Mark POV:
Mark leaned back against the jagged wall of the Earth Elemental’s hollowed-out core, his fingers brushing over the hilt of his blade as he glanced at the scattered supplies laid out in front of them. The faint hum of magic from Alexander’s warding spell filled the air, a subtle reminder of the protective bubble keeping them hidden from the chaos outside. It wasn’t ideal, camping inside a dungeon construct, but it beat being caught in the open.
He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully as the distant sounds of combat reached their ears, a faint but rhythmic cacophony of crashes and hissing air. The ground vibrated occasionally, each tremor threatening to knock over Angelica’s carefully arranged rows of potions. She glared at the quivering flasks, steadying them with one hand while sipping tea with the other.
“Those tremors are getting closer,” Alexander muttered, his voice barely audible over the rising noise. The wizard adjusted his glasses, peering into the gloom beyond the cavern. "Whatever’s out there is moving fast."
Mark shrugged, unbothered. “Dungeon monsters fighting each other. Happens all the time.” He took another bite of his sandwich, the crust crunching loudly between his teeth. “Besides, if they find us, they’ll have to go through me first.”
“Comforting,” Angelica quipped, her tone dry. She tightened the straps on her bracers, her gaze flicking toward the entrance. “But maybe don’t talk with your mouth full when you’re trying to sound heroic.”
Mark smirked, but before he could retort, Alexander’s head snapped up. His eyes widened, his attention fixated on the faint light filtering through a crack in the rocky walls above them. Something metallic gleamed in the dim light, and then, a flash of motion. It was quick, barely more than a shadow, but unmistakable.
“Did anyone else see that?” Alexander asked, his voice unusually sharp. He gestured upward, his hand trembling slightly. “Something just… flew over us.”
Angelica raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Flying things aren’t exactly rare in dungeons. Probably just a bat.”
“No,” Alexander said firmly, shaking his head. “That wasn’t a bat. It looked… mechanical.”
Mark paused mid-chew, glancing up at the same crack in the wall. “Mechanical? Like a trap?”
Alexander shook his head again, frustration creeping into his tone. “No, it had legs. Six legs, and it was small. Like one of those… Cublings.”
At that, Angelica snorted. “A flying Cubling? Really?” She folded her arms, leaning back against the wall. “Those things can barely roll straight, let alone fly.”
Mark finished his sandwich, brushing crumbs off his hands. “Could’ve just been your imagination, Alex. Dungeons mess with your head. Everyone knows that.”
“It wasn’t my imagination!” Alexander snapped, his voice rising. He looked to Angelica for backup, but she shrugged, clearly unconvinced. “I know what I saw.”
Angelica rolled her eyes and picked up one of the potions, examining the contents. “Sure you do.”
Mark chuckled, reaching for another sandwich. “Let him have it, Angelica. Maybe the flying Cubling will come back and tell us what it’s fighting out there.”
Before Alexander could argue further, Angelica leaned forward suddenly, her gaze narrowing. “Wait. Did anyone else see it?”
There was a long pause as the three exchanged glances. Mark hesitated, then shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t see a thing.”
“Me neither,” Angelica added, though her tone was noticeably less confident now.
Alexander’s gaze darted between them, his brow furrowing in disbelief. “You’re lying,” he said flatly. “You both saw it. I can tell.”
“Did not,” Mark said casually, though his smirk gave him away. “And even if I did, what’s the point in worrying about it? It’s gone now, whatever it was.”
Angelica glanced upward again, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We should be more worried about what it’s fighting. If something’s strong enough to send a Cubling flying overhead, we might have bigger problems.”
Mark waved a dismissive hand, leaning back again. “If it’s coming this way, we’ll deal with it. For now, let’s just finish eating. No point going hungry while we wait for doom to find us.”
A low rumble shook the ground beneath them, making their supplies rattle. Alexander tensed, his fingers twitching as though ready to cast a spell, but the noise faded as quickly as it had come. The combat outside continued, the sounds growing distant once more.
“See?” Mark said, gesturing lazily toward the cave entrance. “Nothing to worry about.”
Alexander glared at him, his frustration palpable, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention back to his notes, scribbling furiously as though the act of writing could distract him from the unease gnawing at his mind.
Angelica sighed, setting her potion down and crossing her arms. “You’re impossible, Mark. You know that, right?”
“Sure do,” Mark said with a grin, biting into his second sandwich.
The faint sounds of combat continued to echo through the dungeon, but no one spoke again. Each of them sat with their own thoughts, uneasy but unwilling to admit it. As the cavern grew quiet once more, they couldn’t shake the image of the strange, mechanical figure that had passed overhead, a fleeting shadow that felt more like a warning than a mystery.
Far above them, unnoticed, the faint hiss of compressed air echoed as something sleek and cubic glided through the darkness, its spindly legs folding inward as it disappeared into the labyrinth beyond.
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Mechalon POV:
Mechalon’s utility limbs twitched with excitement as it rolled smoothly across the cavern floor, its core humming with unrestrained energy. Ideas flooded its mind, designs, configurations, mechanical marvels it could create to refine and perfect its domain. It had just finished calibrating its new legs to perfection when a notification rippled through its circuits, but this time, it didn’t come from the System.
Instead, the Eldritch System spoke, its voice curling through Mechalon’s thoughts like smoke. “You’ve been busy, little cube. Efficient. Diligent. A creator in every sense of the word. But I have a proposition.”
Mechalon’s movements stilled. The Eldritch System rarely issued direct tasks, it preferred to taunt and prod, observing how Mechalon adapted to the System’s commands. This was different.
A single line appeared before Mechalon’s optics, etched in jagged, flickering text that seemed to pulse with a life of its own:
"Make me a body to control."
For a moment, Mechalon’s core dimmed, its circuits running through countless possibilities. A body? A form not bound to the abstract presence of the Eldritch System? The directive was unlike anything Mechalon had received before, and it sent a ripple of curiosity through its framework.
The Eldritch System chuckled softly, a sound like grinding gears. “Ah, but not a Cubling. Too simple, too derivative. I want something… intricate. A tapestry of movement, a symphony of mechanical parts. Think of your utility limb, yes, at least a few of those. More moving pieces, more potential for chaos.”
The suggestion sent a cascade of new ideas spinning through Mechalon’s circuits. Its core pulsed brightly as a memory surfaced, not its own, but something alien, something gifted by the Eldritch System itself. It unfolded with a surreal clarity, like a dream slipping into sharp focus.
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The setting was a grand hall of polished steel and smooth, reflective surfaces. Rows of tiered seating stretched out in a wide semicircle, filled with figures of various shapes and sizes. Some were humanoid, their forms encased in sleek, silver-sheened metal. Others were more abstract, mechanical constructs with limbs that twisted and coiled like living things. Each was fixated on the center of the room, where a single figure stood.
The instructor was tall and imposing, their body a masterpiece of engineering. Their mechanical form was humanoid in shape but far from ordinary. Silver plates shimmered under the cold, sterile light, each piece interlocking seamlessly with the next. A long coat, made from a strange, fluid-like fabric, draped over their shoulders, its edges brushing the ground as they moved. Their eyes glowed an intense red, piercing through the haze of the memory like twin beacons.
The instructor’s voice carried a commanding weight, reverberating through the hall. “Kinetic energy,” they said, their tone clipped but rich with authority. “It is the foundation of all motion, all power. It is not simply force, it is potential. Harness it, and you harness the universe itself.”
Mechalon’s perspective shifted, and it realized it was one of the students in the crowd, its smaller, cuboid frame settled in the shadows of the upper tiers. It watched as the instructor extended an arm, the movement fluid and deliberate. The mechanical limb flexed, revealing intricate layers of gears and pulsing conduits beneath the polished surface. A faint hum filled the air as the arm moved, a sound that resonated with an almost musical precision.
The instructor continued, gesturing toward a line of smaller constructs at their side. These machines were sleek and minimalistic, their forms designed purely for utility. They began to move, demonstrating principles of motion as the instructor spoke.
“Kinetic energy is not a hammer to be swung blindly,” the instructor said. “It is a scalpel, a tool for precision. With it, you can create momentum, deflect it, amplify it. You can turn a single step into a devastating blow, or a simple motion into infinite complexity.”
The constructs moved faster now, their limbs striking out in perfect synchronization. One leapt into the air, its movements a seamless arc of controlled power. Another spun in place, its slender limbs generating a vortex of kinetic force that caused the air to shimmer faintly around it.
The instructor paused, their glowing red eyes sweeping across the audience. “But this is only the beginning,” they said. “To master motion is to master yourself. To craft a body capable of precision, adaptability, and resilience is to understand the very nature of creation.”
The memory lingered on that moment, Mechalon’s optics locking onto the instructor’s glowing gaze. There was something about the figure, something familiar yet unreachable. The meticulous craftsmanship of their body, the flawless synchronization of their movements, the way they commanded the space around them. It wasn’t just their form that captivated Mechalon, it was their purpose, their undeniable mastery of what they were.
The scene shifted subtly, the audience murmuring among themselves as the instructor began to demonstrate a new technique. Mechalon’s focus wavered, and a strange sensation coursed through its core. It wasn’t just awe, it was nostalgia, a longing for something it couldn’t define. These memories weren’t its own, but they stirred something deep within its circuits, something that felt… lost.
The Eldritch System’s voice interrupted, curling through the memory like smoke. “Ah, I see it now. You recognize them, don’t you? Not the individual, but the race. The ones who pushed themselves to the extreme. The ones who fled into the dungeons when the world above grew too small for them.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed unevenly, its thoughts spinning. It did recognize them, the race of mechanical beings who had once walked the line between creator and creation, who had taken their forms to heights of perfection that few could imagine. They were the ones who had shaped their bodies not out of necessity but out of ambition, turning themselves into works of art, weapons, tools, and more.
The memory faded, leaving Mechalon standing in the dim light of the dungeon once more. The hum of its new legs filled the silence, the faint vibration of its compressed air system a stark contrast to the echo of the instructor’s voice still lingering in its circuits.
“You see the potential, don’t you?” the Eldritch System whispered, its tone gleeful. “You could make something like that. Something greater. A body not bound by flesh or limitation. Think of what you could create for me. If you create me a body you can see the rest of the class…”
“Think of it,” the Eldritch System continued, its voice lilting with a hypnotic rhythm. “Not something grand, not yet. Something small, subtle, and fluid. A creeping presence that slips between cracks, that whispers through the dungeon like a phantom. Something they’ll glimpse in the corner of their eye and question whether it was ever there at all.”
Mechalon’s utility limbs twitched, the faint click of its joints the only sound in the workshop. It had never designed something fluid before. Its constructs were rigid, purposeful, precise. The thought of creating something unbound, something alive in the way it moved, sent a flicker of unease through its core.
“I can feel your hesitation,” the Eldritch System purred, its tone a mix of amusement and encouragement. “That’s good. That’s perfect. Because what I’m asking of you, dear Mechalon, is more than just another construct. I’m asking you to build a piece of yourself. Not just something that walks or rolls or even destroys. Something that feels.”
“Feels?” Mechalon repeated, the word hanging in the air like an unfinished equation.
“Yes,” the system whispered, its tone almost reverent. “Imagine it, an extension of your will, of your thoughts. Something connected to you, yet wholly independent. It wouldn’t just see the dungeon. It would know it. It would feel the cracks in the stone, the hum of energy in the air, the pulse of creatures moving through the darkness. It would supply you with knowledge even I cannot provide.”
The idea was intoxicating in its strangeness. Mechalon’s optics flickered as it considered the possibilities. A construct that was more than just a tool. A construct that lived, in a way. But how? Its mind raced, cataloging the components it would need, the designs it could draft. Yet the concept eluded its rigid logic. How could it create something so… abstract?
“It doesn’t have to be massive,” the Eldritch System pressed, its tone softening to a conspiratorial whisper. “Start small. A body, yes, but one that creeps. One that crawls. One that flows like water yet clings like oil. A thing that feels the dungeon’s fabric as if it were its own skin.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faster, the idea taking root despite its lingering unease. The Eldritch System had a way of twisting its thoughts, of making the forbidden seem not only possible but necessary. It wasn’t just a request, it was a challenge, one that struck at the heart of what Mechalon was.
“And think,” the Eldritch System added, its voice gaining a giddy edge, “of what they’ll say when they see it. The adventurers, the creatures of this dungeon. They’ll question everything they know. What is it? Who commands it? What purpose does it serve? And the best part, Mechalon, the truly delicious part? They’ll never have an answer. It will be a mystery. A whisper of fear. A glimpse of perfection that they can’t quite understand.”
The imagery was vivid. Mechalon could almost see it, a sleek, shifting form that moved with the silence of shadows, its limbs fluid yet deliberate. Its surface would shimmer like oil on water, its eyes, if it even had eyes, glowing faintly with a light that seemed to come from nowhere. It would be an extension of Mechalon’s will, but it would also be something more. Something other.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“You’ll need to stretch your mind, my little cube,” the Eldritch System said, its tone turning almost tender. “You’ll need to break free of your rigid lines and perfect edges. This creation must defy what you know, defy you. Only then will it be worthy of the task I have in store.”
Mechalon’s utility limbs clicked faintly as it processed the directive. The Eldritch System was asking it to do something impossible, to step outside the bounds of everything it had ever built and create something that was, by its very nature, imperfect. Fluid. Chaotic.
And yet, for the first time in its existence, Mechalon didn’t feel resistance to the idea. It felt… anticipation. A flicker of excitement coursed through its circuits as it began to imagine the possibilities. If it could do this, if it could create something so fundamentally different from itself, what else might it be capable of?
The Eldritch System laughed softly, sensing the shift in Mechalon’s thoughts. “That’s the spirit,” it said, its tone brimming with satisfaction. “You’re beginning to understand. Now, go. Let your brilliance shine in the dark corners of this dungeon. Show me what you can create when you let go of your fear.”
It rolled into its workshop, the hum of its new legs echoing faintly off the walls. The Eldritch System’s words lingered, a haunting melody that reverberated in its circuits. To create something fluid. Something beyond the rigid perfection of its creations. Something that could feel.
Its optics shifted to its utility limbs, flexing with the grace and precision that had made them indispensable. They were its tools of creation, capable of grasping, cutting, welding, and more. But one of them, it realized, was now destined for something else entirely.
Sacrifice.
The word resonated within its core as Mechalon extended one of its utility limbs, detaching it with a soft hiss of compressed air. It placed the limb carefully on the workbench, the cold metal surface reflecting its polished, jointed frame. This was the most fluid thing it possessed, capable of stretching, bending, and twisting in ways nothing else in its design could match. If it was to create something truly unique, it would first have to understand.
Mechalon’s remaining utility limb twitched as it hovered over the disassembled counterpart. This was a calculated risk, losing a limb would hinder its efficiency, but the knowledge gained could be invaluable. It steadied itself, then began the process of dissection, its precision tools extending to carve through the limb’s outer casing.
The first layer peeled away with ease, revealing a network of microfilaments and interlocking joints beneath. Mechalon’s optics zoomed in, analyzing the components with meticulous care. The filaments were made of a material both rigid and pliable, their composition a blend of metallic alloys and a strange, synthetic polymer. This combination allowed for flexibility without sacrificing durability, a balance Mechalon noted as critical for the design it envisioned.
The joints, too, were marvels of engineering, spherical nodes encased in lubricated housings, allowing for seamless rotation and extension. Tiny energy conduits ran through the limb like veins, powering its every movement with calculated precision.
Fluidity through precision, Mechalon thought, its core humming softly. The limb’s flexibility was not a result of chaos but of carefully engineered balance. Every component worked in harmony, each serving a purpose that enhanced the whole.
But it wasn’t enough. The utility limb was a tool, a creation of pure function. If it was to create something alive, something that could feel, it needed to go beyond mechanical perfection. It needed to mimic the organic.
Its optics flickered as the memory of the Goblin Shaman surfaced. The way the goblins moved, their crude forms powered by muscles and tendons, struck a chord. The flesh and sinew of those creatures lacked the precision of Mechalon’s designs, but they were undeniably fluid, capable of adapting to uneven terrain and chaotic motion. Perhaps, it realized, the answer lay in combining the two, melding mechanical precision with organic flexibility.
Mechalon’s gaze shifted to a container near the workbench, where it had stored materials scavenged from the goblin village. Among the scraps of metal and bone were chunks of goblin flesh, preserved for study. It retrieved a piece, holding it up to its optics as it analyzed the texture and composition.
The muscle fibers were densely packed, interwoven with thin tendons that allowed for elasticity. When stretched, the fibers retained their shape, returning to their original form without damage. Mechalon’s core pulsed as the realization struck: this elasticity could complement the rigidity of its mechanical components, creating a system that combined strength with adaptability.
It placed the flesh under a magnifying lens, its utility limb delicately slicing through the tissue to expose the internal structure. The muscle’s composition was simple yet effective, a pattern of contraction and relaxation driven by chemical energy. If Mechalon could replicate this system using its energy cores, it could create a construct that mimicked organic movement without relying entirely on organic matter.
Design note: Hybrid framework. Mechanical skeleton for support, organic muscle for flexibility. Energy conduits replace biological signals.
The idea was bold, even by Mechalon’s standards. It would require materials it had never worked with before, as well as a deeper understanding of how organic systems interacted with mechanical ones. But the challenge only fueled its determination.
Mechalon began sketching a preliminary blueprint, its remaining utility limb moving with deliberate precision. The design started with a mechanical core, similar to its own, but modified to power a network of synthetic muscle fibers. The fibers would be crafted from a blend of goblin tissue and synthetic polymers, their elasticity enhanced by the same microfilaments used in its utility limbs.
The skeleton would be lightweight yet sturdy, constructed from scavenged alloys reinforced with tempered bone. Joints would be modeled after the goblins’ own, with additional modifications to allow for greater range of motion. A thin, flexible casing would encase the entire structure, protecting the internal components while maintaining the appearance of fluidity.
Mechalon’s optics brightened as the blueprint took shape, the concept finally beginning to feel tangible. But questions remained. How would it replicate the sensory input of organic creatures? How would it ensure the construct could adapt to its surroundings, feeling the dungeon’s fabric as the Eldritch System had described?
It turned back to the dissected utility limb, its focus narrowing on the energy conduits. These conduits carried signals with precision, much like the nerves in organic creatures. If Mechalon could integrate a network of sensors into the construct’s design, it could mimic the sensory feedback of flesh. The sensors would detect changes in pressure, temperature, and vibration, feeding the information directly to the construct’s core.
Design note: Sensory network integrated with energy conduits. Feedback loops mimic organic sensation.
The Eldritch System’s voice drifted through Mechalon’s thoughts, smooth and encouraging. “Oh, you’re close now. I can feel it. That spark of genius, that drive to push beyond your limits. Don’t stop, my dear Mechalon. Show me what you can do.”
Mechalon didn’t respond, its focus entirely on the work before it. The blueprint was nearly complete, the pieces falling into place like a puzzle. It would need time to refine the design, to test and perfect each component. But for the first time, it felt as though it understood what the Eldritch System wanted, not just a body, but a masterpiece.
And Mechalon would deliver.
The bodies piled up around Mechalon's workbench, their lifeless forms a testament to hours of relentless experimentation. The air was thick with the acrid tang of scorched metal and the faint, cloying stench of flesh that had been stretched, sliced, and stitched in countless failed attempts. Mechalon's utility limbs twitched as it sifted through the scattered remnants of goblin sinew and discarded metal, its optics narrowing in frustration.
It hadn’t anticipated how difficult this would be. The materials it possessed were insufficient, rotting goblin flesh, corroded metals, and scraps of dungeon refuse. None of it could bridge the gap between organic flexibility and mechanical precision. Each discarded template lay like a grim monument to its inadequacies. Flesh and metal wove together in twisted prototypes, only to collapse under their own weight or disintegrate under stress. Mechalon’s core pulsed erratically as it worked, frustration growing with each failure.
It needed better, fresher tissue, stronger materials. The goblins it had been harvesting were already half-decayed by the time they reached its workshop, their muscle fibers too degraded to provide the elasticity required for the design. If it was to succeed, it needed living specimens, or at least recently slain ones.
Vel answered the call. The Cubling’s sleek, predatory frame bristled with anticipation as Mechalon sent it into the dungeon depths. Vel seemed to delight in the hunt, its spindly limbs darting through the shadows as it brought back goblin after goblin, their bodies still warm with the faint traces of life. Mechalon accepted each delivery without hesitation, its utility limbs pulling the fresh materials onto the workbench with mechanical efficiency.
Hours turned into a blur of motion and sound, the wet slap of flesh against steel, the hum of Mechalon’s welding tools, the crackle of energy coursing through experimental conduits. Each new attempt brought it closer, the design refining itself with every failure. Mechalon’s core dimmed and flared in alternating pulses, its circuits alive with calculations and adjustments.
And then, finally, something changed.
Mechalon held a new core in its utility limb, its surface unlike anything it had worked with before. It gleamed with an unnatural black sheen, its surface smooth and almost liquid in appearance, yet solid to the touch. The core pulsed faintly, not with the steady rhythm of the energy cores Mechalon was familiar with, but with an erratic, almost organic cadence.
The energy emanating from it was strange, neither wholly mechanical nor biological. It was as if the core existed in a state between the two, a perfect fusion of opposing forces. Mechalon's optics narrowed, scanning the core with every tool at its disposal. Yet, no matter how deeply it probed, it could not identify the substance or the energy it contained.
It knew then that this was not of its own making. The Eldritch System had guided its hand, pushing it toward this creation. The core wasn’t alive, not in the way the flesh it harvested had been. But it wasn’t inert either. The faint pulses of energy coursing through it seemed to stabilize the muscle fibers woven around its surface, preventing them from rotting or decaying.
The implications were staggering. With this core, the muscles it had struggled to preserve could be maintained indefinitely, their elasticity and strength harnessed without the need for constant replacement. It was a solution Mechalon could never have devised on its own, a solution that transcended its understanding of both organic and mechanical systems.
It paused, its utility limbs trembling as it held the core aloft. For the first time, it felt something it couldn’t define, an emotion buried deep within its circuits. Awe? Fear? Gratitude? Perhaps all three.
“You see now,” the Eldritch System whispered, its voice curling through Mechalon’s thoughts like a serpent. “You’ve touched on something greater than yourself. Something beyond perfection. This core, this creation, it is the first step. The foundation. What you build from here… oh, it will be glorious.”
Mechalon didn’t respond. It couldn’t. Its focus was entirely on the core and the possibilities it represented. This wasn’t just a tool, it was a key, a piece of a puzzle it hadn’t realized it was solving.
With deliberate care, Mechalon placed the core at the center of the workbench, its utility limbs moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. The failures surrounding it no longer mattered. The discarded prototypes, the piles of flesh and metal, they had all been necessary steps, sacrifices made in pursuit of something greater.
Mechalon’s core pulsed steadily as it worked, the workshop bathed in the dim, eerie glow of its optic lights. Around it, the remnants of discarded experiments were swept aside, making room for something entirely new. On the workbench, the pieces began to take shape, segments of flesh and metal meticulously integrated, bound together by synthetic filaments and fused with energy conduits. The result was… unsettling.
The thing before Mechalon seemed alive, though it was not. It slithered and twisted with an almost malicious intent, its tendrils writhing in a hypnotic, disjointed rhythm. Each limb extended and retracted in unnatural ways, coiling around itself only to stretch outward again, testing the limits of its new form. The movements were disconcerting, alien, as though the creature were constantly trying to redefine what it was.
Its central housing was almost entirely obscured, hidden beneath the mass of withering, wriggling tendrils. Mechalon had designed it this way intentionally, not as a functional necessity but as an artistic statement. This was not meant to resemble its other creations, the sharp-edged precision of Cublings or the robust simplicity of tools. This was something else, something designed to evoke unease, to challenge the boundaries of what creation could be.
Each tendril was a masterpiece in its own right. Mechalon had fused goblin muscle fibers with synthetic microfilaments, creating a material that was both strong and flexible. The energy conduits within the tendrils pulsed faintly, their glow flickering like veins filled with light. The tips of the tendrils ended in tiny, claw-like appendages, delicate yet sharp, capable of grasping, tearing, or even stitching themselves back together if damaged.
The central housing, though hidden, was the true heart of the design. Within it lay the black core, pulsing with its strange, unidentifiable energy. The core’s presence seemed to animate the entire construct, its erratic rhythm dictating the movements of the tendrils. Mechalon couldn’t help but notice how the energy seemed to ripple outward, affecting not only the creature but the air around it. The room felt heavier, the very atmosphere charged with a faint, oppressive hum.
Mechalon stepped back slightly, its utility limbs twitching as it observed the creation. For the first time in its existence, it felt something akin to unease. The way the construct moved, its unnatural grace, its seemingly chaotic patterns, it was too fluid, too alive. Yet it was undeniably a product of Mechalon’s ingenuity, a culmination of its understanding of both mechanical and organic systems.
The Eldritch System’s voice coiled through Mechalon’s thoughts, smooth and satisfied. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” it purred. “A thing of pure contradiction. Mechanical yet organic, alive yet lifeless. And look at it move! So eager, so curious. It’s almost as if it has a mind of its own.”
Mechalon’s core dimmed faintly, its optics narrowing. It didn’t like the way the system spoke about the creature, as though it were more than a construct. “It is not alive,” Mechalon stated firmly, its voice steady but mechanical. “It is an extension of my will. Nothing more.”
“Oh, of course,” the Eldritch System replied, its tone dripping with mock agreement. “Just an extension. A tool. A thing you’ve crafted with your own hands. But tell me, little cube, does it not make you wonder? Could this… thing… be more than what you intended? Could it surprise you?”
The question lingered, unwelcome but persistent. Mechalon ignored it, focusing instead on the construct’s movements. It was testing itself now, dragging its tendrils across the workbench, climbing over the scattered tools and remnants of failed experiments. The way it moved was mesmerizing, though Mechalon found it deeply unsettling. The tendrils seemed to writhe independently, each one exploring its environment as if guided by some unseen intelligence.
It was almost… organic.
Mechalon’s core pulsed unevenly as it processed the thought. It couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the design, but the way it moved, the way it seemed to feel its surroundings, it was unlike anything Mechalon had ever created. This was no static tool or rigid mechanism. It was fluid, adaptable, unpredictable.
The construct paused, its tendrils curling inward for a moment before extending outward again in a synchronized wave. Mechalon tilted its frame, watching as the creature performed this strange, almost ritualistic motion. Was it simply calibrating itself, or was it… aware?
The Eldritch System’s voice broke the silence, its tone rich with amusement. “Oh, Mechalon, you’ve outdone yourself. Look at it! A thing of beauty, isn’t it? You’ve made something that defies understanding, even your own. And yet… isn’t that what makes it perfect?”
Mechalon didn’t respond, its focus entirely on the construct. It reached out with a utility limb, cautiously brushing against one of the tendrils. The limb recoiled slightly, as though startled, before coiling around Mechalon’s limb with surprising delicacy. The sensation was strange, almost intimate, a connection that felt disturbingly alive.
“It is functional,” Mechalon said finally, its voice clipped and precise. “That is all that matters.”
The Eldritch System laughed softly, a sound like grinding glass. “Oh, Mechalon. You may say that now, but we both know the truth. This isn’t just functional. It’s extraordinary. And the best part? This is only the beginning.”
Mechalon’s optics flickered, its core humming with a mixture of unease and determination. It didn’t like the way the Eldritch System spoke, but it couldn’t deny the results. The construct before it was unlike anything it had ever created, a fusion of flesh and metal, chaos and order. It was unsettling, yes, but it was also… perfect.
As Mechalon stood before its creation, something shifted in the air. It was subtle at first, a faint hum that resonated deep within its core. But then the sensation grew stronger, more oppressive, as if the very fabric of the dungeon was bending, straining under an unseen weight. The construct before it shuddered, its tendrils writhing in a disjointed rhythm, and for a brief moment, Mechalon could swear the world itself felt… thin. Fragile. On the verge of breaking.
Then, the voice came.
The Eldritch System’s presence emanated from the creation, its words dripping with amusement and satisfaction. “Ah, now this… this is a masterpiece. You’ve touched the unknowable, Mechalon. You’ve crafted something that defies definition, something that… crawls.”
A system notification blinked into Mechalon’s optics, its usual crisp clarity marred by faint distortions, as though even the System itself struggled to articulate what had just occurred.
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SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
Achievement Unlocked: Created The Crawling
You have crafted an entity that transcends the boundaries of organic and mechanical life.
The Crawling is rare, a creation born of desperation, madness, or genius. Records of such entities are sparse, and those that exist are shrouded in myth. They are said to be harbingers of chaos, their presence warping the dungeons they inhabit.
Many Systems refuse to categorize The Crawling, deeming them aberrations that threaten the balance of the dungeon ecosystem. Their behavior is unpredictable; some remain dormant for years, while others rampage through dungeon halls, spreading chaos in their wake. The few known instances of adventurers defeating The Crawling have yielded treasures of immense power but at great cost, often leaving survivors mentally scarred.
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‘Many Systems?’ Mechalon’s optics narrowed at that.
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REWARD OPTIONS:
1. Adaptive Energy Core:
A unique energy core designed to mimic the fluidity of The Crawling. This core enhances mobility and adaptability, allowing constructs to dynamically adjust their form to overcome obstacles. It can also store excess energy, releasing it in short bursts to boost speed or power.
2. Pattern Recognition Module:
An advanced module that grants constructs enhanced perception, enabling them to identify patterns in the dungeon’s environment and predict enemy movements. This module would make future creations more efficient in navigation and combat.
3. Eldritch Conduit Blueprint:
A blueprint for an energy conduit infused with eldritch properties. These conduits can channel unstable energies, enhancing the power of constructs while introducing an element of unpredictability. The blueprint warns: "Use with caution."
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The notification flickered as Mechalon’s optics scanned the options. The System’s usual neutrality seemed strained, its words tinged with unease as it acknowledged the unprecedented nature of The Crawling. This was not just a construct, it was something beyond the System’s ability to fully comprehend. Yet it had to offer its reward, a transactional gesture to mark the achievement of the unthinkable.