Primordial Machinery

I beheld the demesne of the Primordial of Machinery with both awe and trepidation. It floated several hundred feet over a vast, deep chasm, a palace of gears and pipes and endless mechanical minutiae cobbled together into a messy garble of an industrial nightmare. Stacks of chimneys stood out at odd ends, belching foul black smoke into the clear blue skies. And even from a mile's distance we could detect the steady, methodical pounding of hammer meeting anvil; it resonated continuously, resembling the pulsing heartbeat of that twisted mechanical fortress hovering high up in the heavens.

Our Crusade couldn't have accessed it without that peculiar bridge. The structure was enormous, constructed entirely of metal, supported by massive steel cables that suspended its weighty form from towering spires and twisting minarets. The pathway was broad enough to accommodate a military formation, which our troops utilized. Shield bearers led the advance with pikemen positioned behind them, prepared to confront whatever bizarre and marvelous challenges this extraordinary place might unleash upon us.

Before coming here, Mulmin had warned me of the thing that lay within.

"Machalaziel may not be the most fearsome of Primordials, but do not underestimate it. The Primordial Machinery is unique, but it's creations are what make it so deadly," my changed friend had told me. "Do not, under any circumstances, ignore its machinery. That is how it will strike you. With a thousand swords wielded by metal and gears."

We had suffered greatly to reach this point. The journey across the Chaotic Sea claimed almost a fourth of our fleet, the ships devoured by acid waters or dragged under by tentacled horrors. Those who survived bore scars, both physical and mental, from watching comrades dissolve in caustic waves or vanish screaming into the depths.

Yet we persevered. Eight Primordials had fallen to our starstone weapons. Eight mantles claimed by chosen warriors who transformed into something both more and less than human. I watched them change, saw the power twist their forms: Ayen sprouting extra limbs filled with ancient magical power, Mulmin's flesh becoming hard as steel, poor Clethu's bones growing through his skin.

Now we sought the ninth. Machalaziel, the Primordial of Machinery. Its floating fortress loomed before us, a testament to its mastery over metal and mechanism. The constant hammering echoed in my skull, each strike marking time like the ticking of a monstrous clock.

I gripped my sword tighter, its starstone blade dull yet proving deadly against the enemy. Beside me, Kings Prostas and Binar's faces were grim. We both knew what awaited us in that mechanical nightmare: an entity that had spent eons perfecting the art of death through clockwork and steel.

We approached the massive gates of the floating mechanical castle, expecting some form of resistance, but to our surprise the immense barriers swung open as we neared, their hinges perfectly silent despite their enormous size. No guards, no defenders, nothing to stop our advance. Just an invitation to enter. I didn't trust it one bit.

"Be wary," I warned the others. "This feels like a trap."

We entered grand halls of gears and pipes, our footsteps echoing against metal floors. Strange devices of unknown make and purpose were embedded in the walls and floor, contraptions with spinning wheels, blinking lights, and ticking mechanisms that served functions I couldn't even begin to comprehend. Tools, weapons, and mechanical parts littered the floor in organized chaos, as if a thousand craftsmen had abandoned their work moments before our arrival.

Steam was vented from pipes jutting out of the uneven walls and ceiling, creating an ever-shifting fog that obscured our vision. The air was warm and smelled of oil, making it difficult to breathe. Some of our soldiers covered their mouths with cloth, while others coughed and sputtered.

"What manner of place is this?" Prostas whispered, his eyes wide with wonder and fear.

"It's a workshop," I replied, studying a half-completed automaton on a nearby table. "The largest workshop in all creation."

The hammering grew louder as we ventured deeper, the rhythmic pounding now accompanied by the hiss of steam and the whir of countless gears turning in perfect synchronicity. Our formation tightened, shields raised, spears at the ready.

The first attack came without warning. A section of the wall that I'd mistaken for a mass of gears suddenly unfolded like a blooming metal flower, revealing a copper hound with razor teeth and glowing red eyes. It launched itself at the nearest soldier, tearing through his armor before anyone could react.

"Shields!" I bellowed, but it was already too late.

The very fortress came alive around us. Panels in the ceiling dropped mechanical spiders that scuttled down walls. The floor split open as bronze bulls with steam billowing from their nostrils charged our ranks. From alcoves and hidden compartments, humanoid automatons emerged with perfect, fluid movements, wielding weapons with deadly precision.

"Form up!" Prostas shouted, his voice nearly lost in the cacophony of grinding gears and screaming men.

Our formation closed ranks, shields locking together as the mechanical horde descended upon us. My steel sword cleaved through a copper warrior, its enchanted edge slicing through metal as if it were cloth. The automaton collapsed in a shower of sparks and broken gears, but three more took its place.

The heat grew oppressive as we fought our way deeper into the mechanical labyrinth. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and making my grip slick on my sword's hilt. Steam pipes burst around us, scalding unlucky soldiers who stumbled too close.

A clockwork eagle swooped down from above, its metal talons aiming for my eyes. I ducked and slashed upward, catching it mid-flight. It crashed into a wall, wings still beating frantically before finally stilling.

The narrow corridors worked against us, limiting our numbers while the mechanical defenders seemed endless. For every one we destroyed, two more emerged from hidden compartments. The floor beneath us grew hot enough to feel through our boots, and the air became thick with steam and the smell of hot metal.

"Push forward!" I ordered, driving my sword through the chest of a steel warrior. "We cannot falter now!"

The hammering grew louder, each strike reverberating through the metal floors and walls. We were getting closer to the heart of this mechanical nightmare, closer to Machalaziel itself.

As the battle raged on, my thoughts turned to Mulmin. His absence left a hollow feeling in my chest that even the heat of combat couldn't fill. Those massive arms of his could have torn these mechanical monstrosities apart with ease. The sound of his booming laugh would have steadied my nerves amidst this metallic chaos.

But Mulmin remained behind our lines with the other mantle bearers. Their transformation had only just begun, their bodies and minds still adjusting to the unearthly power they now contained. We dared not risk bringing them near another Primordial. The mantles themselves were ancient beyond comprehension, their full capabilities still largely undiscovered by their new wielders.

No, they couldn't join us here. This battle belonged to those of us who remained fully human.

"Left flank, hold steady!" I shouted as another wave of clockwork soldiers emerged from the walls. My enchanted blade severed mechanical limbs and punctured metal chests, each destroyed automaton bringing us one step closer to our target.

The hammering grew deafening now, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to match the beating of my heart. Sweat poured down my face as I cleaved through a bronze guardian, its gears spilling onto the floor like entrails.

We pushed forward through narrowing corridors, the heat becoming almost unbearable. The air grew thick with steam and the scent of hot oil. My lungs burned with each breath, but I refused to falter. Eight Primordials had already fallen to our crusade. Machalaziel would be the ninth.

Ahead, through billowing clouds of steam, I glimpsed an enormous chamber. It was the source of the relentless hammering. The heart of this mechanical nightmare awaited us.

We stumbled into the immense space, its vaulted ceiling soaring hundreds of feet above our heads. My neck craned back as I beheld colossal gears grinding against one another, their teeth meshing with methodical precision despite their impossible size. Enormous pipes snaked across the upper reaches, belching clouds of scalding steam and dripping condensation that hissed when it struck the scorching floor. Cables as thick as tree trunks dangled from nowhere, swaying gently despite the absence of wind, their ends frayed and sparking.

Along the walls, strange glowing screens flickered to life unbidden, displaying fleeting images of verdant forests, rushing waterfalls, and intricate mechanical diagrams that shifted too quickly for comprehension. The heat assaulted us like a physical force, driving the breath from my lungs and causing my armor to scald my skin beneath. Sweat evaporated instantly from my brow.

We had reached the molten heart of Machalaziel's domain. This was no mere chamber; it was a forge of cosmic proportions, where the Primordial of Machinery had crafted its countless creations since time immemorial.

At the center of the forge stood the source of the hammering: Machalaziel itself. I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

Unlike the other Primordials we'd faced (Borosmemnok with its countless crab-like appendages or Zantas Maladan's towering form covered in eyes) this creature bore an unsettling resemblance to humanity. That superficial similarity made its true nature all the more disturbing.

Its upper body mimicked human form with cruel precision. The head and torso appeared almost normal at first glance, yet lacked any sexual characteristics. No Adam's apple graced its throat, no curves defined its chest; just smooth, featureless pale white skin stretched over an approximation of human anatomy. Long hair black as a starless night cascaded down its back, perfectly straight and unnaturally still despite the heat and activity.

The arms told a different story. Its left limb appeared delicate, almost fragile, while the right stretched far too long for any human proportion, corded with impossible muscle and sinew. Both beautiful and grotesque in their asymmetry.

Below the waist, all pretense of humanity vanished. A serpentine lower body coiled beneath it, yet from this trunk sprouted dozens of human arms arranged in neat rows like a centipede's legs, each perfectly formed hand touching the ground with fingertips, supporting its massive weight with unnatural grace.

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Most terrifying were the wings; not feathered like a bird's or leathery like a bat's, but composed entirely of backward-facing greatswords. Dozens of human arms extended from its back, each gripping a massive blade, folded together to form deadly steel plumage that occasionally shifted with metallic whispers.

Three eyes dominated its face, set in a triangular pattern. Each iris glowed molten gold, containing what looked like countless spinning gears and symbols that shifted and changed as I watched. Knowledge beyond human comprehension swirled within those inhuman orbs.

The Primordial stood hunched over a massive anvil, seemingly oblivious to our intrusion. Its elongated right arm held aloft a freshly forged sword, the metal still glowing white-hot, while its delicate left hand worked with methodical precision, bringing a hammer down upon the blade with each thunderous strike that had guided us here.

My soldiers formed ranks behind me, shields raised, weapons at the ready. Yet Machalaziel paid us no heed, focused entirely on its craft with single-minded dedication. The hammering continued unabated (strike, pause, strike, pause) each blow sending sparks cascading across the chamber floor.

"Machalaziel!" I called out, my voice nearly lost in the cavernous space. "Your reign ends today!"

The hammering paused. For one terrible moment, those three golden eyes shifted, focusing on me with an intensity that felt physical. I sensed unfathomable intelligence assessing me, measuring my worth as one might examine an interesting but ultimately insignificant insect.

Then, without acknowledgment, it returned to its work. The hammering resumed as if we were beneath its notice.

Rage flared within me. Eight Primordials had fallen before us. Eight of these powerful beings had been humbled by human determination. This one would not dismiss us so easily.

I drew my starstone sword, its dull surface catching the forge-light. "Prepare to attack!" I ordered, my voice steady despite the fear coiling in my gut. The being before us was ancient beyond measure, a cosmic craftsman who had been shaping metal since before the first human drew breath.

But we had come too far to turn back now.

"Archers!" I shouted, my voice carrying over the hammering. "Loose!"

A volley of starstone-tipped arrows whistled through the superheated air, their dull gray points aimed directly at Machalaziel's exposed back. My heart leapt with anticipation, for surely some would find their mark.

In a blur of movement that belied its size, the Primordial's sword-wings unfurled. Metal shrieked against metal as the backward-facing blades formed an impenetrable shield. Our arrows clattered harmlessly against the barrier of swords, falling broken to the scorching floor.

"Damn it all!" The curse escaped my lips before I could stop it. "Forward! Attack it from all sides!"

My warriors surged forward on my command, their faces grim with determination beneath sweat-streaked helmets. Starstone weapons gleamed dully in the ruddy forge light as they charged across the chamber floor. The hammering had stopped. Machalaziel stood motionless, watching with those terrible golden eyes as our forces approached.

Just as the first soldiers came within striking distance, the Primordial's face split open. What I had taken for a human mouth expanded impossibly wide, revealing a row of razor sharp teeth.

The scream that erupted from that hideous maw transcended sound. It became a physical force that slammed into us like a battering ram. The noise bore into my skull, vibrating through bone and tissue with such intensity that I dropped to one knee. Blood trickled from my ears as I fought to remain conscious.

All around me, soldiers collapsed, clutching their heads in agony. Some lay motionless, their ears streaming crimson. Others writhed on the ground, mouths open in silent screams as the terrible noise overwhelmed their senses.

Through watering eyes, I watched Machalaziel raise its elongated right arm. The sword it had been forging, still white-hot and unfinished, swept in a casual arc through the air. Ten of my warriors, brave men who had survived battles against previous Primordials, were simply... divided. Their upper bodies slid from their lower halves as if separated by an invisible line, the cauterized wounds steaming in the forge's heat.

No blood. No screams. Just the terrible silence of instant death.

I staggered to my feet, blood still trickling from my ears. My soldiers lay scattered across the forge floor, some writhing in agony, others ominously still. Fury replaced my fear.

"On your feet!" I roared, my voice breaking through the haze of pain. "For humanity! For our future!"

I charged toward Machalaziel, starstone sword held high above my head. The dull gray blade caught the forge light as I ran, my boots pounding against the scorching metal floor. Behind me, those warriors still able to fight found their courage and followed, their battle cries echoing through the cavernous chamber.

The Primordial turned to face us, its three golden eyes spinning with inscrutable symbols. Its elongated right arm swept downward, the white-hot unfinished sword cleaving through the air with terrible precision. Three soldiers to my left simply fell apart, their armor splitting open along with the flesh beneath. The stench of cauterized meat filled my nostrils.

We surrounded the creature, attacking from all sides. A captain from one of the dwarven kingdoms lunged forward, his starstone spear finding purchase in Machalaziel's side. The pale flesh parted, revealing not blood but a deep crimson essence that seemed to glow from within. The Primordial showed no sign of pain, merely rotating to address this new threat.

Its sword-wing feathers unfurled like deadly blooms, each blade controlled by a separate arm sprouting from its back. They moved with impossible coordination, slicing through my men with mechanical efficiency. A veteran soldier who had survived encounters with three previous Primordials lost both arms at the shoulders before a third blade removed his head.

I ducked beneath a sweeping slice and drove my sword into the creature's flank. The starstone bit deep, drawing more of that crimson essence. Machalaziel's hammer swung in response, its left hand moving with surprising speed. The massive tool caught a shield-bearer square in the chest, crumpling his armor like parchment and sending him flying across the chamber.

My archers regrouped on a raised platform, loosing volley after volley of starstone-tipped arrows. Many found their mark, embedding themselves in the Primordial's right arm and torso. The creature's movements slowed slightly as more of the ragged red flesh grew from its wounds.

Machalaziel's face split open once more, that terrible maw emitting another reality-bending scream. The sound drove several of my men to their knees, blood streaming from their ears and noses. I gritted my teeth against the pain, refusing to yield.

With a fluid motion that belied its size, the Primordial cast aside its unfinished sword. The white-hot metal clattered across the floor, leaving molten streaks in its wake. Its elongated right arm plunged into a nearby heap of mechanisms and half-finished creations, emerging with something that chilled my blood despite the forge's heat.

The device in its hand bore multiple cylindrical barrels arranged in a circle. Nothing in my experience as a warrior or king had prepared me for what happened next.

Machalaziel aimed the contraption at my archers and depressed some kind of mechanism. The barrels began to rotate, spinning faster until they became a blur. Then came a sound like a thousand thunderclaps compressed into a continuous roar.

Fire and light erupted from the spinning barrels. My archers simply... disintegrated. Flesh, bone, and armor shredded apart in an instant. The front line of my infantry fared no better, their bodies torn asunder by invisible forces that moved faster than any arrow or blade.

In the span of a single heartbeat, two dozen of my finest warriors ceased to exist, replaced by red mist and fragments of armor.

I stood frozen, my mind unable to comprehend the horror I had just witnessed.

We threw ourselves at the monster with renewed fury, our blades finding purchase in its pale flesh. Each wound drew forth more of those crimson wounds, yet Machalaziel fought on with mechanical precision. Its sword-wings slashed through our ranks while that terrible weapon continued its deadly work.

The spinning barrels roared again. A platoon of spearmen, veterans who had survived the assault on Omadzaburik's swamp, simply vanished in a red haze. Their screams died with them, lost beneath the weapon's thunderous voice.

I counted the dead with growing horror. Fifty brave souls. Eighty. A hundred. Two hundred. The chamber floor ran slick with blood, sizzling upon the hot metal plates.

My gaze fixed on that spinning monstrosity. The weapon had to be destroyed. Now.

I sheathed my starstone sword and drew my enchanted steel blade instead. The weapon would be useless against the Primordial's invulnerable flesh, but against its own creation? That might be different.

"Cover me!" I shouted to what remained of my honor guard. They formed a shield wall, absorbing the brunt of Machalaziel's attention as I circled behind.

The Primordial turned its deadly barrels toward my men. I seized the moment, lunging forward with every ounce of strength in my battle-worn body. My enchanted blade plunged directly into the spinning mechanism, metal shrieking against metal as I drove it deeper into the weapon's heart.

The barrels stuttered, slowed, then seized completely. For one terrifying moment, nothing happened.

Then the device erupted in a violent explosion of metal and fire. The force hurled me backward through the superheated air. I crashed against an anvil, the impact driving the breath from my lungs as pain lanced through my ribs.

Machalaziel's face split open in that horrific parody of a mouth. Its scream held something new: frustration, perhaps even anger, at the loss of its deadly creation. The sound still drove men to their knees, but beneath the pain I sensed vulnerability.

As I struggled to my feet, clutching my ribs, a lone archer found his moment. His starstone arrow flew true, burying itself deep in Machalaziel's central eye. The golden orb burst in a shower of glowing symbols and mechanical fragments.

The Primordial's scream changed pitch, becoming higher, almost shrill. Pain. At last, we had caused it pain.

"Now!" I bellowed, raising my bloodied sword. "Strike now! Show no mercy!"

My remaining forces converged on the wounded Primordial with savage intensity. Every death, every comrade lost to this mechanical nightmare fueled their rage. Starstone weapons bit deep into pale flesh, drawing forth more of that red essence with each blow.

King Binar, his face a mask of cold determination, ducked beneath a sword-wing and swung his massive axe in a devastating arc. The starstone blade connected with Machalaziel's elongated right arm, cleaving through muscle and bone at the shoulder. The limb fell away, still clutching at nothing with inhuman fingers.

Two more arrows found the Primordial's remaining eyes, extinguishing its golden light forever. Blind and wounded, Machalaziel fought on with diminished ferocity, its movements becoming less precise, more desperate.

We hacked away at its serpentine lower body, severing the many human arms that supported its weight. We sheared off its sword-wings, the blades clattering to the floor one by one. We carved away at its torso until the creature that had seemed so terrifying, so invincible, was reduced to a head, a left arm, and a partial torso; it was now a broken remnant of the cosmic craftsman it had been.

Despite suffering horrific wounds, Machalaziel clung to existence with mechanical persistence. The once-mighty Primordial lay before us, reduced to a pitiful fragment—blind, limbless, yet somehow still alive.

"Where is King Hyzar?" I shouted, scanning the blood-soaked chamber for the dwarf king. "Bring him forward!"

Hyzar had been our unanimous choice to take the Mantle of Machinery. His skill as a craftsman was legendary throughout the dwarven kingdoms, his forge producing works of such intricacy that some whispered he must possess cosmic inspiration. Who better to wield the mighty power of science?

Prostas approached, his armor dented and streaked with blood. The weathered lines of his face deepened as he shook his head. "Hyzar fell during the first assault. That spinning weapon... there wasn't enough left to identify."

My heart sank. Another noble soul lost to our crusade. Another friend I would never see again.

Binar limped to my side. "It must be you, Vardin," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You've studied the mechanical arts. You understand creation in ways the rest of us never could."

I stared at him in disbelief. "I'm a warrior, not a craftsman."

"You're both," Binar countered. "And you're a king. Your mind grasps concepts that others cannot. The mantle must go to someone. It must be you."

I gazed down at the broken Primordial. Its remaining arm twitched feebly, fingers grasping at empty air. Without eyes, it seemed to stare at nothing, yet I felt its awareness focused entirely on me. Did it know what we intended? Did it understand that its essence would continue, merged with my own?

My starstone sword felt heavy in my hand as I raised it above the creature's head. I hesitated, remembering what had happened to the others. Mulmin's transformation had been particularly disturbing, with his skin hardening into a chitin-like substance, extra limbs bursting from his sides. Would I become something equally monstrous?

More than likely. But this was my duty as king. If losing my humanity was the price for my people's future, I would pay it gladly.

I plunged my sword downward, driving the dull gray blade deep into the crimson flesh where golden eyes had once spun with cosmic knowledge.

Power surged through me, raw and overwhelming. My body convulsed as every cell began to transform. For one infinitesimal moment, my consciousness expanded beyond mortal limits. I saw everything: the entire world laid bare before me, its every mechanism from the smallest insect to the mightiest mountain range suddenly comprehensible in perfect detail.

Where Mirrin had gazed in wonder, where Ayen had screamed in terror, where Mulmin had laughed in wild abandon, I felt only... disappointment.

This was it? This was the world I had fought so hard to change? A collection of systems, complex yet ultimately finite. I had expected... more.

Reality snapped back into focus as my body began its horrific metamorphosis. The Mantle of Machinery claimed me for its own.

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