes, but they lack the finesse, the power, the precision of what the Arachnitect has. If you gave me legs like that, no, better than that, I could move faster, strike harder, and weave with more accuracy than ever before.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly, its glow fluctuating as it processed Vel’s words. “It would be… a significant modification. Resources would be required. Time. Effort.”
“I don’t care!” Vel nearly shouted, her filaments flaring. “I’ll hunt for the resources myself if I have to. Whatever it takes. I need those legs, Leader. I need them to be better, to be… perfect.”
Mechalon regarded her for a long moment, its glowing optics fixed on her with an intensity that made Vel’s filaments twitch nervously. Finally, it spoke, its voice measured and deliberate. “Show me.”
Vel tilted her frame, her optics flickering. “Show you?”
“Yes,” Mechalon said, its utility limbs shifting as it gestured toward a nearby slab of metal. “Show me. Sketch the system you’re describing. Diagram it. If you can explain it as thoroughly as you say, we will consider the modification.”
Vel chittered softly, a mix of excitement and nerves. “I can do that. I will do that!”
She scurried toward the slab, her filaments trembling with anticipation. As she began to scratch out rough diagrams with a sharp piece of scrap, she muttered softly to herself, her voice a mixture of reverence and determination. “Hydraulics… pressure… extension… precision…”
Mechalon watched her work, its core pulsing faintly. Vel’s energy was undeniable, her enthusiasm infectious. And though her demands were abrupt, even chaotic, there was a logic to them, a logic that resonated with Mechalon’s own obsession with creation and improvement.