Mechalon’s limbs twitched with anticipation as it moved to the center of the warehouse, its glowing eyes narrowing as it analyzed the blueprints etched into its memory. The project it was about to undertake was monumental, a reconfiguration of the dungeon, a creation that would cement its domain as one of order and efficiency. But to execute this vision, it needed time.


    Time uninterrupted by the chaos of adventurers, with their loud voices, clattering armor, and endless penchant for poking at things they didn’t understand.


    The humans were a problem. Mechalon’s core hummed with irritation as it recalled their constant incursions. Most were harmless, scrambling through traps with barely enough cohesion to survive. But others, more experienced parties, represented a real threat. They came armed with precision, tactics, and spells that could dismantle its defenses.


    If Mechalon wanted to proceed, it needed to understand their pathways through the dungeon, their patterns, the placement of their units, and the way they organized themselves. Only then could it redirect their movements, delay them, or even prevent them from interfering altogether.


    But observation alone wasn’t enough this time. It needed data.


    Mechalon’s gaze shifted to the edge of the warehouse, where Vel, Strat, and Fort were stationed, their frames silent but poised for action. Vel’s spinneret twitched faintly, releasing a faint thread of filament as if sensing the tension in the air. Strat stood motionless, his frame tilted slightly as though already calculating possible outcomes. Fort, as always, loomed like a silent guardian, his bulk radiating steady reliability.


    “Capture,” Mechalon said, its mechanical voice sharp and deliberate. “We need specimens. Humans. Alive.”


    Vel’s spinneret hissed faintly, the sound carrying an almost eager note, while Strat’s frame tilted further in acknowledgment.


    “Not the prepared ones,” Mechalon continued, its tone firm. “Not the strong ones. We need those who are new. Unaware. Their patterns will be simpler, their defenses weaker. Avoid detection. Avoid casualties. This must be precise.”


    Strat finally spoke, his voice calm and even. “You seek information on pathways and placements. To what end?”


    “To secure time,” Mechalon replied, turning back to its blueprints. “I require uninterrupted hours, preferably days, for this project. The humans’ interference would compromise its integrity. By understanding their patterns, I can guide them away or... neutralize them, if necessary.”


    Strat hummed softly in acknowledgment, his frame steady. Vel skittered toward the warehouse entrance, her limbs clicking softly against the floor.


    “Vel,” Mechalon said, addressing her directly, “you will lead. Use your webbing to isolate targets. Ensure their movement is restricted, but do not harm them unnecessarily. Strat, coordinate and observe. Fort, secure the perimeter. Ensure no one escapes once they are within range.”


    Vel clicked her spinneret in acknowledgment, already weaving a thread of filament between her limbs as she prepared to move.


    As the trio departed, Mechalon returned its focus to the work ahead. The project was ambitious, requiring precision and resources far beyond what it had previously attempted. It envisioned a sprawling network of traps, defenses, and chambers, each designed to funnel intruders along predetermined pathways. The design would not only delay adventurers but also test their abilities, separating the clever from the reckless.


    In the heart of this network would be Mechalon’s masterpiece: a massive construct designed for both observation and control. It would act as an overseer, monitoring the flow of energy, the movements of intruders, and the integrity of the dungeon itself.


    But to build this, Mechalon needed time.


    Time to carve the stone. Time to weave the filaments. Time to align the cores and calibrate the mechanisms.


    Its core hummed faintly as it considered the risks. The humans it planned to capture would provide the data it needed, but their presence was also a variable. They might resist, fight back, or attempt escape.


    No. Mechalon shook the thought from its circuits. Vel, Strat, and Fort were capable. Their success was almost guaranteed.


    Almost.


    That faint sliver of uncertainty gnawed at Mechalon, a reminder of the chaos it so despised. But this time, it would prepare.


    <hr>


    Strat crouched in the shadows of a jagged outcropping, his optical sensors scanning the dimly lit southern corridor of the dungeon. The faint clash of steel against crude goblin weapons echoed through the stone walls, accompanied by grunts of exertion and the occasional shrill cry of pain.


    He had been stationed here for days, observing the ebb and flow of human parties as they ventured deeper into the dungeon. Unlike Mechalon, Strat felt no impatience, no urge to rush his task. Time was an infinite resource to beings like him. The humans, however, operated on a much more finite scale, their frantic movements and constant need for food, rest, and recovery betraying their fragile existence.


    Strat tilted his frame slightly, focusing his sensors on the skirmish below. A group of adventurers, a trio this time, fought their way through a cluster of goblins. Their movements were sloppy, their coordination minimal. The fighter was struggling to keep his shield raised under the relentless battering of a goblin’s crude club, while the rogue darted in and out of combat with uneven timing. The mage, positioned at the rear, sent weak bursts of flame toward the goblins, her incantations halting and poorly pronounced.


    Novices, Strat calculated.


    The trio was inexperienced, disorganized, and already showing signs of fatigue. A perfect candidate, on the surface. But Strat’s calculations went deeper. The rogue’s erratic movements suggested a streak of unpredictability, a potential risk. The mage’s weak spells indicated incompetence, but also instability, magical backlash could complicate matters. The fighter, for all his clumsiness, exhibited a stubborn tenacity that Strat found inefficient yet troublesome.


    No. Not this group.


    Strat continued to observe, silently cataloging the humans’ movements and the goblins’ responses. He noted patterns, weaknesses, and variables, storing the data for later analysis.


    Vel skittered along a nearby ledge, her spinneret clicking faintly as she deployed a thin strand of filament between two jagged rocks. The filament shimmered faintly in the dim light, its edges sharp enough to cut through flesh with ease.


    Strat turned his gaze toward her, his core humming faintly in disapproval.


    “Vel,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re being... eager.”


    Vel paused, tilting her frame slightly toward him, her limbs clicking in an almost petulant response.


    “The wires,” Strat continued, his tone measured, “are too lethal for humans. Weak flesh. Brittle structure. If you use those, they’ll be dead before we return to Mechalon.”


    Vel twitched, retracting the filament with a reluctant hiss.


    Strat tilted his frame slightly, observing her for a moment longer before returning his attention to the skirmish below. Vel’s enthusiasm was an asset, but it required careful control. Mechalon had been right to assign her the primary role in this operation, but Strat would need to ensure she didn’t overstep.


    The skirmish ended as expected: the goblins, disorganized and poorly equipped, fell one by one, leaving the novice adventurers bloodied but victorious. The trio lingered briefly to bandage their wounds and loot the bodies before moving deeper into the dungeon. Strat logged their movements, noting the paths they chose and the time it took them to recover.


    This wasn’t the first day of observation, and Strat knew it wouldn’t be the last. Finding the right candidates required precision, and precision took time. The captured humans needed to be weak enough to pose no significant threat but strong enough to survive the journey back to the warehouse.


    Another faint sound drew Strat’s attention, a new group entering the southern corridor. He shifted his position slightly, his sensors honing in on the source.


    This party was smaller, just two humans. They moved cautiously, their weapons drawn and their eyes darting nervously at every shadow. A fighter, judging by the poorly fitted armor and rusted sword, and a cleric who clutched a chipped staff and muttered prayers under her breath.


    Strat analyzed their movements, calculating their efficiency, or lack thereof. The fighter’s grip on his sword was unsteady, and his stance was wide and unbalanced. The cleric’s magic, though faint, flickered with enough consistency to suggest she could sustain her spells for a time, but her aura lacked the power to truly protect her companion.


    Perfect.


    This pair was weaker than the trio, their chances of survival in the dungeon already minimal without intervention. Strat tilted his frame toward Vel, who had resumed weaving filaments between rocks.


    “Vel,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “The pair. Target them.”


    Vel clicked her limbs in acknowledgment, her spinneret humming faintly as she moved into position.


    “Minimal force,” Strat added. “No fatal damage. Mechalon needs them alive. If they fall apart on the way back, the operation fails.”


    Vel paused briefly, her frame twitching as though considering the command. Then, without another sound, she darted forward, her limbs moving with the precision of a blade.


    Strat watched from his vantage point, his calculations running endlessly as he prepared to support her if necessary. This mission required brutal efficiency, and Strat would ensure it was executed flawlessly.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    The pair of humans trudged through the southern corridor, their footsteps echoing faintly off the jagged stone walls. The lingering smell of blood and sweat mixed with the damp, metallic tang of the dungeon air. They had just dispatched the last goblin in a cluster that had ambushed them at a narrow choke point, and though victorious, the toll on their strength was evident.


    The fighter—an overconfident boy who bore the beginnings of a smirk even while blood dripped from a fresh cut on his forearm—dragged his rusted sword across the ground as though the act of sheathing it was beneath him. His armor, dented and ill-fitted, clanked with every step, but he wore it like a badge of honor, his chest puffed out as though his disheveled state were a testament to his supposed skill.


    “See? Told you we didn’t need a third,” he said, his voice thick with arrogance. “The academy’s recommendations are for cowards. Two’s all we need. Less people to split the loot with.”


    Behind him, the cleric rolled her eyes, a muttered prayer escaping her lips as she touched the glowing head of her chipped staff to his injured arm. “And yet, I’m the one keeping you on your feet,” she said, her tone biting. “You’re reckless, Gavin. You barely blocked that last swing.”


    Gavin shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “Blocked it, didn’t I? Besides, we’re almost out of this section. It’s just goblins here—nothing dangerous. They barely scratched us.”


    The cleric, whose name was Anna, frowned. Her grip tightened on the staff as she surveyed the darkened corridor ahead. Her senses prickled uneasily, though she dismissed it as nerves. Goblins weren’t much of a threat, and she had her healing magic if things went sideways. Still, something about this part of the dungeon felt... off.


    “Let’s just keep moving,” she said, adjusting the fraying strap of her satchel. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”


    Gavin waved dismissively, his confidence undiminished. “Relax. The only thing left to worry about are those stupid cubes. You know, the ones people use as punching bags when they need extra practice. They’re not even worth fighting. Weakest things in the dungeon.”


    Strat watched from the shadows, his sensors honing in on the pair as they stumbled forward. His calculations ran at full speed, assessing their posture, movement, and apparent exhaustion.


    Reckless. Overconfident. The boy is careless. The girl is cautious but fatigued.


    Vel was perched higher up, her spinneret clicking faintly as she secured herself to a jagged overhang. She twitched eagerly, her limbs vibrating with anticipation.


    “Vel,” Strat murmured, his voice sharp and low. “Patience. We attack when they are weakest.”


    Vel clicked her spinneret again, but she remained still.


    From deeper in the shadows, Fort moved silently into position. The bulky Cubeling had an uncanny ability to appear exactly where he was needed without so much as a sound, his movements deliberate and measured.


    Strat turned briefly toward him, his optical sensors flickering as he noted the subtle shift in Fort’s stance. The large Cubeling’s limbs tensed, and with a faint mechanical whir, segments of his legs unfolded. Armor plates emerged, sliding into place with fluid precision, until two of his legs fused together to form an angular shield-like structure on either side of his body.


    Strat tilted his frame slightly, his tone dry. “Fort. You failed to mention that you had this capability.” Not waiting nor expecting a reply, Strat’s core hummed faintly, a sound of both approval and mild exasperation. “Noted. We will discuss this oversight later.”


    The humans reached the end of the corridor, where the faint glow of a cracked lantern illuminated a clearing littered with the bodies of goblins. Anna crouched to rummage through one of the corpses, her hands shaking slightly as she sifted through its belongings.


    “Nothing here,” she said, standing and brushing her hands off on her robes.


    “Doesn’t matter,” Gavin replied, leaning casually against the wall. “We’ve got enough for today. Let’s head back and—”


    The words died in his throat as Vel struck.


    She moved like a shadow falling over a flame, her spider-like limbs clicking against the walls as she dropped from the overhang. Gavin barely had time to react before her sharp legs swiped at his sword arm, forcing him to stumble back and drop his weapon.


    “Cubes?!” Gavin sputtered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and indignation. “Seriously?!”


    Anna’s eyes widened as she swung her staff toward Vel, releasing a burst of light magic that barely grazed the Cubeling as she darted away.


    “They’re not just cubes!” Anna shouted, retreating toward Gavin. “Something’s wrong—they’re moving like—”


    She didn’t finish her sentence. Strat emerged from the shadows, his blade flashing as he lunged at her with surgical precision. The strike wasn’t fatal—Mechalon’s orders were clear—but it was calculated to incapacitate. The blunt edge of the hidden blade struck her staff arm, sending the weapon clattering to the ground.


    Anna cried out, clutching her arm as she stumbled back, but before she could recover, Fort arrived.


    The bulky Cubeling moved with deceptive speed, his armored limbs unfolding fully to form an imposing barrier between the humans and their weapons. He surged forward, using his shield-like appendages to slam into Gavin’s chest. The boy hit the ground with a thud, the wind knocked from his lungs.


    “Ugh! What—what even is this?!” Gavin wheezed, trying to scramble to his feet, only to be knocked down again as Fort pressed forward, pinning him with a calculated weight.


    Strat grumbled softly as he observed the exchange. “Impressive timing, Fort. Still inconveniently uncommunicative.”


    Vel, meanwhile, darted between the humans, her limbs moving with unsettling grace as she ensured their escape routes were cut off. Though her spinneret twitched eagerly, she refrained from deploying the razor-sharp wires, her restraint a testament to Strat’s earlier warnings.


    The humans flailed, their movements growing more frantic as they realized the full extent of their predicament. Anna tried to summon another spell, her voice trembling as she chanted an incantation, but Vel knocked her legs out from under her before she could finish.


    Gavin, pinned by Fort’s bulk, thrashed wildly but to no avail. “Get off me, you oversized dice!” he shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and fear.


    Fort responded by shifting his weight slightly, pressing the edges of his armored limbs more firmly against Gavin’s sides.


    Anna looked around desperately, her eyes darting between the Cubelings. “Why are they even attacking us? They’re just cubes! They’re not supposed to—”


    “They are now,” Strat interrupted, his voice calm as he stepped into the light. His blade glinted faintly as he retracted it, his posture poised but non-threatening. “This is no longer your dungeon.”


    The humans froze, their confusion momentarily overriding their panic.


    “Talking cubes?!” Gavin managed, his voice a strangled mix of outrage and disbelief.


    “Silence,” Strat said, his tone cutting. “You have been chosen. Cooperate, and you will survive. Resist, and...” He glanced at Vel, who clicked her spinneret ominously, her limbs twitching with barely restrained energy. “...your survival becomes less likely.”


    The humans, defeated and disarmed, lay on the ground as the Cubelings moved to secure them. Fort stood like an unyielding wall, his bulk ensuring neither could rise without considerable effort. Vel skittered around the perimeter, her movements swift and precise as she ensured no other threats approached.


    Strat tilted his frame slightly, his optical sensors focusing on the humans as he logged their expressions of fear, confusion, and resignation.


    “Mission complete,” he said softly, his tone carrying a faint note of satisfaction.


    The humans would serve their purpose. Mechalon would have its data. And the dungeon would continue to evolve, reshaping itself into a domain where chaos had no place and order reigned supreme.


    The two humans lay in a defeated heap, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear as the Cubelings began their work. Strat took the lead, his frame rigid and methodical as he assessed the situation. The humans'' armor and weapons, cumbersome and noisy, were stripped away with precision. Vel’s limbs moved deftly, plucking at buckles and straps until Gavin’s ill-fitted armor clattered to the ground. The rusted sword he had carried with such arrogance was tossed unceremoniously into a corner.


    The cleric, Anna, clutched her chipped staff tightly even in defeat, her trembling hands betraying the last vestiges of her resolve. Vel twitched forward, her limbs clicking ominously, but Strat raised a leg to stop her.


    “Not necessary,” Strat said firmly. “The staff is useless now. Her magic requires focus, and she has none left.”


    Vel clicked in what might have been reluctant agreement and skittered back.


    Gavin, however, was proving to be a more persistent problem.


    “Let me go, you piles of junk!” he shouted, thrashing wildly as Vel attempted to bind his hands. “You think you can get away with this? I’ll—”


    Fort stepped forward, his imposing bulk casting a shadow over the fighter’s prone form. Without hesitation, he extended one of his armored limbs and brought it down gently but firmly on Gavin’s head. The boy’s cursing ceased mid-sentence as he slumped unconscious.


    Strat hummed faintly, his tone carrying a note of approval. “Efficient. Though it would have been better if you’d consulted first.”


    Fort, as always, remained silent.


    The cleric, still wide-eyed and trembling, was guided toward Fort by Strat’s commands. Her hands were loosely tied, more a precaution than a necessity given her current state.


    “On his back,” Strat instructed, his tone calm but unyielding.


    Anna hesitated, glancing nervously at Fort’s armored frame. “Y-you want me to... ride it?”


    “Yes,” Strat replied. “You lack the stamina to walk at the necessary pace. Fort will transport you.”


    Reluctantly, she climbed onto Fort’s back, her trembling hands gripping the edges of his armored limbs. Fort adjusted slightly to accommodate her weight, his movements smooth and deliberate.


    “Do not fall,” Strat said, his tone devoid of sympathy but carrying an air of finality. “We will not stop to retrieve you.”


    Anna swallowed hard but said nothing, her fear silencing any protest.


    Vel and Strat secured Gavin, dragging his unconscious form between them with a practiced efficiency that ensured his body was supported but unharmed. Vel clicked her limbs occasionally, her spinneret twitching as though eager to deploy her wires despite the strict orders to avoid harm.


    “Patience, Vel,” Strat said, his tone sharp. “We are nearly there.”


    The journey back to the warehouse was swift, the Cubelings navigating the dungeon’s darkened corridors with ease. Their movements were silent save for the faint scraping of Gavin’s boots against the floor and the occasional muttered prayer from Anna, who clung to Fort’s back with white-knuckled hands.


    When they arrived at the warehouse, the air was thick with a faint hum, an almost tangible energy that seemed to pulse from within. The dim glow of the dungeon gave way to the flickering light of Mechalon’s workspace, casting long, angular shadows across the walls.


    Vel and Strat dragged Gavin into the center of the warehouse, depositing him unceremoniously on the floor beside Fort, who crouched to allow Anna to dismount.


    The cleric slid off his back shakily, her legs nearly buckling as she took in her surroundings. The warehouse was both eerie and mesmerizing, filled with tools and fragments of materials that gleamed faintly in the light.


    But the centerpiece of the room drew all eyes, even those of the Cubelings.


    There, at the far end of the warehouse, stood something massive. Its edges were sharp and angular, its surface a blend of stone, metal, and glowing filaments that pulsed like veins. It was unfinished, its form partially obscured by the scaffolding of Mechalon’s tools and constructs.


    Even so, its presence was undeniable. It loomed over the space like a sleeping giant, its very existence radiating purpose and power.


    Strat tilted his frame slightly, his core humming faintly as he processed the sight. Vel clicked her limbs in what might have been curiosity or unease, while Fort stood motionless, his armored limbs gleaming faintly in the flickering light.


    Mechalon emerged from the shadows, its spider-like legs moving with precise, deliberate grace as it approached the new arrivals. It barely glanced at the humans, its glowing gaze fixed on the unfinished construct at the heart of the warehouse.


    “You’re back,” Mechalon said, its tone devoid of warmth but carrying a faint note of satisfaction. “Good. The project continues.”


    It turned slightly, the light from its core illuminating the massive construct behind it.


    Anna took a step back, her voice trembling as she whispered, “What... what is that?”


    Mechalon didn’t respond immediately, its gaze lingering on the construct as though lost in thought. Then, slowly, it tilted its head toward the cleric, its mechanical voice soft but unyielding.


    “Order,” it said simply.