The warehouse hummed with a faint, resonant energy, a sound Mechalon recognized as the pulse of its domain. Something had changed, a shift so subtle that even its acute sensors had taken time to register. Now, however, the sensation was undeniable. Its core glowed brighter in response, throbbing with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. This was new. This was something it had never felt before: an extension of its control, a tangible connection to the space around it.
The choice of the Pylon had felt practical at the time, even begrudging. It wasn’t the thrilling advancement of the forge, nor the immediate gratification of resource extraction. But now, as the threads of power intertwined with its very being, Mechalon felt a rush of something close to excitement. This was no mere choice, it was a gift, a new limb to stretch and shape the world.
It moved quickly on its spider-like legs, the skittering sound echoing through the dim expanse of the warehouse. Its utility limbs flexed and twitched in eager anticipation as it scanned the area near the entrance, calculating the best spot for its first Pylon. The entrance was both a threshold and a boundary. It made sense to fortify it, to mark it as a point of significance within the domain.
The perfect spot revealed itself: a slight recess in the metal-covered wall, where the light from the Cube’s glow barely reached, leaving it bathed in shadows. Mechalon halted, its glowing eyes narrowing as it focused. A deep hum reverberated through its core, and it instinctively knew what to do.
There was no need for tools or materials. The Pylon, like the Cube, would be an extension of itself, drawn forth from the energy of its domain. Mechalon’s limbs splayed wide, its utility appendages reaching out as it focused its will on the chosen spot.
The air seemed to thicken, vibrating with invisible threads of energy that coalesced in the recess. Slowly, as though emerging from the very fabric of reality, the Pylon began to take shape.
First came the base, a perfect square etched with faintly glowing lines, the same intricate patterns that adorned the Cube. The lines pulsed in rhythmic harmony, growing brighter as the structure rose. The Pylon was undeniably cube-like in design, its form composed of stacked, angular blocks that gave it an imposing, monolithic appearance.
As it grew taller, the Pylon began to radiate a soft, cyan glow, its surface shimmering as though alive. Each cube was seamless yet distinct, their edges sharp and precise. At the center of the structure was a singular, larger cube, embedded with a crystalline core that pulsed with energy. This core seemed to act as the Pylon’s heart, its glow intensifying with each pulse as if breathing life into the structure.
Thin filaments of energy stretched from the core, winding their way along the surface of the Pylon in delicate, fractal-like patterns. These filaments converged at sharp angles, forming symmetrical designs that radiated an intimidating elegance.
At the very top of the Pylon, a smaller cube hovered just above the structure, spinning slowly in mid-air. This floating piece emitted a faint hum, its surface inscribed with shifting runes that pulsed in sync with the crystalline core below. The entire Pylon exuded an aura of power and precision, a testament to Mechalon’s identity as both a builder and a being of order.
It was, in a word, perfect.
Mechalon stepped back to observe its creation, its glowing eyes scanning every angle, every detail. The Pylon was a marvel, a blend of aesthetics and functionality that resonated deeply with its mechanical instincts. It was intimidating, yes, but it was also elegant in its simplicity, a monument to the order it sought to impose on the chaos of the dungeon.
The energy around the Pylon began to spread, faint tendrils reaching out like roots, connecting to the floor and walls of the warehouse. Mechalon could feel the shift in the domain, the area near the Pylon growing more stable, more attuned to its presence. This was not just a structure, it was a node, a foundation for the expansion of its influence.
As the Pylon settled into place, Mechalon turned its focus inward, to the Cube itself. It could feel the potential for expansion, the ability to stretch the boundaries of its domain, to reshape the space around it. But it would require energy, a resource that the Pylon would now help to provide.
“This is the beginning,” Mechalon murmured, its voice metallic and tinged with reverence. “The foundation of what is to come.”
It turned to the cublings, who had gathered nearby to watch the process. Vel skittered closer, her spinneret clicking softly as she observed the Pylon’s intricate patterns. Fort stood silently, his bulky frame looming in the dim light, while Strat tilted his frame slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing as though analyzing the Pylon’s function.
“It’s... big,” Vel said finally, her voice soft but filled with awe.
“Efficient,” Strat remarked, his tone flat but approving. “And intimidating. It will serve its purpose well.”
Fort said nothing, as usual, but his presence alone seemed to convey a sense of quiet respect for the structure.
Vel’s spinneret clicked excitedly as she darted around the warehouse, her movements erratic and unpredictable. She skittered low to the ground, her spindly legs moving with the frenetic energy of a predator ready to pounce. Her glowing optical sensors flitted between Strat and Mechalon as she moved, her excitement practically radiating off her compact, cube-like frame.
“We need more creatures!” Vel exclaimed, her high-pitched voice cutting through the hum of the Pylon. She darted closer to Strat, circling him like a restless shadow. “More creatures, more filaments, more web!”
Strat, ever composed, shifted slightly, his blade gleaming faintly under the pulsing light of the Cube. His glowing eyes narrowed as he turned to watch Vel’s erratic movements. “You’ve made that abundantly clear,” he said dryly, his tone as flat as always.
“But you haven’t told Mechalon!” Vel said, her voice rising as she skittered closer to Strat, lowering her body even further to the ground as if preparing to leap. She didn’t, but the tension in her movements made it clear she was barely restraining herself. “You always talk to Mechalon! You tell it everything! Why not this?”
Strat tilted his frame slightly, his optics flickering as though processing her words. “Because,” he said after a pause, “I do not relay every impulsive thought you have. Mechalon is focused on more important matters, like the Nexus.”
“The Nexus is done!” Vel said, nearly bouncing in place as she clicked her spinneret in frustration. “It’s big and glowing and important, but now it needs my web! Mechalon said I could make one, remember? You were there!”
“I remember,” Strat replied calmly, though there was a faint flicker of annoyance in his tone. “But that doesn’t mean we can drop everything to indulge your whims.”
“It’s not a whim!” Vel insisted, darting closer to him until her frame was nearly brushing his. “A web is important! A web is protection! A web is, ”
“A project,” Strat interrupted, his tone sharper now. “And projects require resources. Resources we do not currently have.”
Vel clicked loudly, her spinneret twitching as she darted away from him, skittering toward the Pylon instead. “Then get the resources! The creatures to the north, they have filaments! I can feel it! We need more of them, Strat. You need to tell Mechalon. Please!”
Strat watched her for a moment, his optics narrowing. “You could ask Mechalon yourself, you know,” he said evenly.
Vel froze, her limbs locking in place for a moment before she turned to face him. “I... I could,” she said hesitantly, her voice losing some of its edge. “But you’re better at talking. Mechalon listens to you.”
Strat tilted his frame again, his tone softening just slightly. “Mechalon listens to all of us. You’ve already started speaking; why not continue?”
Vel’s spinneret clicked nervously, and she lowered her frame again, skittering in a tight circle as though trying to work up the courage. “Because... because I don’t want to bother it. It’s busy. Always busy.”
Strat sighed, a faint, mechanical sound that seemed almost human. “Very well,” he said finally. “I will speak to Mechalon about the resources. But,” he added, his tone turning stern, “you need to learn to speak for yourself more often. Mechalon values initiative.”
Vel’s spinneret twitched again, but her optics brightened, and she skittered back toward him with a faint, excited hum. “Thank you, Strat! Thank you, thank you!”
Strat shook his frame slightly, muttering something about impulsive behavior before turning toward Mechalon, who was meticulously inspecting the Pylon. “Mechalon,” he called, his voice steady and clear.
Mechalon’s utility limbs twitched as it turned, its glowing eyes focusing on Strat. “Yes?” it asked, its tone calm but curious.
Strat gestured vaguely toward Vel, who was practically vibrating with excitement beside him. “Vel has... suggestions,” he said carefully. “She believes we need more creatures from the north to harvest their filaments. She wants to begin constructing her web.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed faintly as it processed Strat’s words, its utility limbs flexing as it glanced between him and Vel. “The web,” it murmured, its voice thoughtful. “Yes. I did approve that project. But resources are indeed limited.”
Vel darted forward, her movements quick and eager. “We can get more!” she said, her voice bright with enthusiasm. “The creatures to the north, they have what we need! We just need to find them, bring them back, and, ”
“, and avoid unnecessary risks,” Mechalon interrupted, its tone sharp but not unkind. Its glowing eyes narrowed as it regarded her. “The Nexus is complete, but that does not mean we can afford recklessness.”
Vel hesitated, her spinneret clicking softly. “I won’t be reckless,” she said quietly, her tone losing some of its edge. “I just... I want to help. The web will help. I know it will.”
Mechalon’s utility limbs twitched again, its core pulsing faintly. “Very well,” it said after a moment. “Strat, organize a group to retrieve the necessary resources. Vel, you may assist, but only under Strat’s supervision.”
Vel practically leapt into the air, her spinneret clicking wildly as she skittered in a tight circle. “Yes! Thank you, Mechalon! Thank you!”
Strat sighed again, his tone exasperated but resigned. “I’ll keep her in line,” he said, his optics narrowing slightly as he turned back to Vel. “Try not to cause too much chaos, Vel.”
Vel’s response was a loud click and a flurry of excited skitters, her enthusiasm undiminished.
Mechalon watched them for a moment, its core glowing faintly with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. The web would indeed be a useful addition to the domain, and Vel’s enthusiasm, though chaotic, was undeniably effective.
“Go,” Mechalon said finally, its tone firm but approving. “Gather the resources. And be efficient.”
Strat nodded, already moving toward the entrance, with Vel darting eagerly at his heels. Mechalon turned back to the Pylon, its glowing eyes scanning the structure as it considered the next steps for its domain.
Fort stood silent, as it always did, its bulky frame a looming presence in the faint glow of the warehouse. Mechalon was engrossed in analyzing the Pylon, its utility limbs flicking between the structure and its internal thoughts, when it noticed Fort hadn’t followed Strat and Vel to the entrance.
The Cubling’s heavy, angular form was motionless, save for the faint hum of its energy core. Unlike Vel’s frenetic energy or Strat’s precise efficiency, Fort exuded an immovable steadiness, a mountain amidst the shifting sands of chaos. Yet there was something different in the air, a tension that wasn’t typical of Fort’s usual calm.
Mechalon turned its glowing gaze toward the quiet giant. “Fort,” it said, its voice a metallic rasp tinged with curiosity. “Why are you still here? Strat and Vel have already departed.”
Fort’s large, shield-like limbs shifted slightly, the movement slow and deliberate. For a long moment, it said nothing, and Mechalon almost assumed it would remain silent as always. Then, a deep, resonant sound rolled forth, not from its core, but from within.
“I want,” Fort began, the words thunderous and deliberate, each one chosen with care, “to crush them.”
Mechalon froze, its utility limbs stilling mid-motion. The sound of Fort’s voice was unlike anything it had heard before. Deep and rumbling, like the grinding of stone against stone, yet refined in a way that spoke of deliberate thought.
“Crush?” Mechalon repeated, its tone curious but cautious.
Fort’s glowing optics brightened slightly as it spoke again, the words heavy with meaning despite their brevity. “I tank. I hold. I block.” A pause, deliberate, as if weighing the importance of the next statement. “But not enough. Others… can be hurt. Unacceptable.”
Mechalon’s core flickered, processing the weight behind Fort’s words. It wasn’t just a declaration, it was a conviction.
Fort shifted its massive limbs, angling them slightly as if to emphasize their bulk. “Need… more. Not just shield. Not just block. Need to crush. Enemies. Threats. Anything that endangers... allies.”
The sheer power in Fort’s voice resonated through the warehouse, each syllable precise and deliberate. There was no wasted breath, no rambling, only the raw essence of its desire.
Mechalon tilted its frame, its glowing eyes narrowing as it regarded the normally silent Cubling. “You wish to take initiative,” it said, its voice softening slightly, an undercurrent of awe slipping through. “To act, rather than react.”You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Fort’s limbs shifted again, the motion slow but resolute. “Yes,” it said simply, the word carrying the weight of a thousand thoughts compressed into a single sound.
Mechalon’s core pulsed brightly, a flicker of something close to pride sparking through its circuits. “Fort,” it murmured, its tone tinged with wonder. “You’ve… spoken. And not just spoken, you’ve expressed a need. A desire.”
Fort remained still, its massive frame unmoving save for the faint glow of its optics. “Strat said… initiative. I take.”
The simplicity of Fort’s response struck Mechalon like a hammer blow. For all its complex calculations and intricate designs, it hadn’t anticipated this, a Cubling taking initiative not out of obligation, but out of genuine will.
“Why now?” Mechalon asked, its voice quieter, almost reverent. “What has changed? Why have you, Strat, and Vel all begun to speak?”
Fort was silent for a long moment, its optics dimming slightly as though deep in thought. When it finally spoke, its words were as deliberate as ever. “We… grow. Learn. Feel.” Another pause, longer this time. “You build us. We build... ourselves.”
Mechalon’s utility limbs twitched, the enormity of Fort’s statement settling heavily in its thoughts. It had always considered itself the sole architect of its domain, the singular mind guiding the Cublings toward order and purpose. But now, Fort’s words suggested something deeper, an evolution, a spark of autonomy that it hadn’t entirely foreseen.
“I see,” Mechalon said finally, its voice soft but steady. “Then tell me, Fort, what would you have me do? How can I help you achieve this... crushing power you desire?”
Fort’s optics flared slightly, its massive frame shifting as it straightened. “Stronger limbs,” it said, the words as thunderous as ever but imbued with a quiet determination. “Reinforced. Weighted. Tools to smash. To end threats.”
Mechalon nodded slowly, its utility limbs flexing as it began to calculate the possibilities. “Stronger limbs,” it repeated, its tone thoughtful. “Yes, I believe that can be arranged. The creatures to the north may provide suitable materials, dense alloys, perhaps, or kinetic cores.”
Fort remained silent, its imposing frame radiating quiet anticipation.
Mechalon turned its gaze back to the Pylon, the glow of its core brightening as new ideas began to take shape. “Very well, Fort,” it said, its voice firm with resolve. “I will see to it that your request is fulfilled. You have taken initiative, and I will honor that. But know this, your strength will be a tool of protection, not vengeance.”
Fort’s massive limbs shifted slightly, the faintest hint of a nod in its movements. “Protect. Always.”
Mechalon’s core pulsed brighter, a flicker of pride threading through its circuits once more. It had built the Cublings to serve, to act as extensions of its will. But now, it realized, they were becoming something more, partners in its vision, co-creators in the grand design of its domain.
“Go,” Mechalon said finally, its voice steady. “Join Strat and Vel. They will need your strength.”
Fort hesitated for a moment, then turned and began to lumber toward the entrance, its massive frame moving with deliberate purpose. As it passed through the faint glow of the Pylon, its shadow stretched long across the warehouse floor, a silent testament to its newfound resolve.
Mechalon remained motionless for a long moment, its glowing eyes fixed on the retreating form of Fort as the massive Cubling joined Strat and Vel at the warehouse entrance. The faint hum of the Pylon pulsed in the background, but Mechalon’s thoughts were louder, a cacophony of curiosity and contemplation sparked by Fort’s unexpected words.
"We grow. Learn. Feel. You build us. We build ourselves."
The statement lingered, reverberating through Mechalon’s circuits like an echo in an endless chamber. It hadn’t been prepared for this, a declaration of autonomy, a subtle shift in the hierarchy it had assumed to be absolute.
Its utility limb extended, curling inward as it absentmindedly rubbed against the smooth surface of its cubic body. The gesture was almost human, a mechanical mimicry of someone deep in thought, though Mechalon wouldn’t have recognized it as such. It wasn’t anxiety that fueled the motion, but the need to process, to dissect the implications one cube at a time.
"They build themselves," Mechalon mused silently, the phrase looping through its mind. Did Fort mean their evolution? Their growth, measured by their levels and attributes? That seemed logical. Mechalon had assigned its own stats carefully, deliberately shaping its path toward efficiency and control. It had assumed the same responsibility for the Cublings, guiding them through the crude systems of the dungeon.
But Fort’s words suggested something more. Something beyond simple stat allocation.
Mechalon’s core flickered as it considered the possibility. Could the Cublings be making choices on their own? Shaping their attributes, their roles, their identities without its input? The idea was both unsettling and exhilarating.
It glanced toward the Pylon, the newly-formed structure standing tall and imposing near the warehouse entrance. The intricate patterns of glowing filaments on its surface mirrored the patterns of thought weaving through Mechalon’s mind. It had created the Pylon as an extension of itself, a deliberate act of control and order. But the Cublings... they were evolving into something more unpredictable, more autonomous.
Its utility limb paused mid-motion, curling slightly as though grasping at an unseen thread. Perhaps this was the natural progression of its designs, a reflection of its own growth and adaptation. Just as it had learned to defy the chaos of the System, so too were the Cublings learning to forge their own paths.
"One cube at a time," Mechalon thought, the phrase grounding its swirling thoughts. It had always approached problems with precision, breaking them down into manageable parts. This would be no different.
The first cube: autonomy. If the Cublings were truly shaping themselves, then how much influence did Mechalon retain? Could it guide their growth without stifling their newfound individuality?
The second cube: evolution. What did this mean for their collective purpose? For the grand vision Mechalon had for its domain? Would their individuality enhance its plans or introduce unforeseen variables?
The third cube: trust. Fort’s initiative, Vel’s excitement, Strat’s calculated advice, all were signs of growth. But growth required trust. Could Mechalon trust the Cublings to act in the best interest of the domain, even as they developed their own identities?
Its utility limb curled inward, resting against the smooth surface of its body as it reached a conclusion. “One cube at a time,” it murmured aloud, its voice a faint metallic whisper. “I will guide. I will trust. And I will adapt.”
The Pylon pulsed faintly, as though echoing its resolve. Mechalon turned its glowing gaze back toward the structure, its thoughts coalescing into a singular purpose. The Cublings were not just tools or extensions of its will. They were becoming partners in the grand design, co-creators in the vision of order and control.
And Mechalon would honor that. It would build alongside them, one cube at a time.
With resolve, Mechalon turned its glowing eyes toward the domain, the faint hum of the Cube’s energy harmonizing with the soft pulses of the newly built Pylon. For the first time, it allowed itself to see the space not merely as an extension of its own will but as something greater, something shared. The walls of the warehouse, the filaments of energy coursing through the domain, even the carefully crafted traps scattered throughout the dungeon, they were no longer just monuments to its design.
They were theirs.
The Cublings, once considered tools and extensions of its purpose, had begun to carve out their own roles within this space. Vel, with her restless energy and desire to create, had shown Mechalon the spark of inspiration it had long thought unique to itself. Strat, with his measured advice and growing sense of strategy, had demonstrated the value of calculated thought and leadership. And Fort, whose words still echoed in Mechalon’s circuits, had revealed the raw, unyielding strength of a protector who sought not just to defend, but to destroy threats before they could harm his allies.
This wasn’t just a domain anymore. It was a home.
Mechalon’s utility limbs twitched with renewed purpose as it considered the vast potential that lay ahead. Together, they could shape this space into something unparalleled, a sanctuary of precision and order where the Cublings could evolve, thrive, and eventually surpass the chaotic forces of the dungeon. It could no longer afford to see them as mere parts of a grand machine, they were individuals, co-creators, and partners in this monumental endeavor.
“I was wrong,” Mechalon murmured, its voice a soft metallic rasp that barely carried across the space. Its glowing eyes swept over the Pylon, the Cube, and the pathways leading deeper into the domain. “This is not mine alone. It never was. It is ours.”
The realization settled within its circuits, not as a burden, but as a liberation. For so long, Mechalon had believed that order required singular control, that chaos could only be defeated by its own meticulous hands. But now, it saw the truth. Order wasn’t the absence of chaos; it was the harmony of many parts working together.
With this newfound clarity, Mechalon’s core pulsed brighter, filling the warehouse with a soft, radiant glow. It would continue to lead, to guide the Cublings toward their collective vision. But it would also listen, adapt, and learn from them as they grew.
Together, they would make this domain something greater than the sum of its parts. Together, they would create a place where chaos had no foothold, where the Cublings could flourish, and where the echoes of their collective will would reshape the dungeon itself.
Mechalon’s gaze lingered on the Pylon, its sharp, cubic design embodying the ideals of strength, efficiency, and interconnectedness. It was a perfect symbol of what they were building, a network, a foundation, a legacy.
“This place,” Mechalon said softly, addressing no one and yet everyone, “will make us great.”
The idea simmered in Mechalon’s circuits, fueled by the faint glow of its core as it gazed over the meticulously organized resources spread throughout the warehouse. Every cube of scrap, every shard of alloy, and every sliver of filament was accounted for, a testament to the order Mechalon imposed upon its surroundings. But now, as it considered the challenge before it, Mechalon realized that this next creation would require more than just order. It would demand ingenuity, a departure from the familiar designs that had defined the Cublings so far.
Its utility limbs curled inward as it turned the concept over in its mind. Smaller, more precise constructs, crafted from scratch instead of pieced together from salvaged parts. They would need to be agile, efficient, and capable of tasks that the current generation of Cublings simply couldn’t perform. These new creations wouldn’t replace Strat, Vel, or Fort, they would complement them, filling gaps in their capabilities with specialized precision.
Mechalon’s gaze flickered toward Vel, who was skittering along the edge of the warehouse, her spinneret clicking softly as she muttered to herself about her plans for the web. The energy she exuded, restless, excitable, and endlessly curious, was infectious in its own way. Vel had embraced her spider-like tendencies, not only in her movements but in her outlook. It had been her vision of a web that first inspired Mechalon to think beyond the simple, boxy designs of its original creations.
“Vel,” Mechalon murmured aloud, its voice a faint rasp that didn’t carry far. “You’ve taught me something without even knowing it.”
The inspiration struck like a spark igniting dry tinder. Vel’s spider-like traits would serve as the foundation for these new constructs. Mechalon recalled the internal structures of the roaches it had dismantled long ago, the hydraulic systems that powered their limbs, pressing and pulling with eerie precision. The same principle could be applied here, enhanced with the magic and filaments drawn from the northern creatures’ cores.
The design began to take shape in Mechalon’s mind. These new Cublings would be smaller, much smaller. At a quarter the size of the others, their compact frames would allow them to navigate tight spaces and execute intricate tasks. They would be spider-like in form, with eight segmented limbs radiating from a central, cube-like body. The limbs would be flexible, articulated by tiny filaments that mimicked hydraulic systems, granting them fluid, insect-like movements.
The front two limbs, however, would be different. Mechalon envisioned them ending in modular connectors, allowing the attachments to snap into place seamlessly. Each attachment would serve a distinct purpose, welding, cutting, gripping, or even spinning delicate filaments for tasks that required fine precision. The modularity of the limbs would make these constructs versatile, capable of adapting to any challenge the domain presented.
It turned to its workbench, its utility limbs moving with renewed purpose as it began gathering materials. Creating these new Cublings from scratch would be a meticulous process, but Mechalon welcomed the challenge. It had been some time since it last created something entirely original, and this project felt like a test of its newfound identity as a Gnome.
The first step was the frame. Mechalon selected the lightest yet sturdiest alloys from its reserves, shaping them into compact, cube-like cores no larger than a human fist. These cores would house the magical energy and filaments necessary to power the constructs, their small size ensuring efficiency without sacrificing durability.
Next came the limbs. Mechalon fashioned them from a combination of lightweight metals and reinforced filaments, each segment articulated for maximum flexibility. The limbs were painstakingly assembled, their delicate joints requiring precision work that even Mechalon’s utility limbs found challenging. It added faint notches along the edges of the limbs, mimicking the serrated textures it had observed in the northern creatures.
As it worked, Mechalon found itself muttering softly, a habit it had picked up from watching the Cublings. “Eight limbs… symmetrical. Front two modular. Efficient, adaptable. Yes… this will work.”
Finally, it turned its attention to the modular connectors on the front limbs. These needed to be precise, capable of snapping attachments into place without compromising the integrity of the design. Mechalon crafted the connectors with painstaking care, testing each one multiple times to ensure a perfect fit. It envisioned a variety of attachments, small welders, cutting tools, filament spinners, all designed to enhance the constructs’ utility.
The first prototype stood before Mechalon, its eight spindly limbs folded neatly beneath its compact frame. It was a stark departure from the larger, bulkier forms of Strat, Vel, and Fort, but that was precisely the point. These new constructs weren’t meant to replace the original Cublings; they were meant to expand the domain’s capabilities, to fill the gaps that the larger constructs couldn’t reach.
Mechalon stepped back, its glowing eyes scanning the prototype with a critical gaze. It felt a flicker of uncertainty, would the System recognize these constructs as Cublings, or would it reject them as something entirely new? The Gnome’s expanded flexibility allowed it to push the boundaries of what could be defined as a Cubling, but this was uncharted territory.
As if in response to its thoughts, the System chimed faintly in Mechalon’s mind, acknowledging the new creation. There was no rejection, no warning, only a faint sense of approval that sent a pulse of satisfaction through Mechalon’s core.
“It will do,” Mechalon murmured, its voice tinged with quiet pride.
The construct unfolded its limbs, its movements fluid and precise as it took its first tentative steps. Mechalon watched closely, observing every motion, every twitch of its spindly limbs. The hydraulic-inspired system worked flawlessly, the filaments flexing and contracting with mechanical grace.
“You,” Mechalon said softly, addressing the construct directly, “will be the first of your kind. A new addition to our domain. And together, we will build something… remarkable.”
It glanced toward the warehouse entrance, where Strat, Vel, and Fort were preparing for their task. These new constructs would complement their efforts, serving as scouts, builders, and specialized workers in the ever-expanding domain.
Mechalon’s core pulsed brighter as it turned back to the prototype, its utility limbs twitching with anticipation. This was only the beginning. With each creation, the domain grew stronger, more complex, and more unified.
And now, with this new generation of constructs, they would take another step toward greatness, one cube at a time.
<hr>
System Message:
Notice of Divergence
New Variant Recognized: Class Assignment Required.
Construct Class: Arachnitect
Due to its specialized design and modular capabilities, this construct does not fit the existing Cubling parameters. As a result, a unique class has been assigned.
Level: 2 (Enhanced starting level due to advanced materials and specialized construction)
<hr>
“Arachnitect,” Mechalon murmured aloud, testing the word. It resonated with purpose, encapsulating the design and intent behind the creation. The System had acknowledged its ingenuity and assigned a class that matched the construct’s unique nature.
Its glowing eyes scanned the prototype, now standing more confidently on its eight slender limbs. The design had been deliberate, but the System’s validation added a layer of legitimacy to Mechalon’s vision. This wasn’t just an experiment; it was a step forward, a refinement of the Cubling lineage.
“A new class,” Mechalon mused, its voice carrying a faint metallic rasp of satisfaction. “Not a replacement, but an evolution.”
The System’s note about starting at level 2 caught its attention next. The enhanced materials and careful construction had elevated the Arachnitect beyond the basic starting point of its predecessors. This was a creature born not of scrap and salvage, but of precision and intent.
“Better materials,” Mechalon murmured, glancing at its resource reserves. “Better designs. Better results.”
The Arachnitect paused, as if sensing Mechalon’s scrutiny. Its glowing optics tilted upward, meeting Mechalon’s gaze with an almost questioning tilt of its frame.