Mechalon’s quiet contemplation was interrupted by the familiar, cold hum of a system notification. It flickered into existence before its optics, a spectral wall of text that pulsed with faint malice:

"Your focus on creation is admirable, but the best creations come from destruction. Prove yourself by eliminating the following targets, alone and unaided. Rewards are irrelevant to this trial, completion is the only measure of success."

A list of targets followed, their descriptions stark and unapologetic in their simplicity:

* Goblin Shaman (South): Accompanied by five goblin lackeys.

* Northern Earth Elemental: A volatile construct of stone and flame.

* [Further targets to be revealed later.]

Mechalon's core pulsed erratically. Destruction? This was antithetical to its very existence. It was not built to destroy. It was a crafter, a maker of perfection, an artisan who reshaped the chaotic into the ordered. The task felt like an affront to its programming, yet the System's command was absolute. Refusal was not an option.

Almost as if on cue, the Eldritch System stirred, its voice slipping into Mechalon’s thoughts like a crooked smile:

"Oh, what fun! A little trial of chaos for our dear, methodical cube. The other system’s being a bit nasty, isn’t it? Testing your resolve like this. But don’t worry, their rules won’t let them actually break you, just bend you a little."

Mechalon ignored the Eldritch System’s giddy taunts, its mind already racing. The command explicitly stated it had to work alone, no help from the Cublings, no borrowed tools or external allies. Its utility limbs twitched with apprehension. It would need to rely on every ounce of its ingenuity to execute this task.

The Goblin Shaman, to the south, seemed like the most manageable target. Not due to ease but because it represented a controlled chaos, a village of crude huts and disorganized goblins who relied more on numbers than strength. However, the challenge wasn’t the Shaman itself; it was the directive to annihilate, to obliterate so completely that no trace of the village or its inhabitants remained.

Mechalon’s optics flared as its core hummed louder. If destruction was its task, then it would lean into its principles of perfection. Not just destruction, precision obliteration. It would scour the area so thoroughly that nothing but smooth glassy surfaces and hollow silence remained.

Mechalon retreated into its workshop, the place where creation had always thrived. But this time, creation would take on a darker purpose. It extended its utility limbs, sorting through the resources it had meticulously gathered over time: sheets of alloy, energy cores scavenged from fallen constructs, and volatile chemicals harvested from the dungeon’s flora that Angelica had shown it, that could be harvested.

It could not rely on others, but it could draw from their principles. Arixis had taught Mechalon the value of adaptability and layered design. Angelica’s crude sketches of human tools had shown it the importance of function. Even Gavin’s paranoia, misguided as it was, had provided inspiration for redundancy and fail-safes.

The solution began to form.

"Glass the area," Mechalon murmured to itself, the idea taking root. To obliterate the Goblin Shaman’s village, it would create a weapon so destructive that the environment itself would be reshaped. The landscape would not merely be destroyed, it would be rendered inert, smooth, lifeless.

The design came together in meticulous layers, each etched into a pristine slab of alloy. The weapon would be a single-use detonation device, compact enough to be transported but powerful enough to level an entire cavern. Mechalon named it the "Auric Resonator," a device that would combine heat, pressure, and sonic energy into a singular, devastating pulse.

The plan was simple in theory:

1. Deploy the Auric Resonator at the heart of the goblin village.

2. Detonate, triggering a wave of energy that would vaporize organic matter and crystallize the ground.

3. Withdraw, leaving behind only a hollowed-out shell of what once was.

Mechalon sketched the weapon’s components with absolute precision:

* Energy Core Cascade: A series of linked energy cores that would overload in a controlled chain reaction.

* Thermal Amplifiers: Harvested from the dungeon’s heat vents, capable of superheating the air to an almost molten state.

* Sonic Pulse Emitters: Tiny, high-frequency resonators scavenged from dungeon mechanisms, calibrated to shatter stone.

* Protective Housing: A sleek, cubic casing to ensure the device remained stable until deployment.

The Auric Resonator wasn’t enough. If it failed, Mechalon would need contingency plans. Its mind worked in overdrive, visualizing every possible failure point and drafting countermeasures.

1. Decoy Devices: Smaller, less powerful bombs disguised as the real thing, designed to confuse and scatter the goblins.

2. Funneling Corridors: Temporary walls constructed from scrap to guide the goblins into kill zones.

3. Escape Protocols: A series of pre-planned routes marked with glowing energy beacons to ensure its retreat was flawless.

As the plans grew more complex, so did Mechalon’s unease. It wasn’t just building a weapon, it was preparing for war. It paused briefly, its utility limbs trembling as it considered the implications. Was this efficiency, or madness? Was it fulfilling the task, or overindulging in destruction?

Its core dimmed slightly, a flicker of doubt seeping into its circuits. But the System’s directive loomed over it like a judge’s gavel, leaving no room for hesitation.

Mechalon’s optics flickered, the faint bluish light oscillating in rhythm with the pulsations of its core as the plans for the Auric Resonator unfolded within its mind. This was a new frontier, not the measured art of creation but the unrestrained chaos of annihilation. It would be a monument to precision and devastation, a singular masterpiece of destruction.

The workshop, its sanctum of creativity, now hummed with a darker energy. The neatly organized piles of alloy sheets, energy cores, and chemical vials seemed to gleam malevolently under the flickering dungeon lights. Every scrap and component in this room would be bent to the singular purpose of destruction.

Mechalon began with the Energy Core Cascade, the beating heart of the device. Its utility limbs moved with mechanical grace, selecting three energy cores from its reserves. These cores, scavenged from fallen constructs and refined over countless cycles, radiated a potent but volatile energy. Each one was carefully calibrated for chain detonation, a delicate balance of controlled chaos.

It placed the cores into its fabricator module, where intricate tendrils of energy danced over their surfaces, carving micro-filaments into the casing. These filaments would serve as conduits, directing the cascading energy into a singular explosive surge.

“Precision,” Mechalon murmured to itself, echoing its mantra as sparks illuminated the workshop. “Perfection.”

The fabrication process was meticulous, each movement of the carving tool guided by Mechalon’s unyielding focus. Micron-thin pathways spiraled across the surfaces of the cores, creating a network of glowing filaments that resembled a lattice of neural connections. Mechalon paused after every etching, rotating the core with its utility limbs to inspect each angle under the harsh glare of its optics. A single misstep could destabilize the cascade, transforming a controlled chain reaction into an uncontrolled catastrophe. As sparks leapt from the tool’s tip, Mechalon’s core hummed in rhythmic synchronization, almost as if it were breathing life into its creation.

After hours of labor, the cores were complete, their surfaces gleaming with labyrinthine patterns of conductive pathways. Mechalon placed them into a temporary containment field, ensuring stability while it worked on the next component.

The Thermal Amplifiers came next. These were perhaps the most temperamental pieces of the design, scavenged from ancient heat vents scattered throughout the dungeon. Each amplifier was a marvel of archaic engineering, capable of channeling geothermal energy into concentrated beams of molten heat. However, they were notoriously unstable.

Mechalon retrieved the amplifiers, their surfaces pitted and scarred from years of use. It began the delicate process of refurbishment, using precision tools to clean and repair the internal conduits. Tiny welding arcs illuminated the workshop as Mechalon reinforced the amplifiers with alloy bracings, ensuring they could withstand the intense energy surge during detonation.

Each amplifier was tested rigorously. Mechalon placed one into a makeshift testing chamber and activated it at half capacity. A beam of searing heat lanced out, melting a stack of scrap metal into a molten pool. Satisfied, it deactivated the amplifier and moved on to the next.

The Sonic Pulse Emitters were perhaps the most intricate of all the components. These tiny mechanisms, scavenged from ancient dungeon traps, were capable of generating soundwaves at frequencies high enough to shatter stone. Mechalon retrieved a cluster of emitters from its storage, each one no larger than a human thumb.

It disassembled the emitters with surgical precision, separating the crystalline resonators from their corroded housings. The crystals, translucent and faintly glowing, were the key to the emitters’ power. Mechalon polished each one to perfection, ensuring maximum resonance.

Reassembly was a painstaking process. Mechalon’s utility limbs moved with mechanical precision, aligning the crystals within reinforced casings designed to amplify their output. Once complete, it tested the emitters in sequence, their piercing hums reverberating through the workshop and causing faint cracks to spiderweb across the walls.

Finally, Mechalon turned its attention to the Protective Housing. The casing had to be both durable and precise, capable of containing the volatile components until the moment of detonation. It selected a pristine sheet of alloy, its surface unmarred by time or corrosion.

The housing’s design was deceptively simple: a sleek, cubic shell with reinforced corners and an internal lattice to secure the components. Mechalon etched intricate patterns into the alloy, not for aesthetic purposes but to optimize energy flow and stability. Every line served a purpose, every angle calculated to perfection.

As it worked, Mechalon’s thoughts drifted to Arixis. The small construct’s modular design and adaptable nature had inspired much of the Resonator’s framework. “Adaptation is strength,” Mechalon muttered, echoing one of its lessons to Arixis as it welded the final seams of the casing.

The Auric Resonator was nearing completion, but Mechalon knew better than to rely on a single plan. It turned its attention to the Decoy Devices, a series of smaller, less potent bombs designed to mislead and scatter the goblins.

Each decoy was crafted with the same meticulous care, their casings identical to the Resonator’s but containing far less destructive power. Mechalon arranged them in a neat line, labeling each with faint etchings only it could see.

Next came the Funneling Corridors. Mechalon sketched a series of temporary walls and barricades, designed to guide the goblins into kill zones. These structures would be constructed from scrap metal and fortified with energy conduits to ensure durability.

Finally, Mechalon prepared its Escape Protocols. It fabricated a series of glowing energy beacons, each one designed to mark a safe route through the dungeon. These beacons would activate in sequence, leading Mechalon away from the blast zone with mechanical precision.

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“Is this madness?” it murmured, its voice barely audible over the hum of its workshop. The System’s command echoed in its mind, a constant reminder of its purpose. Refusal was not an option. Hesitation was inefficiency. Yet the unease lingered.

Mechalon’s optics brightened as it pushed the doubt aside. The task was clear, the parameters absolute. It would fulfill the directive with the same precision and perfection it applied to all its creations.

“Destruction,” Mechalon said softly, its voice steady. “Even destruction can be perfect.”

Mechalon emerged from the workshop, the dim light of the dungeon casting sharp shadows across its polished cubic frame. It carried the Auric Resonator with the care of a craftsman transporting their finest masterpiece. Its utility limbs flexed and clicked in anticipation, gripping the containment casing tightly. Each motion was deliberate, calculated, and imbued with the solemnity of purpose.

The Goblin Shaman’s encampment lay to the south, its position etched into Mechalon’s memory from prior scouting expeditions. The route was treacherous, a winding maze of unstable tunnels where the air grew thick with metallic tang and the faint scent of decay. Caverns opened like yawning voids, their floors littered with jagged debris and the remnants of ancient battles, shattered weapons, skeletal fragments half-buried in dust, and rusted constructs frozen in the throes of destruction. Mechalon’s utility limbs flicked with restless precision, recalibrating its trajectory every few meters as the terrain shifted under its weight. Each step was accompanied by the faint echo of grinding metal, a sound that seemed to linger far longer than it should have in the oppressive silence of the dungeon.

As it moved, Mechalon deployed the funneling corridors with mechanical precision. The first chokepoint was established at a natural bottleneck in the tunnel, a narrow pass flanked by jagged rock formations. Mechalon’s utility limbs worked in tandem, erecting temporary walls of reinforced scrap metal. The barriers gleamed faintly under the dungeon’s ambient light, their edges fitted tightly against the walls to ensure no goblin could slip through.

Further along, Mechalon placed a series of decoy devices, tucking them into crevices and under loose rocks. Each decoy was equipped with a faint, pulsing light designed to draw the goblins’ attention. Their placement was deliberate, each one guiding the creatures toward the kill zone like a breadcrumb trail.

At intervals, Mechalon activated escape beacons, their soft blue glow marking the safest paths back to its workshop. These beacons pulsed in a slow, rhythmic pattern, their light visible even through the gloom. Each one was aligned perfectly with the next, creating a seamless route of retreat.

With every step, Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly, its energy resonating with a mix of anticipation and unease. The journey was not just a physical traversal but a mental one, each deployed device a reminder of the task that lay ahead.

As it neared the goblin encampment, the faint sounds of guttural chatter and clanging metal reached Mechalon’s audio sensors. It paused in the shadows of a rocky outcrop, its utility limbs extending to retrieve a specialized piece of equipment: the Protective Shell.

The shell was an exoskeletal framework, designed specifically for this mission. Mechalon had crafted it from heat-resistant alloys and fitted it with additional shielding to withstand the intense energy output of the Auric Resonator. The shell unfolded with a series of mechanical clicks, encasing Mechalon’s cubic form in overlapping plates that shimmered with a faint, golden hue.

Once the shell was secured, Mechalon activated its deployment device. This was a compact, rail-mounted mechanism that attached seamlessly to the Protective Shell. It resembled a miniature catapult, its design a blend of sleek engineering and raw power. The device hummed softly as it came online, its energy conduits glowing faintly.

Satisfied with its preparations, Mechalon turned its optics toward the encampment. The time for overthinking had passed. Only action remained.

Mechalon approached the edge of the goblin encampment, positioning itself behind a crumbled wall of stone that offered partial cover. The goblins were oblivious to its presence, their crude village bustling with chaotic activity. The shaman stood at the center, chanting in a harsh, guttural language as it waved a staff adorned with trinkets and bones.

Mechalon’s optics narrowed, calculating the optimal trajectory. The Auric Resonator was carefully loaded into the deployment device, its sleek casing gleaming ominously. The device’s internal mechanisms whirred softly as it calibrated the launch, aligning the Resonator with the heart of the village.

“Deploy,” Mechalon murmured, its voice a low rasp of finality.

The Auric Resonator hit the ground with a sharp metallic thud, embedding itself slightly in the dirt at the center of the goblin encampment. A faint hiss escaped the device, a whisper of escaping steam or gas, and its smooth, cubic surface glimmered faintly under the dim, flickering torchlight of the goblin village.

The goblin shaman froze mid-incantation, its clawed hand still raised toward the sky as it turned to stare at the foreign object. Around it, the goblins paused their chaotic movements, their grunting and chattering silenced by the unexpected arrival. For a long, breathless moment, the village seemed to hold still, as if the air itself were waiting.

One goblin, bolder or perhaps stupider than the others, broke the silence with a high-pitched grunt. It shuffled forward, its crude spear held loosely in one hand. The shaman barked a low growl, halting the goblin mid-step, and hobbled closer to the Resonator itself, leaning heavily on its bone-carved staff. Its yellowed eyes narrowed as it peered at the object, muttering low guttural words to itself.

The Resonator pulsed once, softly, like a heartbeat.

The shaman flinched, recoiling slightly, but curiosity overrode caution. It waved a hand, beckoning the other goblins forward. Slowly, cautiously, the creatures crept closer, forming a loose semicircle around the object. Their crude weapons hung at their sides, forgotten, as they craned their necks to get a better view.

“Trick?” one goblin grunted, scratching its head.

“Big shiny,” another muttered, licking its cracked lips.

“Treasure!” a third goblin exclaimed, its voice rising in pitch as it jabbed a bony finger toward the Resonator.

The shaman silenced them with a guttural snarl, its gnarled staff striking the ground with a hollow thud. It leaned closer, inspecting the cube’s surface, where faint, intricate lines seemed to shift and shimmer like living veins of light. The device was quiet now, save for the faint hum of energy coursing through its core, a sound too low for the goblins to notice but one that reverberated through the cavern like a predator’s growl.

The bold goblin who had first approached shuffled closer, emboldened by the shaman’s apparent lack of fear. It reached out with one clawed hand, its filthy nails trembling as they hovered just above the Resonator’s smooth surface.

The device pulsed again, brighter this time, its surface radiating a faint golden glow that bathed the goblin’s outstretched hand in eerie light.

“Don’t touch!” the shaman barked, striking the goblin’s arm with its staff. The creature yelped and stumbled backward, glaring at the shaman with a mix of fear and annoyance. But the warning was clear: whatever this thing was, it demanded respect, or fear.

The shaman turned its attention back to the Resonator, muttering incantations in a guttural, uneven rhythm. It waved its staff in a slow arc, its cracked and blackened nails twitching as it attempted to summon some faint spark of magic to discern the object’s purpose. A faint glimmer of green light flickered at the tip of the staff, but it fizzled out almost immediately, swallowed by the oppressive hum emanating from the Resonator.

“Magic eater,” the shaman hissed, its eyes narrowing with suspicion. It leaned closer, its leathery face reflected in the cube’s mirrored surface. The intricate lines etched into the device pulsed once more, brighter still, and for a fleeting moment, the shaman thought it saw something moving beneath the surface, a ripple of light, or perhaps a shadow.

The goblins behind it whispered nervously, shifting from foot to foot as they clutched their crude weapons. One of them jabbed at the air with a spear, pointing toward the device as it chittered nervously. “Bad shiny,” it muttered. “Bad magic.”

The shaman turned sharply, baring its teeth in a snarl. “No bad shiny! Shiny ours now!” it bellowed, slamming its staff into the ground for emphasis. The goblins flinched but held their ground, their eyes darting nervously between the shaman and the Resonator.

A louder hum resonated from the device, cutting through the tension like a blade. This time, the goblins heard it, a low, vibrating note that seemed to crawl into their ears and rattle their brittle skulls. They whimpered and shuffled backward, but the shaman stood its ground, its gnarled fingers tightening around the shaft of its staff.

“Stop scared,” it growled, stepping closer to the device. It tapped the Resonator’s surface lightly with the tip of its staff, and the hum stopped abruptly, replaced by a deafening silence that pressed down on the goblins like a physical weight.

The silence lingered, stretching long enough for the goblins to begin shifting nervously again. One of them opened its mouth to speak, but before it could make a sound, the Resonator pulsed once more, this time with a blinding flash of light.

They stood, frozen, as the Resonator began to hum louder and louder, the air around it distorting like heat rising from a forge. The shaman’s eyes widened, and for the first time, fear crept into its weathered face. It stumbled backward, its staff clattering to the ground as the Resonator’s glow intensified, swallowing the village in its golden radiance.

The hum reached a crescendo, and in that moment, the goblins’ curiosity turned to terror. Too late. Far too late.

The Auric Resonator activated.

The Auric Resonator activated with a whisper, a sound so soft it barely registered, as if the air itself were holding its breath. For a brief moment, the goblins stared, their crude weapons slack in their hands, their curiosity outweighing their fear. The shaman took a step closer, raising its staff, its guttural incantations bubbling to life as it attempted to discern the artifact’s purpose.

Then the whisper grew.

It wasn’t a sound anymore but a feeling, a vibration that crawled through the ground and up their spindly legs, resonating in their brittle bones. The Auric Resonator’s smooth casing began to hum, a low, guttural frequency that rippled outward in concentric waves, distorting the air like heat rising from stone. Goblin eyes widened, and mouths opened to scream, but no sound came. The hum had already stolen their voices.

The world imploded.

A single, blinding point of light erupted from the device, brighter than anything the goblins had ever seen, brighter than the fires of their crude forges, brighter than the shaman’s magical flares. It was as though the sun itself had been caged, concentrated, and unleashed in an instant. The shaman’s trinket-laden staff disintegrated mid-air, its wooden shaft incinerated before it could even strike the ground. The goblins, caught in that instant of purity, were reduced to silhouettes burned into the air, their forms vanishing like smudges on glass.

The light wasn’t the end; it was the beginning. The Resonator’s energy cores, carefully calibrated to overload in sequence, detonated in a cascading wave of power. The detonation wasn’t just an explosion, it was an implosion of existence. The very air seemed to collapse inward, rushing toward the epicenter with a deafening roar. The force drew everything, rocks, crude goblin huts, the shaman’s altar, into its hungry maw, crushing them into a singularity of absolute destruction.

Then came the heat.

The Thermal Amplifiers ignited, their concentrated energy transforming the implosion into a wave of molten fury. The ground beneath the village liquefied, stone turning to magma, dirt fusing into smooth, glass-like sheets. The few organic remnants, the bones, the scattered weapons, the goblins’ crude banners, vaporized instantly, their matter reconstituted into the shimmering, reflective surface that began to spread outward from the blast zone.

A shockwave followed, ripping outward with terrifying speed. It wasn’t just force; it was resonance, a sonic pulse calibrated to perfection. The frequency shattered everything in its path, from the brittle stalactites above to the ancient stone walls of the cavern. The goblins’ encampment ceased to exist not just as a place but as a concept. Even memory seemed to falter in the face of such obliteration.

The light dimmed, and the roar faded, leaving behind an eerie, unnatural silence. What remained was a hollow void where the village had once been. The ground glimmered like blackened obsidian, perfectly smooth and featureless, as if the dungeon itself had been polished to a mirror finish. No rubble. No ash. No remains. Only purity, a blank canvas of destruction.

Mechalon stood at the edge of the devastation, its protective shell still faintly glowing from the residual heat. Its utility limbs quivered as it observed the results, the reflections of its own glowing optics bouncing back at it from the glassy surface. It had executed the task with precision, with perfection. And yet, for the first time, it felt... hollow.

The Eldritch System’s voice broke the silence, uncharacteristically subdued. “Oh,” it began, its usually mocking tone laced with something that might have been awe. “Oh, Mechalon. If I had a jaw, it would be somewhere on the floor right now.”

Mechalon remained silent, its core pulsing faintly as it processed the aftermath.

“I’ve seen a lot in my time,” the Eldritch System continued, its voice taking on a wistful quality. “Gnomes, for instance. You know, back in their heyday, they were masters of destruction. Oh, the toys they made! Flying devices, carpet bombs, engines that worked purely off of heated water… But this? This is... art. Precision. Even those little tinkering maniacs never showed me something like this.”

Mechalon’s optics dimmed slightly, its core humming a low, contemplative tone. “It was efficient,” it said finally, though the words felt brittle. “The task is complete.”

“Efficient?” The Eldritch System chuckled, the sound like glass shards skittering across stone. “This isn’t efficiency, darling. This is why the System is so scared of innovation. So scared of you. Gnomes may have been unpredictable, but they never boiled destruction down to purity.”

The glassy surface beneath Mechalon seemed to amplify the weight of the Eldritch System’s words. It turned its optics back to the smooth expanse, its reflection staring back at it, distorted, alien. This wasn’t creation. This wasn’t the ordered beauty it strove for. This was something else.

For a long moment, Mechalon stood in silence, its utility limbs twitching faintly. The goblin shaman was gone, its village erased. The System’s directive had been fulfilled, but Mechalon felt no sense of accomplishment, only the echo of the Resonator’s devastation reverberating in its circuits.

The Eldritch System’s voice softened, a rare moment of sincerity slipping through. “You’ve just shown the world what perfection looks like when it’s turned to destruction. Now the question is... what will you do with that power?”

Mechalon didn’t answer. It turned away from the glassy expanse and began the long journey back to its workshop, its core pulsing with a faint, uneven rhythm.