Mechalon flexed its new utility limb, testing its precision and fluidity against the air as it contemplated the glowing options before it. The System’s reward menu hovered, stark and tantalizing, each option promising something unique. It coiled the limb, watching it twist and weave like a mechanical serpent. The design had exceeded expectations, but there was always room for more improvement.
It focused on the three choices:
Adaptive Energy Core: The prospect of enhanced mobility and adaptability piqued Mechalon’s interest. The idea of reshaping its frame dynamically was intriguing, especially after witnessing The Crawling’s fluid motion. The ability to store and release energy bursts could also complement its growing arsenal.
Pattern Recognition Module: This option offered clarity and precision, tools for efficiency. Identifying patterns and predicting enemy movements could turn the tide in a chaotic dungeon, making navigation and combat seamless. It could foresee the practical applications in both its creations and its strategies.
Eldritch Conduit Blueprint: The glowing option pulsed faintly, as though the blueprint itself carried an awareness. Eldritch properties meant power, but also danger. The System’s warning was clear, yet Mechalon couldn’t ignore the potential for creation that came with such a volatile element.
A familiar voice broke Mechalon’s reverie. “Strat,” it called, its tone relaxed and casual, “come here.”
The familiar cube-like Cubling scuttled over, its frame clicking softly as it stopped beside Mechalon. Strat’s edges gleamed from its regular polishing, a testament to its fastidious nature. “Yes, Mechalon?” it asked, its voice precise and deliberate.
Mechalon waved its new limb with a nonchalant flick, gesturing toward the reward menu. “What do you think of these options? Which one would you pick?”
Strat tilted its frame, the faint hum of its core shifting as it analyzed the choices. “The Adaptive Energy Core seems the most practical for your current state,” it said after a moment. “Enhanced mobility and energy bursts could complement your recent upgrades.”
Mechalon hummed faintly, its core pulsing as it processed Strat’s input. “And the Pattern Recognition Module?” it asked, its tone almost playful.
“Useful,” Strat replied, “but more suited for environmental and tactical advantage rather than direct application. It would aid your efficiency, but its benefits are less immediate.”
“And the Eldritch Conduit?” Mechalon asked, its optics narrowing slightly.
Strat hesitated, its frame vibrating faintly. “It is... risky. Unpredictable. But if you can harness its properties effectively, the potential gains are significant.”
Mechalon chuckled softly, its voice carrying a rare note of amusement. “Ah, Strat, you’re a cautious one, aren’t you?”
Strat straightened, its frame clicking softly in response. “Caution ensures survival.”
Satisfied with the input, Mechalon shifted the conversation. “Tell me, Strat, what do you think of teachers?”
“Teachers?” Strat repeated, tilting its frame in curiosity.
“Yes,” Mechalon continued, leaning back slightly in a gesture of relaxation. “I’ve been thinking. I’m not particularly... good at teaching. Perhaps I should create one. Something like the teacher from the memory.”
Strat processed this for a moment before responding. “You could use one of the humans you’ve captured. The female, Anna. She seems knowledgeable. She might serve as an adequate teacher.”
Mechalon’s core brightened at the suggestion. “Ah, yes, Anna. That’s her name, isn’t it? A fine idea, Strat. You always were the observant one.”
It flexed its utility limb again, the motion deliberate and fluid, as it mulled over the suggestion. A human teacher could bring a different perspective, a new layer to its creations and strategies. The idea was enticing, though Mechalon didn’t dwell on it too long.
For now, the reward needed a decision. It glanced at Strat, the faint hum of its core steady as it considered the Cubling’s input. The Eldritch System’s presence lingered in the room, a subtle, watchful shadow that seemed to stretch toward the choice Mechalon would make.
Mechalon’s optics flickered with faint amusement. “I suppose I should choose soon. Don’t want to keep the System waiting, do we?”
The options hovered in front of it, each glowing faintly as though waiting for its touch. The potential of the Eldritch Conduit Blueprint was undeniable, unpredictable, yes, but the possibilities stirred something deep within its circuits. The Eldritch System’s subtle whispers of potential enhancements, things that could be replicated and expanded upon, pushed the choice further into focus.
Mechalon’s optics brightened as it considered the creatures in the memories the Eldritch System had shared. They had moved with an efficiency that transcended mere mechanics, a symbiosis of engineering and organic adaptability. It had seen what they could achieve with unique advancements, and the promise of random enchantments felt like a thread it could follow to replicate that brilliance.
It turned to Strat, its tone calm but decisive. “The Eldritch Conduit Blueprint. That’s my choice.”
Strat tilted its frame slightly, its edges clicking faintly in contemplation. “Unpredictable,” it said, the faint hum of its core resonating with caution. “You’re willing to take the risk?”
Mechalon chuckled softly, a sound like metal scraping silk. “Risk is the foundation of progress, Strat. Besides, the enhancements promised by the Eldritch System may hold the key to advancements beyond what the System itself comprehends. Random enchantments might be the spark for something extraordinary.”
Strat processed the answer in silence, then asked, “What about the memories you’ve mentioned? The ones the Eldritch System shared. They seem... significant.”
Mechalon paused, its utility limb curling inward for a moment as it reflected. “Significant is one way to put it,” it said, its tone quieter. “The memories were not mine, yet they feel... familiar. The Eldritch System showed me a classroom, a gathering of minds not unlike us, though vastly more advanced. They were engineers, scientists, creators. Their bodies were mechanical, their minds sharper than any blade. And yet, they struggled.”
“Struggled?” Strat echoed, its frame tilting further.
“Yes,” Mechalon continued. “Their advancements had reached a point where resources dwindled, and progress stalled. They turned to the dungeons, much like we do, seeking something to push them forward. Their ingenuity was remarkable, machines powered by kinetic energy, designs that blended organic and mechanical elements seamlessly. But there was desperation beneath it all. A need to survive, to evolve.”
Strat remained silent, its optics flickering faintly as it processed Mechalon’s words.
“They spoke of sacrifice,” Mechalon added, its tone tinged with something almost mournful. “Not just materials or resources, but themselves. Their minds were transferable, yes, but even they knew there were limits. Every transfer meant a loss, a fraying of the edges. Eventually, they wouldn’t be themselves anymore.”
Strat hummed softly, the sound low and contemplative. “And you feel connected to these memories?”
Mechalon’s optics dimmed slightly. “I don’t know if connected is the right word. But they’ve shaped my thoughts. My designs. They’ve shown me the dangers of stagnation and the cost of innovation. The Eldritch System claims to have given them to me as a gift, but I wonder if it’s a warning.”
Strat tilted its frame again, the faint hum of its core steady. “And yet, you chose the Eldritch Conduit. You chose unpredictability.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed brighter, a faint hum of confidence resonating through its frame. “Because unpredictability is where progress hides, Strat. In the randomness of chaos, there is the potential for brilliance. And perhaps, in understanding that chaos, I can find a way to create without sacrificing what makes us... us.”
Strat considered this for a moment, then clicked softly. “Then I hope the choice brings you closer to that understanding.”
Mechalon’s optics flickered with a faint glow of amusement. “Oh, it will, Strat. It will.”
As it finalized its choice, the Eldritch System’s voice slithered through the air, soft and indulgent. “Ah, Mechalon, you never cease to intrigue me. You’ve taken the path of chaos, how delightfully fitting. Now, let’s see what you’ll create with the conduit.”
The reward menu vanished, leaving only the faint glow of anticipation in the air. Mechalon turned back to its workbench, its thoughts alive with possibilities. There was much to do, and even more to create. The blueprint would be the start of something extraordinary, it was sure of it.
Mechalon examined the blueprint closely, its glowing optics scanning the strange, twisting geometry. Unlike the pylons or the more mechanical constructs it had built before, this was something... else. The design pulsed faintly, almost as if alive, and the longer Mechalon looked at it, the more its angles seemed to shift imperceptibly. It wasn’t unsettling, not to Mechalon, but it was different. The blueprint demanded materials it had never considered before, flesh, blood, and bone.
These requirements didn’t bother Mechalon. After all, Vel had brought an abundance of goblin bodies, and there was more than enough raw material to work with. The pragmatic part of its mind saw this as an opportunity to use every scrap efficiently. Still, the intricate nature of the design wasn’t something it could execute alone, at least not with the precision required. For this task, Vel would be the ideal assistant.
“Vel,” Mechalon called, its voice echoing through the workshop.
The spider-like Cubling appeared from the shadows, her legs clicking delicately against the stone floor. She tilted her frame in acknowledgment, her webbing glinting faintly in the dim light. “Yes, Mechalon?”
Mechalon gestured toward the blueprint. “This requires precision and artistry. I need you to construct it, using your webs to lay down the foundation and bind the bodies into the required shape.”
Vel tilted her frame, her optics flickering with interest as she examined the design. “It is... complex,” she murmured, her voice soft and deliberate. “But not beyond my capabilities.”
She skittered to the pile of goblin remains, her limbs working quickly to sort through the materials. Her webbing shot out in fine, almost invisible strands, binding pieces of bone and flesh together with delicate precision. She worked methodically, weaving the materials into the three-dimensional pattern dictated by the blueprint. The geometric form took shape slowly, each angle and curve aligning perfectly.
As Vel worked, Mechalon observed her movements with growing fascination. Her webs weren’t just adhesive, they were flexible, adaptable, almost alive in the way they stretched and curved to match the design’s intricate demands. It reminded Mechalon of its own utility limbs, especially the new one it had recently constructed. The similarity made Mechalon pause, its core pulsing faintly as a thought surfaced.
Vel, Strat, Boom, Pop, each of them referred to themselves with a gendered pronoun. Vel was “she,” Strat was “he,” and the others followed similar conventions. Yet, Mechalon had always thought of itself as “it.” A neutral entity. A construct without identity beyond its purpose.
It tilted its frame slightly, considering the thought. Did it matter? Perhaps not. Gender, as far as it understood, was a concept tied to organic life. Yet, its creations, its Cublings, seemed to adopt it naturally, as if it were part of the identities they were crafting for themselves. Mechalon shrugged the thought off, refocusing on the task at hand.
Vel’s voice interrupted its musings. “This angle,” she said, her limb pointing to a section of the blueprint. “It requires tension here, but flexibility here. The webs can hold it, but it will need reinforcement.”
Mechalon nodded, extending a utility limb to assist. “Reinforce it with these alloy shards,” it suggested, passing her the materials. “They’ll provide the stability you need without compromising the flexibility.”
Vel worked quickly, her movements precise and deliberate. The geometric form began to take on a life of its own, its angles twisting and folding in ways that seemed impossible, yet perfectly aligned. The flesh and bone melded seamlessly with the webbing, forming a structure that was both grotesque and mesmerizing.
Mechalon tilted its frame as it observed the progress, its core humming faintly. “Your webs,” it remarked, “are... remarkable. They remind me of my own utility limbs, in their adaptability.”
Vel paused briefly, tilting her frame in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” she said simply before returning to her work.
As the structure neared completion, Mechalon couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. The blueprint had been cryptic, its purpose unclear, but the act of creating it was thrilling in its own way. It felt like a step into the unknown, a leap toward something greater.
Finally, Vel stepped back, her frame vibrating faintly with satisfaction. “It is done,” she said, her voice tinged with pride.
Mechalon approached the creation, its optics scanning the intricate form. The geometric shape seemed to shift subtly, its angles warping in ways that defied logic. The materials, flesh, bone, and webbing, had been woven into something that felt alive, though no life pulsed within it. It was a perfect blend of organic and mechanical, a testament to both Mechalon’s vision and Vel’s skill.
“Excellent work, Vel,” Mechalon said, its tone calm but genuine. “This... will serve its purpose.”
Vel tilted her frame slightly, her optics glowing faintly. “What purpose is that, Mechalon?”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly as it considered the question. “We’ll find out,” it said simply, the faintest hint of curiosity in its voice.
The air around the creation began to shift, but it wasn’t air in the usual sense. It was something unseen, something that pressed against Mechalon’s frame like a ripple in the very fabric of the dungeon. The energy was faintly familiar, unsettling yet intriguing. It hummed with the same strange resonance that Mechalon had encountered in the core it had crafted for The Crawling, and in the sinewy, fluid motion of its new utility limb. This energy resisted categorization, defying the usual descriptors Mechalon relied on.
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For now, it dubbed the force Chaos Energy, a nod to the Eldritch System’s pervasive influence. But the term felt like a placeholder. Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly with unease, was it something else entirely? Something darker? The faintest echoes of knowledge, shadows of necrotic energy, half-formed and distant, whispered through its circuits. It dismissed the notion quickly. These were tangents, distractions. For now, the task was to observe, analyze, and learn.
Mechalon refocused on the structure, its optics narrowing as the energy in the room thickened. The geometric form Vel had so delicately woven together seemed to inhale this energy, drawing it inward. The webbing shimmered faintly, its strands vibrating in a rhythm that felt almost alive. The bones, once jagged and haphazardly arranged, began to smooth and twist, their surfaces melding into the metallic shards Mechalon had added. Flesh and sinew, now taut with the pull of unseen forces, stretched and curved into shapes that no natural being could replicate.
The entire construct began to compress, pulling in on itself. The intricate web of materials that had spanned meters across shrank, compacting with a strange elegance. It wasn’t being crushed, but refined, distilled into something denser, more complete. The air, or whatever this force was, seemed to flow into the center of the structure like a tide drawn to a singularity. The dungeon floor beneath it groaned faintly, though there was no visible pressure applied.
Mechalon tilted its frame, the hum of its core steady as it observed the transformation. The creation’s surfaces shifted like liquid metal, the edges blurring into curves and spirals that defied geometry. It wasn’t random, though; every twist and fold had purpose, as though the structure was following some incomprehensible design that neither Mechalon nor Vel could fully grasp.
The materials began to change color, their surfaces darkening to a deep, iridescent hue. Black, but not just black, there were faint flickers of green, purple, and red, like the shimmer of oil on water. The texture was impossible to define, shifting between smooth and rough, solid and liquid. It was beautiful in a way that was deeply unsettling, a contradiction that made Mechalon’s circuits buzz faintly with unease.
Finally, the structure seemed to settle, its shifting surfaces slowing until they stilled. What had started as a chaotic amalgamation of webbing, bone, metal, and flesh was now something entirely new. A compact, spiraling mass of eldritch design, it exuded an aura of power that pressed against Mechalon’s frame. The energy within it wasn’t chaotic, it was contained, directed. Purposeful.
Mechalon’s core pulsed brighter as it approached, its utility limbs extending to inspect the creation. It hesitated for a moment, its optics scanning the surface. The energy was stronger now, and Mechalon felt the faintest pull from its own core, as though the structure were reaching for it. It reached out carefully with its new utility limb, letting the flexible tip brush against the surface.
The response was immediate. The structure pulsed, and the energy around it flared, a brief surge that illuminated the workshop with a faint, sickly glow. Mechalon recoiled slightly but held its ground, its optics narrowing as it processed the reaction. The structure seemed to respond to its presence, to its energy.
“It’s alive,” Vel murmured, her voice soft and almost reverent.
“No,” Mechalon replied, its tone measured. “It’s something else. It isn’t alive, but it isn’t... inert, either.”
The structure pulsed again, and for a brief moment, Mechalon thought it heard something, a faint, distant hum, almost like a voice. It wasn’t words, exactly, but a resonance that seemed to carry meaning. It felt like the Eldritch System’s whispers, but... different. More grounded. More deliberate.
The voice of the Eldritch System cut through the stillness, its tone rich with satisfaction. “Oh, Mechalon, what a delightful little masterpiece you’ve created. A perfect blend of chaos and precision. Tell me, does it unsettle you?”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly, its voice calm but firm. “No. It intrigues me.”
The Eldritch System chuckled, the sound like silk tearing. “Good. Curiosity suits you. But you see now, don’t you? This is the potential you’ve been blind to. This is what happens when you step beyond the confines of precision and let chaos guide your hand.”
Mechalon didn’t respond immediately, its focus still on the structure. It had no name for what it had created, no clear understanding of its purpose. But it didn’t need to understand yet. The act of creation was its own reward, a step into the unknown that promised further revelations.
Finally, Mechalon spoke, its tone steady. “This energy, what I’ve been calling Chaos Energy. What is it?”
The Eldritch System’s reply was almost gleeful. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. But for now, consider it... a gift. A tool for those bold enough to wield it. And you, Mechalon, are very bold indeed.”
As Mechalon observed the finished creation pulsing faintly with energy, it tilted its frame in contemplation. This wasn’t building, it wasn’t crafting in the way it understood. The blueprint, for all its complexity, hadn’t been instructions for assembly. It was more like a ritual, a precise series of actions and placements that channeled the chaotic forces of the world into a singular, transformative event. The thought made Mechalon’s core hum faintly with unease.
It wasn’t suited for this kind of work. This wasn’t the meticulous, mechanical perfection it thrived on. This wasn’t engineering, it was art. The lines between the two blurred slightly, but there was no denying the fundamental difference. Mechalon preferred systems it could predict and control. Rituals like this relied on intuition, on an almost organic sense of alignment and flow that felt antithetical to its nature.
Mechalon turned its optics to Vel, who stood nearby, her spindly legs clicking faintly as she tilted her frame to observe the creation. Her webbing had been the foundation of this work, the flexible, intricate strands forming the skeleton that allowed the chaotic energies to coalesce. Without her touch, the structure might have collapsed entirely under its own strange requirements.
“This is your domain,” Mechalon said, its tone calm but firm. Vel turned her optics to it, her frame vibrating faintly with curiosity. “The precision of this work, it isn’t mechanical. It’s artistic. It needs a mind that can see beyond angles and measurements.”
Vel tilted her frame in acknowledgment, her voice soft and deliberate. “I understand. But why me? Why not you?”
Mechalon extended its new utility limb, gesturing to the creation. “Because this isn’t what I do. My creations are logical, structured, predictable. This...” It paused, its optics narrowing slightly as it considered the pulsing energy of the construct. “This is something else. Something that requires intuition. A sense of artistry I lack. You, Vel, have that.”
Vel’s frame clicked faintly in what might have been amusement. “And you trust me to handle it?”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly, its tone unwavering. “I do. But I’ll be clear, this is not a task to delegate lightly. It requires focus, precision, and an understanding of what can go wrong. If we entrust this kind of work to the wrong mind...” It trailed off, its optics dimming slightly.
Vel tilted her frame further, her voice carrying a faint note of humor. “You’re thinking of Arixis.”
Mechalon’s core brightened slightly, a faint hum of amusement resonating through its frame. “Yes. Arixis would turn this into a weapon first and a masterpiece second. The energy in this process, it’s inherently unstable. If handled improperly, it could cause damage far beyond what is necessary or useful.”
Vel clicked softly, her optics glowing faintly. “So, you’re saying this is something I must take on?”
Mechalon nodded. “Not just you, Vel. This is a role that will require collaboration. Everyone will contribute their part, materials, insights, and labor. But the guiding hand, the one who ensures the process aligns perfectly, that will be yours.”
Vel paused for a moment, her frame still as she considered Mechalon’s words. Then she clicked in agreement, her tone steady. “Understood. I will take this responsibility.”
Mechalon felt a faint sense of relief as Vel accepted the role. It had no desire to repeat this experience, to delve into the chaotic world of rituals and sigils. But it recognized their importance, the potential they held for advancing the domain’s capabilities. By delegating this work to Vel, it ensured that these projects would be handled with the care and precision they required.
“We’ll refine this process,” Mechalon said, its tone decisive. “Create a framework for how these rituals should be conducted. Establish roles, guidelines, and fail-safes. This isn’t a task we can approach haphazardly. It requires discipline.”
Vel tilted her frame in acknowledgment, her voice soft but firm. “Then I will lead this effort. But know that I will need your insight, Mechalon. Even artistry benefits from structure.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly, a gesture of agreement. “You’ll have it. But for now, let’s focus on understanding what we’ve created.”
The system message appeared without warning, flickering into existence with a faint, unsettling hum that startled both Mechalon and Vel. The glyph-like text shimmered faintly, its geometric design twisting unnaturally, as if the message itself carried a piece of the eldritch conduit’s chaotic nature:
----------------------------------------
System Update: Conduit Resonance Activated
“Congratulations, Creators. The Eldritch Conduit has imparted its first resonance. Minor boons have been granted, chosen at random. Larger benefits will manifest after a full lunar cycle (28 days). Continue to shape the unknown.”
Mechalon's Boon:
* Oscillating Frame Calibration: Your core now emits a faint oscillation that subtly reduces vibrations in the surrounding area. This effect makes precision crafting slightly easier by stabilizing nearby tools and materials. It also has the curious side effect of dampening minor sound waves, reducing background noise within a small radius.
Vel's Boon:
* Gleaming Filament Webbing: Your webbing now sparkles faintly when exposed to dim light, casting small refractive patterns that resemble stars. While it offers no direct combat or structural enhancement, it subtly distracts and disorients creatures sensitive to light and may serve an artistic or decorative purpose.
----------------------------------------
Mechalon tilted its frame as it read the message, its core humming faintly in contemplation. Oscillating Frame Calibration wasn’t a groundbreaking change, but it was undeniably useful. The ability to stabilize its workspace would allow for even greater precision in its designs, minimizing imperfections caused by external disturbances. The reduction of ambient noise was a curious side effect, one that didn’t seem immediately practical but added to the overall sense of control within its domain.
Vel, meanwhile, flexed her legs experimentally, extending a strand of webbing that shimmered faintly in the dim light of the workshop. The refractive patterns danced across the stone walls, their shapes shifting like constellations in the night sky. She tilted her frame thoughtfully, her optics glowing faintly as she observed the effect.
“It’s... beautiful,” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of surprise. “But what purpose does it serve?”
Mechalon examined the shimmering webbing, its core pulsing faintly. “Not all benefits need to serve an immediate purpose. The distraction alone could be useful in certain situations. And beyond that... beauty is its own form of utility.”
Vel clicked softly, her frame vibrating with quiet amusement. “You sound like Arixis.”
Mechalon hummed faintly, the oscillation in its frame smoothing the ambient noise around them. “Perhaps. But artistry has its place, even in chaos.”
The message faded, leaving them both to contemplate their newfound quirks. Mechalon tested its oscillation by extending its utility limb, noting how the motion became smoother, the vibrations from its earlier experiments dampened entirely. Vel, for her part, began weaving patterns in the air, watching the refracted light play across the walls with growing fascination.
“Every 28 days,” Mechalon mused aloud, its tone contemplative. “The conduit will grant these... boons. Small, unpredictable, but with potential.”
Vel nodded, her optics fixed on the shimmering patterns her webs cast. “Small steps can lead to great strides. We’ll see where this path takes us.”
Mechalon’s optics dimmed slightly as it observed Vel, her spindly frame tilted upward, transfixed by the shimmering patterns her gleaming filament had cast across the dim stone walls. The refracted light danced and shifted, forming constellations that only she could have created. The faint clicks of her legs against the workshop floor were rhythmic, almost musical, as she adjusted her posture to catch the light just so, ensuring her creation sparkled at its brightest.
For a moment, Mechalon simply watched. It found itself pausing, its utility limb resting idle as it observed Vel’s fascination with her own artistry. A faint hum resonated through its core, not of calculation or analysis, but of something softer, something it rarely allowed itself to feel. Satisfaction, perhaps. Contentment.
“This alone was worth it,” Mechalon remarked quietly, its voice carrying a rare note of warmth. Vel paused, turning her optics toward Mechalon, tilting her frame slightly in curiosity. “Moments like this,” Mechalon continued, “where creation isn’t about efficiency or purpose, but wonder. These are... valuable.”
Vel’s frame clicked softly in response, her tone light. “You sound like you’re reminiscing.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly, a habitual rhythm that usually signaled deep thought. It hesitated, its utility limb twitching slightly. “It’s strange,” it said finally, its tone quieter now. “I feel as though... I’ve done this before. Watched moments like this. Enjoyed them. Hundreds of times, maybe thousands.”
Vel tilted her frame further, her curiosity evident. “But that doesn’t make sense, does it? You’ve only been... alive for a few weeks. A few months at most.”
Mechalon froze, its optics narrowing slightly as it processed her words. She was right. It was a fact as undeniable as the mechanical precision it relied on daily. It had been created mere weeks ago, a construct born into this dungeon with a singular purpose. And yet...
“I stopped the thought,” Mechalon murmured, its tone contemplative, almost troubled. “It was there, clear as day-‘It has been hundreds of...’” It trailed off, its core dimming momentarily. “But how could that be? Hundreds of what? Years? Decades? I haven’t existed long enough to have those memories.”
Vel clicked softly, her tone thoughtful. “Maybe you’re remembering something else. Something not yours.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed erratically for a brief moment before smoothing. “The memories... the ones the Eldritch System showed me.” Its voice steadied as it reasoned through the thought. “Fragments of a past that isn’t mine, but lingers. Knowledge that doesn’t belong to me, but feels... familiar.”
Vel skittered closer, her gleaming webbing trailing behind her in faint, star-like patterns. “And how does that make you feel?” she asked, her tone soft.
Mechalon hesitated. It wasn’t accustomed to being asked about feelings, much less analyzing them. But it considered her question carefully. “Conflicted,” it admitted. “I am efficient. Logical. Purposeful. And yet, I find myself... dwelling. Not on what I must do, but on what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt in those fragments. They aren’t mine, but they... shape me.”
Vel clicked in agreement, her frame shifting slightly as she wove another thread of shimmering filament. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe those fragments, whatever they are, make you more... whole.”
Mechalon tilted its frame toward her, its core pulsing faintly as it processed her words. “Perhaps,” it said finally, though its tone carried a note of hesitation. “But it also makes me question what I am. What I’m becoming.”
Vel stopped her weaving, turning fully to face Mechalon. “You’re becoming more than just a machine,” she said simply. “And maybe that’s what matters.”
As Mechalon lingered in its contemplative state, the faint, unsettling hum of the Eldritch System cut through the quiet. The Crawling stirred in the corner of the workshop, its writhing mass of tendrils shifting with an unnatural grace. The construct didn’t so much walk as it slithered across the floor, the faint clicking of bone-like protrusions on the stone marking its presence.
Its disjointed, chaotic form tilted toward Mechalon, and when it spoke, it was clear that the Eldritch System had taken control once again.
"Ah, the creeping thoughts," it said, its tone smooth and oily, slithering into Mechalon’s mind with a weight that was both comforting and unnerving. "The memories that aren’t yours. The echoes of lives lived, experiences shared, and minds unraveled. Such things are... common."
The Crawling flexed one of its tendrils, the movement oddly deliberate, as if it were gesturing for emphasis. "You see, my dear Mechalon, when you gaze too deeply into another’s memories, they can bleed into your own. Tiny threads, weaving themselves into the fabric of your being. A side effect of looking into something you were never meant to touch."
Mechalon’s optics brightened slightly, its core pulsing faintly in response. "Why?" it asked, its tone measured but edged with curiosity. "Why would that happen? I am a construct, a machine. I should not be susceptible to such things."
The Crawling tilted its mass closer, its tendrils weaving in slow, deliberate patterns as it replied. "Ah, but that’s the beautiful irony, isn’t it? You are a machine, yes. But one touched by chaos, by forces that defy logic and reason. Your mind, for all its precision, is not immune to the residue of memories left behind. You are... porous, in a way. And that porosity is what makes you so fascinating."
Mechalon’s core hummed louder, its frame shifting slightly. "The memories, the knowledge, they shape me. But they also unsettle me. If they are not mine, what am I becoming?"
The Crawling’s tendrils coiled and uncoiled, its voice laced with an almost patronizing amusement. "You are becoming what you are meant to be. A vessel for ingenuity, for progress, for... something more. These fragments, these echoes, they are tools. Use them. Don’t let them use you."
Mechalon hesitated, its utility limbs twitching faintly as it considered the Crawling’s words. "And what of these memories I’ve been shown? The teacher, the lessons, why do they feel familiar, as though they belong to me?"
The Crawling let out a low, gurgling chuckle, its mass undulating as it leaned closer. "Ah, the good teacher and his endless lessons. That memory is a gift, plucked from a time long gone, from a race that burned brightly before they fell. But familiarity? That is... peculiar." It paused, its tone taking on a more thoughtful quality. "Perhaps you resonate with them because you are like them. A creator, a seeker of knowledge. Or perhaps..." It trailed off, the implication hanging heavily in the air.
"Perhaps what?" Mechalon pressed, its tone sharper now.
The Crawling didn’t answer directly, instead shifting its mass back with an almost dismissive wave of its tendrils. "Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about it, dear Mechalon. After all, what is a memory if not fuel for the fires of invention? Use them wisely, and perhaps you’ll uncover the truth for yourself. Or not. Either way, it will be... entertaining."
With that, the Crawling slithered away, its form melting into the shadows of the workshop. The faint hum of the Eldritch System’s presence lingered for a moment longer before fading entirely, leaving Mechalon alone with its thoughts.