Turned out every little thing Blake did to his creations had a cost. There was something like a 'mean' in terms of size, and if he made something...unshapely, it would either tell him it didn't work or warn him the thing would spend most of its time falling over.

Anything he made 'permanent' cost a shitload of mana, and took a lot of time. It also cost him a piece of his total mana until he re-absorbed it or it was destroyed.

But other than that, not only could he make a permanent servant, he could make as many as his mana allowed for. Finally, he could decide what 'affinity' to summon them with. Though as far as he could tell his only choices were 'Arcane' or 'Psionic'.

"What's the difference?" he asked Navi, who squinted her (its? Her, he decided on a whim) cute little eyes.

"Affinity is very important, Master! Arcane will give your creation a simple energy to use in its attacks."

Blake nodded, thinking back to the statue more or less frying that demon with its hands. "And Psionic?"

"Great resistance to magic, Master," Navi beamed. "Immunity to most anything except physical destruction."

Blake grinned at his familiar, knowing how incredibly valuable it was to finally have an actual source of knowledge about the game.

"I'm extremely pleased with your work so far, Navi," he said, and the little orb practically ripped its 'face' smiling. "God I hope these constructs don't suck," he muttered to himself, finally finishing the prompts, choosing more or less a basic Arcane humanoid for now.

The moment he did, his mana bar drained from about to half to basically nothing. His body locked into a compulsive stance that gave him very little movement, his hands jut forward like he was molding clay. It didn't take much attention at first, but soon he could feel energy shifting and building between his hands.

"Holy shit," he said, laughing at the feeling of holding such power. He felt like he was watching a storm build on his command, like static electricity was growing in an orb in front of him. Pretty soon even his eyes felt locked, the world disappearing all around as the magic built and glazed his eyes like a drug.

When it finally released, he grunted and felt sweat all over his body. The energy in front of him burst, and like Arnie standing from his time travel in Terminator 2, a blue human about Blake's height stood and stared.

"Ha!" Blake clapped his hands and saw the 'profile' of his new minion near his powers. He could even command it without words, more or less—just by focusing like he could on any other power. Unfortunately the thing didn't look exceedingly strong.

It also looked disturbingly like Blake, and he made a mental note to avoid that going forward. He noticed his mana pool had greyed out a little at the top of the 'ball', losing maybe 10% of his total. Since it had taken about half to cast, that meant he could potentially have about five of the damn things walking around permanently!

Well, he thought, cracking his knuckles and his neck. It was time for the rubber to meet the road.

"OK, Arnold," he said, looking at the gate. "Let's see if we can bust this sucker open. You pull, I'll...well I'll pull too."

Blake prepped Telekinesis with what scraps of mana remained, ready to seize the whole grate and rip it from the stone. His blue doppleganger walked to the bars, grabbing it with what must have been the worst lifting posture Blake had ever seen.

"I hope you can't throw out your back," he said, activating his power.

Then a sound like hissing steam came from the iron. Blake's 'golem' pushed its hands right through the bars, just as the statue had done with the demon. In about 5 seconds flat, it melted the iron and swiped it all away like bloody cobwebs, molten metal dripping to the floor. Then it stepped back and gestured at the open tunnel.

Blake closed his mouth, and turned off Telekinesis. Yeah. That’d do. That’d do just fine.

But it wasn't time to leave the Maker Hall yet. He was safe, and being given food and water, and for the first time had something (and maybe two things) that could answer questions about his powers, and maybe the game itself.

He thought about Ilya, closing his eyes and choosing to believe she was alive and would be fine until the system told him he had a deadline. He couldn't help anyone as he was—without being fully in command of his new powers and using them to their potential.

"Just hold on," he whispered, "I'm coming, Ilya. I promise you."

* * *

Ilya woke up in a cage. She stayed perfectly still, not wanting to alert her captors, to try and understand her situation before she moved. She remembered running from the orc king with Thrall. Er, Blake. She remembered the wooden barrier being pulled apart, then running inside and watching Blake disappear.

She'd run on, hearing the warriors close behind, terrified of what might lie ahead through empty corridors...and then...

She blinked. Then nothing. Something had struck her, maybe? Had she fallen down some kind of mineshaft? Finally she opened her eyes more than a slit, then wiggled her fingers and toes and moved her limbs. She felt fine. Unharmed. She couldn't see much except some light coming from somewhere in the room.

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Then she sat up to find she'd been...cleaned? They'd put her into some kind of robe, which disturbed her enough to look underneath and find something like nightwear. She felt herself flush with heat at the embarrassment of it all, then looked angrily for her captors.

Her 'cage' was quite spacious—filled with barrels of water and what looked like dried or salted food. There were buckets to do her business, a chair, and several furs to sleep on. Eventually she stood and walked to the bars, looking out for anyone or anything nearby. Then she froze.

The cage was hanging in the air. She forced herself to stand on her tiptoes and look down, only to stare at a gaping chasm that even to orc eyes looked like an endless pit of darkness.

Her heart pounded as she slowly withdrew, turning and looking for something, anything to make sense of what was happening. Huge, red eyes greeted her on the opposite side of the cage.

She screamed in surprise, and two rows of white fangs grew into a smile.

"Sleepy little orcy,” rasped a horrible voice like grating metal. “I've been wondering for hours what you did to earn my cage."

Ilya screamed again as the creature slammed itsself against the bars, pressing a horrific face as far as possible as its red veined eyes searched her, drool from its terrible maw dripping down the metal.

"Tell me, won't you? Your misdeeds? Oh please please please. Did you seduce your own kin? No? Did you murder your children? Did you...eat them?"

Ilya backed as far away as she could, heart pounding in terror. Then she closed her fists and tried to catch her breath. Her people had long feared magic despite magic itself not being evil—not being different than any other worldly thing.

She knew they likely feared demons in the same way. It would just be a creature like any other, despite the myths and the many stories meant to frighten children. She had never seen a demon, but her mother had taught her many of their ways.

"You don't frighten me, Kazikdra," she used the Oracle's ancient slur for the dwellers of the deep earth.

"Ohhh!" The demon circled and Ilya heard the flapping of its wings. "An orc witch. And such a young and beautiful one. I see. You haven't been naughty, just unlucky." The demon scraped the bars with some kind of weapon, and sent sparks cascading down into the gloom. "You're some orc hero's prize, aren't you?" The demon laughed and laughed.

Ilya's mother told her demons could wield mind magic—that to tell them anything at all might give them even more power over you. She said nothing, already regretting speaking in the first place. The demon just kept circling and smiling with those terrifying teeth.

"Someone is coming, little she-orc. Does that comfort you? The earth told me to wait, and they would come. But I've never seen a flying orc."

Ilya tried to ignore it. She searched her cage, going through some of the barrels, finding nothing at all she could use and not knowing what the hell she could do anyway. She had some spells she could try, but nothing to possibly help her defeat a demon, or get her out of this cage.

Would Blake come for her? Is that what the creature was saying? Was she part of some kind of...test?

She tried to lay down on the furs and sleep, knowing the demon's eyes were on her. Her mother had told her the first Oracles were taught by the gods to serve the ancient chiefs—to help them face such deadly perils as demons and dragons, and so help their people survive. They had forgotten, she knew. For too long they had seen no trace of the ancient evils, and lost their way.

Perhaps that was why ‘King’ Gromsh had come—a curse on a people whose memories had faded, whose purpose had been lost. They were being punished by the gods. And they deserved it.

"I should have listened to you, Mother." Ilya wept into her furs. "I should have been stronger. Tried more. Tried..." she clutched the softness and covered her face, eventually drifting closer to sleep.

She pictured Thrall and sometimes the real human face of Blake with a combination of anger and hope. If Gromsh was sent by the gods, then maybe he was sent, too. It made a sick kind of sense. A human savior to humble and teach a wayward people. To save them. To save her. She wasn’t sure if she hoped it was true or not.

* * *

Blake smiled when he found the orc girl's sleeping mind. He'd had a rather long day of trying constructs, finally laying down to rest before it occurred to him to try. Who said he could only Dreamwalk into humans? And why work with hypotheticals when the orc could potentially tell him everything he needed to know?

He entered her dreams with no trouble, sighing as he found them largely unlit and suited to the darkness dwelling creature. But then he reminded himself it was just a dream, and not remotely real, and lit nearly everything with just a thought.

"I'm getting slightly better at this," he decided, tempted to stop and produce a fake meal. But he supposed there was plenty to do and it all took mana, and he'd best not waste any time.

He found Ilya in her family home, at a table with orcs young and old, laughing and playing and eating together. Children tussled at her feet with some kind of mole-like pets. A handsome orc stood and made some kind of speech to her family, her eyes shining with pleasure as she watched it all. Then she blinked and saw Blake, and the family vanished.

"Sorry to disturb," he said, feeling a touch awkward, but also pleased to see her. "I was hoping you could answer some questions."

"Blake?" Ilya blinked and stood. "What a strange dream...I don't usually...I'm not so awake."

"I'm quite real," he said, gesturing to two chairs before taking one. "Are you alright? Are you safe?"

"I'm..." she stared at him and he supposed she wasn't really used to his human face. "Your eyes are so...blue," she said, almost entranced.

"Ilya, I need you to focus. I can enter dreams with my magic. This is me, really here, and I need your help to find you. Can you help me?"

She blinked, seemingly snapped out of it. "Yes." She looked away as if thinking. "I'm trapped in a cage, hanging somewhere with a flying demon. He knows your coming. I don't know how I got there."

Blake nodded, pleased that it was what he'd thought—that roboGod had used Ilya in its little games.

"You have time, then? Food and water? You aren't being harmed?"

"No, no...I mean, yes, I have time. It's...frightening, and boring. But, I'm alright. And you?"

"Eh?" Blake nodded then met her eyes, lost in thoughts of flying constructs. "Me? Yes I'm fine." He smiled and only hoped he could get her out of this mess. "I'm sorry, Ilya, for involving you in...all this. I'm going to get you out. Then we're going to deal with Gromsh. I promise you."

Ilya smiled but it was...polite. It was fairly clear she didn't have much hope he could do any of that. But he didn't blame her, and he didn't need her faith.

"I'll be there soon," he said, letting the dream world fade. "A few days maybe. But don't worry. I'm coming, and I'm going to save you."

She was saying something like 'thank you' as he faded, but he couldn't stand the thought of it. He'd ruined what was left of her life already. Making her a criminal and an outcast in her home.

If he failed now she'd be killed or worse. And who knew, maybe even if he succeeded. If that was the case, he'd try to take her to Nassau, and to hell with whatever they thought. She'd be safe there, at least as safe as anyone.

Blake returned to his senses and closed his eyes, Meditating in the last few moments before sleep. The day had been productive, but now things needed to change. He had time and needed every scrap of it.

To plan how to save Ilya, then to plan how to stop Gromsh. This dungeon, this hall, was a huge blessing and he intended to make use of it.

First sleep. Then an army of new constructs. This time with wings.