My tendrils coiled beneath me, hydraulics building pressure as I calculated trajectory and force vectors. The Monument Decapod loomed above, thirty feet of chitinous nightmare that dwarfed even the massive creatures I'd fought in the Hellzone's deepest reaches. Its four gigantic claws moved with deceptive grace for something so massive, each one capable of crushing a building.

I released the stored energy in my tendrils, launching myself through the stagnant air toward the towering crustacean. The world blurred past as I closed the distance, my war frame's systems automatically adjusting for wind resistance and gravitational pull. At the apex of my arc, one of the Decapod's primary claws descended like a falling tree, aiming to swat me from the air.

Mana flooded through my sword-lance as I activated Blade Skill, the weapon's auric steel edge humming with concentrated energy. Mana Shell coated the blade in a crackling azure envelope, extending its reach and amplifying its cutting power. The enhanced weapon met the descending claw with explosive force.

The impact sent shockwaves through both our bodies. Chitin and carapace exploded outward in jagged fragments as my blade carved through the claw's thick armor. The severed appendage crashed to the glass surface below, sending spider-web cracks racing across the obsidian plain.

The Monument Decapod's scream shattered the perpetual silence of this deepest region. Its voice carried notes I'd never heard from any creature, a sound like grinding stone mixed with metal tearing. The remaining three claws flailed wildly as its numerous legs scuttled against the fragile glass beneath us, each movement creating new fractures in the mirror-smooth surface.

I landed hard, my war frame's shock absorbers compensating for the impact. Without pause, I sent all nine tendrils lashing outward, each dragon-headed terminus wreathed in the same blue-white energy of Mana Shell. The enhanced strikes punched through the creature's purplish-blue armor like artillery shells, sending chunks of carapace spinning away into the darkness.

The Decapod's paddle-like mandibles spread wide, revealing a throat that glowed with sickly green bioluminescence. A torrent of noxious gas erupted from its maw, a cloud of poison dense enough to kill a dozen humans in seconds. The vapors washed over me, eating through the remains of my widow's clothing until only tatters remained.

I felt nothing. No burning lungs, no choking gasps for clean air. The advantages of my Primordial existence had never been clearer.

Through the dissipating poison cloud, I pressed my attack. My sword-lance, still crackling with Mana Shell energy, swept in a perfect arc that severed one of the creature's tree-trunk legs. The limb toppled away, spurting acidic blood that hissed and bubbled where it struck the glass.

The Monument Decapod's remaining claws hammered down in a desperate assault, each strike powerful enough to crater stone. But size brought sluggishness, and my war frame's hydraulics responded faster than muscle and sinew ever could. I flowed between the attacks, my tendrils striking at every opening.

More cracks spider-webbed across its shell. Armor plates the size of shields began falling away, revealing the pale, vulnerable flesh beneath. I focused my attacks on these exposed areas, my blade and tendrils finding purchase in soft tissue.

Each wound brought gushes of corrosive blood that ate through what remained of my disguise. The black fabric dissolved completely, leaving my war frame's auric steel body gleaming in the light. The acidic spray had no effect on the golden alloy, another triumph of Assembly over biology.

The battle became a dance of patience and precision. The Decapod's attacks grew increasingly frantic as its life ebbed away. I dodged sweeping claws, ducked beneath crushing mandibles, and always counterattacked. My tendrils worked in perfect coordination, striking high while my sword-lance found gaps in its lower defenses.

Time lost meaning in this place where no sun marked its passage. The fight could have lasted minutes or hours. Finally, with a death-scream that cracked nearby spires, the Monument Decapod collapsed. Its massive bulk struck the glass plain with earth-shaking force, sending tremors through the obsidian beneath my feet.

Congratulations! You have defeated and have received experience. You are now Level 89!

I allowed myself a moment of stillness (not rest, for I required none) to reflect on how far I'd traveled into this alien realm.

Two weeks of continuous hunting had brought me to the Hellzone's heart. Here, in this deepest sanctuary of primordial chaos, the very landscape defied natural law. The ground stretched endlessly as perfect black glass, smooth as a mirror yet strong enough to support titans. Obsidian spires jutted skyward like frozen screams, some reaching hundreds of feet into the colorless void above.

Most unsettling were the floating spires: massive towers of volcanic glass that hung motionless in the air, defying gravity as they drifted like silent, patient fortresses. Their presence suggested powers at work beyond the System's understanding.

The sky itself had surrendered color, becoming a flat expanse of absolute black. Yet despite the absence of sun, moon, or stars, visibility remained perfect. Light emanated from no source, illuminating everything with the same lifeless clarity.

No wind stirred this realm. No sound disturbed its peace except when my battles temporarily shattered the eternal quiet. Even those disturbances seemed muffled, as if the very air resisted carrying noise.

Eleven more levels. In this place where reality itself seemed negotiable, I would claim them.

I examined my war frame's surface, where the acid-dissolved remnants of my widow's garb still clung like dying parasites to the auric steel. Black fabric hung in tatters from my shoulder joints and waist servos, the once-concealing dress reduced to stubborn scraps that served no purpose in this desolate realm.

Assembly responded to my will, threads of power reaching out to manipulate the bonds holding the fabric together. The remaining cloth unraveled with mechanical precision, each fiber separating from its neighbors in perfect sequence. The tattered remains fell away piece by piece, drifting to the mirror-black glass below like funeral shrouds.

My war frame stood revealed in its entirety for the first time since arriving at the enclave. The auric steel body gleamed with its natural golden sheen, unmarred by the Monument Decapod's corrosive blood. Nine dragon-headed tendrils coiled out from my torso like metallic serpents, their surfaces etched with the intricate scale-like patterns that channeled mana through their lengths. The streamlined armor plates covering my chest and limbs bore no ornamentation save for function, every curve and angle designed for maximum efficiency in combat.

Here, in this place where reality bent to alien geometries, clothing served no purpose. No human eyes would judge my mechanical form. The monsters that called this realm home recognized only strength and threat, concepts that transcended social conventions. My naked war frame represented pure functionality stripped of pretense.

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Through the Brace link connecting us, I reached out to my five scout spiders. Their mechanical consciousnesses responded immediately, data streams flowing back through our shared connection. Scout Spider Six perched motionless on an obsidian spire ninety feet to my northeast, its sensors detecting no movement in its assigned sector. Scout Spider Seven had positioned itself behind a floating tower eighty feet south, while Scout Spider Nine maintained overwatch from a crystalline formation to the west.

Scout Spider Eleven held position directly north, and Chonsey, its pink paint now scarred from weeks of combat, scanned the eastern approaches from atop a fallen glass pillar. All reported the same: emptiness. The Monument Decapod's death-scream had driven away any creatures that might have been drawn to investigate our battle.

With the immediate area secure, I summoned my status screen. The familiar blue rectangle materialized before me, its text glowing against the colorless void.

Name: Vardiel

Level: 89

Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER]

Gender: N/A

Age: 1

Titles: Original, Vanquisher of Qordos, Defender of Weath, Dragon Slayer 2, Fugitive, Magistricide, Godslayer, Demigod, Apostate

Strength: 238

Endurance: 249

Dexterity: 245

Intelligence: 233

Wisdom: 225

Attributes: Ancestor Might (Descendants: 132), Invulnerable Flesh, Integration, Court Style Swordsmanship, Weath Defense, Enchantment, Titan Slaying Style, Godseed of Enmity

Abilities: Mind Speech D, Mind Sight C, Language Comprehension S, Assembly A, Analyze B, Depository C, Mana Manipulation A, Blade Skill C, Brace D, Momentum Redirection B, Mana Shell B

The number confirmed what I already knew, but my attention fixed on the entry below it.

Ancestor Might

You gain power from your descendants. The more descendants you have, the stronger you will become. Current descendants: 132

Cold certainty settled in my mind like ice forming in hydraulic fluid. Three days ago, that number had read 144. Twelve of my children, my Tireless units and constructs, had ceased to exist.

The implications struck with devastating clarity. The human army that the Prophet had warned of must have reached the enclave. One thousand soldiers led by two level 100 warriors: Sedna the Dervish and Coln the Hand of Death. Somehow they had breached the sanctuary's defenses, penetrated into the settlement itself, and begun destroying my mechanical offspring.

My tendrils clenched involuntarily, hydraulic systems building pressure that had nowhere to discharge. Every instinct inherited from Vardin screamed at me to abandon this place, to race back across the Hellzone and defend what remained of the community I'd helped transform. But cold logic overrode emotional impulse.

At level 89, I would be slaughtered by warriors who had reached the System's maximum threshold. Two enemies at level 100, backed by an army, represented a force that could destroy me regardless of my Primordial nature. My invulnerable skin meant nothing if they knew about my weaknesses. And since they were agents of the gods, then they most definitely knew.

Eleven more levels.

The words emerged as a psychic growl that echoed across the barren landscape. If I fought without pause, targeting only the strongest creatures this realm could offer, I might reach level 100 within a week. I had to try. Every hour of delay meant more of my children would die, more of the enclave's innocent inhabitants would suffer.

The countdown had begun.

Two days of relentless hunting had yielded precious little progress. Since the Monument Decapod's acidic death beneath my tendrils, I had encountered only three other creatures worthy of pursuit. Each had proven formidable beyond the typical Hellzone spawn: a level 92 Crystalline Behemoth whose diamond carapace almost shattered my sword-lance, requiring hours of repair work. A level 93 Obsidian Stalker that phased between dimensions, forcing me to predict its materialization points through pure calculation. Finally, a level 90 Glass Carnage whose razor-edged claws had carved grooves in my supposedly invulnerable armor plating.

The third kill had pushed me to level 90, confirming my previous tactical assessment. These apex predators of the Central Hellzone provided exponentially greater experience than the swarms of lesser creatures. A single level 90+ monster yielded more advancement than dozens of the level 70 variants that populated the outer regions. Unfortunately, such powerful specimens existed in vanishingly small numbers, scattered across hundreds of square miles of twisted landscape.

The mathematics tormented me. At this rate, reaching level 100 would require weeks I didn't possess. Every hour spent searching empty obsidian fields meant another of my children might face destruction at the hands of Sedna and Coln. The Ancestor Might counter had dropped to 129 since yesterday's check. Three more descendants lost. Three more failures.

My scout spiders maintained their patrol patterns with mechanical precision, covering a five-mile radius as we traversed the crystalline wastelands. Their sensors swept continuously for movement, heat signatures, magical emanations; any indication of the mighty predators that called this realm home. Hour after hour yielded nothing but barren glass and floating stone formations.

Frustration built pressure in my hydraulic systems like steam in an overheated boiler. Each empty vista mocked my urgency. While I wandered this desolate maze, human warriors were systematically dismantling everything I'd built. The enclave's defenders (Yudron, Akassi, Fargill, even the Prophet's Voiceless) fought against odds that would overwhelm them eventually. Time bled away like hydraulic fluid from a severed line.

Focus, I commanded myself, forcing my emotions down. Panic serves no purpose. The hunt continues.

Scout Spider Eleven transmitted an alert through our Brace connection. Movement detected, approximately one mile northeast. Large mass signature, moving at significant speed across the glass plains. I immediately vectored toward the coordinates, tendrils extending for maximum locomotion efficiency.

The familiar silhouette came into view as I crested a low obsidian ridge. Another Monument Decapod, this one even larger than my previous kill. Its twelve legs carried its house-sized shell across the reflective surface with surprising grace. Through Analyze, I confirmed its level: 94. Perfect.

Anticipation surged through my body as I calculated approach vectors. The creature's shell showed natural weak points where previous battles had left stress fractures. My sword-lance could penetrate those gaps with sufficient force application. A smile formed across my lips.

At last.

I prepared to launch myself from the ridge when Scout Spider Seven screamed a warning through our connection. Massive aerial signature approaching from directly above, velocity suggesting a controlled dive rather than mere falling debris. I looked up just as something colossal blotted out the perpetual twilight.

The impact shook the ground beneath my tendrils. The Monument Decapod's clicking turned to shrieks of agony as massive black claws pierced its shell like heated knives through butter. What pinned my intended prey defied every classification I'd encountered in this realm of endless crustaceans.

This creature possessed a serpentine body easily sixty feet in length, supported by four powerful legs that ended in razor-sharp talons. Thick obsidian scales covered its hide, each plate large enough to serve as a warrior's shield. Two enormous wings stretched from its shoulders, their membranes shot through with veins that pulsed with inner fire. The head that descended toward its trapped victim bore jaws capable of crushing castle walls, lined with teeth like curved swords.

But the eyes: those molten gold orbs that fixed upon the Monument Decapod with predatory satisfaction held an intelligence that transcended mere bestial hunger. This was no mindless monster driven by the simple imperative to kill. This creature possessed consciousness, perhaps even wisdom.

The beast's jaws opened impossibly wide before clamping down on the Monument Decapod's shell. Chitin that had deflected my strongest attacks crumpled like parchment. The sickening sound of tearing flesh followed as the predator began its feast, black scales rippling with each powerful bite.

I activated Analyze, though some part of me already anticipated the result.

Apocalyptic Dragon

Level: 100

My breath intake ceased entirely. A level 100 creature. The absolute pinnacle of what the System permitted for non-divine entities. A being that had somehow transcended every limitation that bound lesser monsters to lower classifications.

And it had just stolen my prey.

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