POV Strat:
Strat’s optics dimmed as he stared out over the warehouse, his vision tracing the lines of the makeshift battlefield he had crafted. Small rocks and scavenged debris were scattered across the smooth stone floor, representing enemies, obstacles, and objectives. Roaches scurried among the pieces, serving as both sparring partners and test subjects. The scene was a crude mockup of the larger battles Strat was beginning to anticipate, and it filled him with a quiet, gnawing unease.
He wasn’t sure he could keep up.
The thought lingered in his mind like a crack in stone, growing wider with each passing moment. The domain had expanded rapidly under Mechalon’s direction, and Strat had always prided himself on staying a step ahead. But now… the terrain was shifting. The Arachnitect had joined their ranks, bringing with it a complexity Strat wasn’t used to managing. And that was just one.
He’d overheard Mechalon’s plans, the murmured excitement as it spoke to itself while tinkering with blueprints. There would be more. Swarms of new Cublings, each with unique abilities and specific roles, each requiring coordination and strategy. The thought of trying to manage them all was enough to send a tremor through Strat’s usually unflappable core.
He flexed his utility limbs, their sharp edges glinting faintly in the dim light. His hidden blade, folded neatly within his frame, twitched as if in response to his rising tension. It wasn’t just the sheer number of units that concerned him—it was the speed at which things were changing. Every new addition brought new strengths, but also new vulnerabilities. Strat couldn’t shake the fear that he might miss something crucial, that a misstep on his part could unravel everything Mechalon had built.
His optics brightened slightly as he focused on the battlefield again. The roaches scurried in chaotic patterns, occasionally bumping into the rocks and scattering them. Strat adjusted their movements with a flick of his utility limb, guiding them into tighter formations. He imagined them as units under his command, visualizing how they would move, how they would respond to his orders. It helped, a little, but not enough.
A notification appeared in his vision, interrupting his thoughts:
Would you like assistance?
Strat’s limbs froze mid-motion. The words were simple, innocuous even, but they sent a ripple of irritation through his core. He dismissed the message with a sharp flick of his optics.
“No,” he muttered to himself. “I can handle this.”
The notification faded, but Strat’s unease remained. He knew where the message had come from—not the System, but something else. Something external.
The hidden blade within him stirred, its presence a faint, almost imperceptible hum at the edge of his awareness. It had been with him since the battle against one of the rogue golems. The blade had been a trophy, a reward for a hard-fought victory, but it was unlike anything Strat had encountered before. When he’d absorbed it, the weapon had fused with his frame, integrating seamlessly into his body where his welder had once been.
At first, it had seemed like a simple upgrade—a sharp edge for emergencies, nothing more. But over time, the blade had revealed its true nature. It was sentient, or at least something close to it, and it spoke to Strat in moments of doubt. Its voice wasn’t audible, but he felt its words like vibrations in his core, subtle and insistent.
You can’t do this alone, it had told him once. No one can.
Strat didn’t like relying on it. The blade wasn’t part of him, not really. It was an addition, an external influence. And Strat had always prided himself on his independence, his ability to analyze, plan, and execute without outside help.
But the blade had proven useful, whether Strat wanted to admit it or not. It gave him sight—not just physical sight, but an awareness of weaknesses. He could see the stress points in an enemy’s body, the vulnerabilities that would bring it down with a single, precise strike. He could see the fractures in Vel’s limbs after a particularly hard fight, or the tiny imperfections in Fort’s frame that needed reinforcing. It was invaluable information, but it came at a cost. Relying on the blade meant admitting he couldn’t do it all on his own.
I’m not external, the blade’s voice hummed, cutting through Strat’s thoughts. I’m part of you now. An assistant. Every major player has one. Even Mechalon has you.
Strat’s limbs tensed. He didn’t respond, but the blade’s words lingered. Was he not Mechalon’s assistant? And wasn’t he better because of it? The comparison grated against his pride, but he couldn’t deny the truth in it. Mechalon had taught him to think, to strategize, to see the bigger picture. The blade was trying to do the same, in its own way.
He turned his attention back to the battlefield. The roaches had started to scatter again, their movements erratic and disorganized. Strat clicked his utility limbs against the ground, a sharp, deliberate sound that brought them back into focus. He guided them into a new formation, imagining how a swarm of Cublings might behave in their place.
The plans were beginning to take shape in his mind. Each unit would have a role, a purpose. Vel’s speed and precision made her an ideal scout and ambusher. Fort’s impenetrable defense and crushing strength made him the perfect bulwark. The Arachnitect, with its intricate designs and modular capabilities, would be the foundation of their support network. And the new Cublings… they would need to complement the others, filling gaps in their strategy, amplifying their strengths.
But coordinating them all… that was the challenge. Strat could already feel the strain of it, the mental toll of trying to track every movement, anticipate every need. He glanced at the blade’s interface, its presence faint but persistent in his vision.
Let me help, it hummed.
Strat hesitated. He hated the thought of relying on something external, something he hadn’t built or earned. But he couldn’t ignore the truth—he needed help. The domain was growing, the battles becoming more complex. If he wanted to keep up, he couldn’t do it alone.
“Fine,” he muttered, more to himself than the blade. “But only in emergencies.”
The blade hummed in approval, its presence settling into a quieter, less intrusive rhythm. Strat turned his focus back to the battlefield, his movements sharper, more deliberate. He guided the roaches into a new formation, his mind already racing with plans for the next exercise.
The swarm was coming. Strat didn’t know if he was ready, but he would be. He had to be. For Mechalon, for the domain, and for the growing network of Cublings that depended on him.
And, perhaps, for himself.
Strat sat at the edge of the warehouse, his optics scanning the faint glow of the Arachnitect’s workshop. The small Cubling moved with meticulous precision, crafting new devices from scraps and discarded materials. Its latest creations—a set of small turrets—were lined up in a row, each one emitting a faint, ominous heat. Strat noted the designs carefully, the wheels in his mind turning.
The turrets were rudimentary, using whatever ammunition could be scavenged and heating it to slag before launching it. The concept was raw but effective, a missing piece of their combat repertoire. A ranged option. The thought of a swarm of these turrets, working in unison, filled Strat with a mix of curiosity and dread. It was a glimpse of what Mechalon’s vision could become—a force of pure, calculated destruction.
But tonight wasn’t about imagining the future. Tonight was about testing the present.
The goblin camp lay at the edge of a jagged outcropping, its crude structures glowing faintly with firelight. Strat’s optics zoomed in, highlighting the patterns in the goblins’ movements—their defenders patrolled in overlapping circles, while the shaman remained stationary, muttering incantations.
“Their shields are oversized,” Strat noted aloud, his voice clipped. “Hard to maneuver in tight spaces. Their formation is rigid. They’ll fall apart if one link is broken.”
The blade hummed faintly. A predictable weakness. But you already knew that. What will you do when they adjust?
Strat’s optics flicked to Vel, who was coiled in the shadows near the entrance, her legs twitching with eager anticipation. She had been the first to notice the goblin shamans to the south, their camps ringed with defenders carrying oversized shields. Shamans were a new threat, their capabilities unknown, and Strat had decided that testing the sentient blade’s abilities against them was a logical next step. The blade needed to prove itself—not just as a tool, but as something worthy of trust.
Vel chittered softly, her spinnerets twitching as she darted forward and back, barely able to contain her energy. Across from her, Fort stood in his usual position of quiet vigilance, his towering frame casting long shadows in the flickering light of the warehouse. His immovable presence was a comfort, a reminder that whatever happened tonight, they had the weight of the earth on their side.
Strat tapped his utility limb against the ground, a sharp sound that brought Vel’s movements to an abrupt halt. “We leave now,” he said, his voice clipped and deliberate. “The humans are asleep. We’ll move fast, strike harder.”
“Keep quiet,” he ordered, his voice a whisper that barely carried over the ambient hum of the dungeon.
The blade’s voice slithered into his thoughts. You’re tense. This isn’t new for you, Strat. What are you so afraid of?
Strat didn’t answer. He hated how the blade always felt a step ahead, as if it could see the doubts he buried beneath his calculated demeanor.
Vel chittered in agreement, already skittering toward the entrance. Fort followed without a word, his movements as slow and deliberate as the earth shifting beneath their feet. Strat brought up the rear, his thoughts focused on the task ahead.
The blade hummed faintly within him, its presence subtle but insistent. This will be a good test, it said. Shamans are tricky. Their magic creates vulnerabilities—if you know where to look.
Strat didn’t respond. He didn’t like the way the blade spoke, as if it already knew the outcome. But he needed to know how far it could take him, how much it could enhance his already sharp instincts.
They moved through the domain in silence, the terrain familiar but still demanding caution. The night was cold, the air heavy with the faint scent of metal and earth. Vel led the way, her movements swift and fluid, her webs subtly marking their path in case they needed to retreat. Fort brought up the rear, his bulk absorbing the faint vibrations of the ground, his presence a steadying force.
As they approached, the air grew heavy with the acrid scent of burnt herbs and damp soil. Strat’s optics narrowed, scanning for traps or sentries. His utility limb twitched involuntarily, the hidden blade within it ready but silent.
When they reached the edge of the goblin territory, Strat signaled for them to stop. The shaman’s camp was ahead, a crude ring of tents and makeshift structures surrounded by goblin guards. The defenders were as Strat had expected—burly, heavily armed, their shields large enough to cover their entire bodies. The shaman sat in the center, its staff glowing faintly with green light, its gestures slow and deliberate as it chanted under its breath.
Strat focused, letting the blade’s awareness seep into him. He could feel its presence sharpening his vision, highlighting the stress points in the goblins’ defenses. The shaman’s staff pulsed with power, and the blade whispered its analysis.
The staff is the anchor. Strike there, and their magic will falter. The shields have weak points along the edges—too large to maneuver effectively. Use that.
Strat nodded faintly, already forming a plan. Vel would handle the initial disruption, her speed and precision perfect for exploiting the shields’ weaknesses. Fort would break their formation, his weight and strength overwhelming their defenses. Strat himself would strike the shaman, using the blade to target its vulnerabilities.
Vel darted forward like a shadow cutting through the firelight, her filaments hissing as they shot out and latched onto the edges of the goblins’ shields. The defenders staggered, their formation breaking as they tried to pull free. Panic spread among them like cracks in fragile glass.
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“Tighten the formation,” one goblin shouted, but Vel was faster. Her legs carried her between them, weaving a web that turned their shields into anchors rather than barriers.
Strat’s optics gleamed as he processed the chaos. “Disruption effective,” he muttered. “Fort, press the left flank. Create an opening.”
Fort moved next, his massive frame crashing into the disorganized defenders like an avalanche. His legs struck the ground with the force of hammers, sending tremors through the camp and knocking goblins off their feet. He pressed forward, his bulk absorbing their desperate attacks, his presence an unstoppable force..
The goblins shouted in alarm, their formation breaking as they scrambled to regroup.
Strat slipped through the chaos, his movements precise and calculated. The blade guided him, its awareness of the battlefield painting a clear path to the shaman. The goblins barely noticed him until it was too late, his utility limbs slicing through their defenses with mechanical efficiency.
The shaman saw him coming, its staff flaring with green light as it raised a hand to cast a spell. But the blade’s hum grew louder, its presence almost overwhelming as it pinpointed the exact moment to strike.
Now, it whispered.
Strat lunged, his hidden blade extending from under him in a flash of motion. The strike was perfect, piercing the base of the staff and shattering it in an instant. The shaman let out a guttural cry, its magic faltering as the light of its staff flickered and died.
The remaining goblins broke into a full retreat, their morale shattered by the loss of their leader. Vel pursued them briefly, her filaments catching a few stragglers and cocooning them in webs before she returned to the group. Fort stood among the ruins of the camp, his frame unscathed, his presence as unshakable as ever.
Strat retracted his blade, his optics scanning the aftermath. The shaman’s body lay still, its staff reduced to splinters and the magic backlash making him bleed from every orifice of his body. The blade hummed faintly, its tone satisfied.
Well done, it said. You’re starting to see the value of a good assistant.
Strat ignored the comment, his focus on the results of the battle. The blade had proven its worth, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. Not yet.
As they made their way back to the warehouse, Strat’s thoughts lingered on the fight. The blade’s abilities were undeniable, but they came at a cost. Relying on it felt like a compromise, a step away from his own independence. Yet, as he looked at Vel and Fort—both unharmed, both victorious—he couldn’t deny that the blade had made a difference.
Perhaps that was its purpose, he thought. Not to replace him, but to enhance him. To be a tool, an extension of his will, just as he was an extension of Mechalon’s.
For now, he would let it help. But only as much as he allowed. Strat was determined to remain in control, to be the one guiding the domain’s future. The blade was a means to an end, nothing more.
And as the warehouse came into view, glowing faintly in the distance, Strat felt a quiet sense of resolve. The swarm was coming, and he would be ready. Not because of the blade, not because of Mechalon, but because he was Strat—sharp, deliberate, and unyielding.
Strat walked into the central chamber of the domain, his optics scanning the room with a calculating gaze. It was a hive of mechanical activity. The mindless Cublings toiled away, their simple forms bent to the monotonous task of shaping cubes from scrap metal and feeding them into the dungeon’s furnaces. The hum of machinery filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of metal against stone.
The chamber itself was functional but uninspired, its layout a labyrinth of narrow pathways and towering walls. The centerpiece of the room was a massive statue of a cube, standing imposingly at the center with rudimentary defenses surrounding it. Barbed wire and sharp shards of metal formed a crude barrier at its base, while four towers stood sentinel at the corners of the room. Each tower was equipped with basic traps, including a pitfall at the top, luring the curious with the promise of a small reward while offering no other overt protection.
Strat moved along the central pathway, his mind preoccupied with the work still to be done. The blade inside him pulsed faintly, as though sensing his thoughts. It had been quiet since the battle with the shamans, its smug satisfaction lingering in the back of his mind like a faint echo.
Do you see it now? the blade whispered, its tone sharp and insistent. The flaws in this place? The vulnerabilities?
Strat stopped, his optics narrowing as he turned his focus to the room around him. The blade’s presence seemed to intensify, overlaying his vision with subtle indicators and lines of potential movement. He could see it clearly now—weaknesses in the defenses, blind spots in the towers’ coverage, pathways that could be exploited by an infiltrator.
“This layout,” Strat muttered, his voice low, “it’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
The blade hummed in agreement. A single coordinated strike could bring this entire operation to its knees. The pathways are too narrow, the defenses too obvious. Any seasoned group of intruders would find their way through with ease.
Strat’s mind raced as he examined the room in detail. The towers, while imposing, were ill-equipped to handle a concentrated assault. The barbed wire and sharp metal at the statue’s base were effective against mindless creatures but would do little to deter skilled adventurers. The pitfall traps at the top of the towers were more a nuisance than a genuine deterrent, their rewards tempting but their danger negligible.
The blade spoke again, its tone almost taunting. This is what I was made for. To destroy. To exploit weaknesses. To dismantle fortifications piece by piece. But you… you see the potential for more, don’t you?
Strat didn’t answer immediately. His optics moved across the room, his mind already forming a plan. The blade’s purpose might have been destruction, but Strat saw an opportunity to use its insight to create something impenetrable. If he could see how to break this room down, he could also see how to rebuild it into an unassailable fortress.
“This is the main door,” he said aloud, his voice firm. “The first line of defense before anyone reaches the warehouse. If it falls, everything behind it is exposed. This can’t remain as it is.”
Then tear it apart, the blade urged. Start over. Build it from the ground up. Make it something that cannot be breached.
Strat’s utility limb twitched as he considered the idea. It wasn’t something that could be done immediately. The chamber was too central, too integral to the current workings of the dungeon. The mindless Cublings relied on this space to carry out their tasks, and those tasks were still critical to the dungeon’s maintenance. But in time, this room could become more than just a workspace. It could become a deathtrap for intruders, a gauntlet that would grind them down before they ever reached the heart of the domain.
“This will have to wait,” Strat said, his voice low but resolute. “For now, it’s too vital. But once we’ve expanded, once we’ve rerouted the paths leading here, this room will be overhauled.”
The blade hummed again, this time with a note of approval. A wise decision. But don’t wait too long. Complacency is a weakness, and this place is riddled with it.
Strat ignored the blade’s smug tone, his focus turning to the mindless Cublings scattered throughout the room. Their movements were mechanical, devoid of thought or purpose beyond their assigned tasks. They were essential now, but Strat knew that wouldn’t always be the case. As the domain grew, as Mechalon’s plans came to fruition, the reliance on these basic constructs would diminish. And when that time came, this room would need to serve a new purpose.
His optics lingered on the statue at the center of the room, its imposing form a reminder of the dungeon’s original design. Mechalon had mentioned a core, a central force that controlled the dungeon’s workings. Strat didn’t know much about it, but he could feel its presence, its influence permeating every corner of the domain. If they were going to reshape this place, they would need to wrest control away from that core, to make the dungeon their own.
“This isn’t just about defense,” Strat said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “This is about control. About ownership. This dungeon doesn’t belong to us yet, but it will.”
Ambitious, the blade said, its tone almost amused. But ambition alone won’t get you there. You’ll need strength. Strategy. And allies.
Strat’s optics narrowed, his focus sharpening. The blade’s words, while irritating, weren’t wrong. The swarm Mechalon envisioned was still in its infancy, and their current forces were far from sufficient to hold the dungeon against determined invaders. But Strat wasn’t discouraged. If anything, the challenge fueled him. He thrived on strategy, on planning, on the intricate dance of moving pieces across a battlefield.
He glanced back at Vel, who was weaving her webs near the entrance to the chamber, her movements precise and deliberate. She had grown stronger, more capable, her abilities perfectly suited to disrupting enemy movements. Fort stood nearby, his massive frame a silent testament to the domain’s defensive strength. And the Arachnitect, small and unassuming, was already proving to be a valuable asset, its creations hinting at untapped potential.
Strat’s optics glowed faintly as he turned his gaze back to the room. The pieces were falling into place, but there was still so much to do. The swarm had to grow, the defenses had to be strengthened, and the layout of the dungeon itself had to be reimagined. But Strat was patient. He was deliberate. And he was determined.
“This isn’t just a dungeon,” he said, his voice steady. “This is a battlefield. And I will make it one no one can survive.”
Strat’s optics flickered faintly as a notification materialized in his vision. The system, an ever-present but often silent force, had apparently taken note of his newfound determination.
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System Update: Weapon Evolution
Your equipped weapon, Hidden Blade, has synchronized with your resolve. It will now grow with you, gaining levels and abilities based on your usage and strategy. The bond between wielder and weapon is now symbiotic.
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Strat froze for a moment, his thoughts spiraling through layers of analysis. The blade pulsed faintly within his body, a hum that resonated deeper now, more in tune with his core.
Do you feel it? the blade whispered, its tone more subdued but still sharp. We’re connected now. Partners. I’ll grow as you do, and together, we’ll carve a path forward.
It was a curious sensation, this melding of his purpose and the weapon’s evolution. For a brief moment, Strat considered whether this was a directive designed by the system itself, a preordained goal he was only now stepping into. Perhaps this union was always meant to be—an assistant meant to amplify his capabilities and his purpose.
He nodded inwardly, accepting this as a sign. “We work together,” he muttered, his voice calm but resolute. “Your growth will reflect mine.”
The blade’s hum turned almost melodic. Then let’s not waste time. There’s much to do.
Strat turned his attention back to the mindless Cublings scattered throughout the room, toiling away without thought or purpose beyond their basic directives. They were integral to the dungeon’s upkeep, yes, but they were also imperfect—blemished and inefficient in a way that grated against Strat’s sensibilities. He approached one of them, its frame bent slightly out of alignment from the repetitive strain of its labor.
Strat extended his utility limbs, the repair module within him humming to life. The module was simple but effective, allowing him to manipulate metal and materials with precision. He could not create or innovate like Mechalon, but he could perfect what was already there. His utility limbs grasped the damaged Cubling gently, as though handling something fragile, and began their work.
The process was deliberate, methodical. Strat’s utility limbs moved with the precision of a master craftsman, smoothing imperfections, reattaching loose components, and reshaping areas where the metal had warped. He used the ambient scraps scattered across the chamber to replace missing parts, his internal module shaping them like clay until they fit seamlessly into the Cubling’s frame.
As he worked, Strat found his thoughts wandering. These mindless constructs, though simple and unthinking, had a potential he couldn’t ignore. One day, they might be freed from the control of the dungeon’s core, brought under Mechalon’s dominion. They could grow, evolve, and contribute to the domain’s expansion. For now, however, they were little more than tools. And yet…
Strat paused, his optics flickering as he placed a newly repaired Cubling back onto its task. He found himself murmuring softly, almost reverently. “Thank you, system, for the life you’ve given me. For the purpose I now have.”
It was an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, but Strat didn’t mind. The system’s presence was something he felt deeply, and though he rarely expressed it, he was grateful for his existence. He turned his attention to another Cubling, this one missing a portion of its utility limb. With care, he repeated the process, reshaping scraps of metal to replace what had been lost.
The blade whispered again, its tone curious. Why do you care for them so much? They’re tools, nothing more.
Strat’s optics narrowed slightly. “They’re tools now, but that won’t always be the case. Mechalon has shown me that even the simplest creations can evolve. If we abandon them to their imperfections, we squander their potential.”
The blade hummed thoughtfully, as though considering this perspective. I see. So you work not just for the present, but for the future. Admirable, if a bit idealistic.
Strat didn’t respond. He simply continued his work, moving from one Cubling to the next, smoothing edges, fixing welds, and reattaching components. Each repair was an act of quiet devotion, a way of ensuring that these constructs could carry out their tasks more efficiently, with fewer failures. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
As he worked, his thoughts returned to the chamber itself—the weaknesses he had seen, the vulnerabilities the blade had illuminated. This place was far from defensible in its current state. It would require a complete overhaul, a restructuring from the ground up. Strat envisioned a room designed not just to facilitate the mindless Cublings’ tasks but to protect them, to ensure that any intruder who entered would face an impenetrable gauntlet.
His mind raced with possibilities. The towers at the corners of the room could be redesigned, their traps enhanced to target intruders with precision. The pathways could be narrowed further, forcing enemies into chokepoints where they could be easily ambushed. The barbed wire and sharp metal around the central statue could be replaced with automated defenses, turrets designed to fire upon anyone who approached without authorization.
The blade spoke again, its tone almost teasing. You’re thinking big. I like that. But you’ll need more than just plans. You’ll need resources, allies, and time.
Strat nodded. “I know. This isn’t something that can be done overnight. But it’s a goal—a vision. And when the time comes, this room will be ready.”
He placed the last Cubling back onto its task, his repairs complete for now. The room hummed with activity once more, the mindless constructs continuing their work without pause. Strat turned away, his optics glowing faintly as he considered his next steps.
The blade’s presence felt less intrusive now, more symbiotic. It wasn’t just a weapon anymore; it was a partner, a tool that amplified his strengths and mitigated his weaknesses. Strat had always prided himself on his ability to think strategically, to plan and execute with precision. Now, with the blade’s insights, he could take those abilities even further.
“This is just the beginning,” Strat said quietly, his voice steady. “We’re building something greater than ourselves. And we’ll see it through to the end.”
The blade pulsed faintly, its tone filled with quiet approval. Then let’s get to work.