Alien Evolution System

by Stayrr

Consume and evolve to become the strongest. The Collector, an alien warrior on a mission to absorb all life, transmigrates to a world of fantasy and magic. However, a battle with a god forces it to begin its journey as nothing more than a weak grub. Used to fighting against spaceships and machines, the Collector must now navigate its strange new world where instead of dealing wi

2. 31

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The Collector had observed the floating construct for an hour and forty-two minutes before it witnessed movement of interest. From the other side of the riverbank, a lone human approaching on the back of a horse signaled up to the pillar utilizing a stone capable of shining light.

Five rapid flashes of light.

From there, the pillar had quaked in slight but silent movement. Small platforms of a weakly visible, translucent substance formed beneath the pillar, forming into steppingstones for the human below.

Visual analysis of the translucent substance alone did not yield any significant information. The wavelengths of light emitting from them indicated only color. There were no anomalous energy readings, though there was a certain degree of heat emission from the substance.

As the platforms reached down, the human waiting beneath encountered attack from giant scorpions. The human observed signs of extreme distress but managed to defend himself to adequate degree, observing a show of force with the tool known as a sword.

He eliminated one giant scorpion, but his strength was insufficient to ward off the increasing horde drawn to the vibrations generated from the sudden and violent altercation.

The human did survive, however, leaving his beast of burden to fall to the scorpions while he ran up the platforms carrying behind him a sizable container of some sort.

The Collector did not make a move then. Instead, it watched as the human walked up to the base of the pillar. When the human slammed face first into the invisible wall of the pillar, he exhibited signs of anger, knocking at the wall with a fist.

An entrance opened up in the stone wall through a means that seemed close to atomic manipulation. The stone broke down into granular components that shifted aside, and when the human stepped through, the granular components reformed over the empty space and solidified back into stone.

The Collector continued to wait. It determined that the likelihood of this individual, based on its unfamiliarity with the structure and its prior harassment from the giant scorpions, was not the 'sorcerer'.

However, that the structure allowed access to the human indicated that the 'sorcerer' was present.

The Collector would continue the monitor the structure for changes. Visual confirmations of this 'sorcerer', if possible, but if this was not possible, then it would strike when the visiting human left.

In the span of fifteen minutes and forty-four seconds, however, it witnessed a chance to strike.

The upper segment of the pillar opened up, revealing the space where the previously identified human and, presumably, the 'sorcerer' resided.

The Collector gained visual confirmation of the sorcerer and analyzed him.

Fragile bone structure. Atrophied muscle mass. Slightly hunched in posture from continuous lack of physical activity. All signs of weakness, and yet, the Collector knew by now not to assume the strength of these 'sorcerers' based purely off their biological merits.

However, all the Collector knew was how to ascertain threats through their physical abilities and, in the case of tinkerers, their technology. In such a case as this, it had no prior data to base its actions off of other than the thrall.

If the sorcerer here also possessed the means to alter its state of matter such that it rendered itself impervious to physical harm, then at the very least, the Collector could confirm this was a common trait among 'sorcerers'.

Unlikely, however. The female sorcerer it had consumed had no such ability. But at the same time, the Collector could not reach any definitive conclusions.

It required more combat data.

Then it would strike and gather data for itself now, taking risk now so that it would better familiarize itself for these threats of 'magic' in the future.

Thus, it decided to strike while the structure seemed bared to the world, its walls uncovered and the soft, fleshy targets within vulnerable.

"By all the fucking gods there are, something is coming!" screamed the man. He stumbled backwards and began to run away from the opposite end of the open wall, drawing his sword almost as an after-thought.

Ekur kept his hand on his atelier's control conduit, his hand burning up as he expended mana to will his atelier to build up a forcefield around the room. The barrier's light blue shine glazed neatly over the circular walls right in time for an enormous…giant beetle to slam against the open space.

A monster? Out here? How? Why? It looked like a creature from the Darkwoods that grew nearby, but was there a creature this large? Ekur thought only the scolex worm in the riverbank was a monster capable of a C-rank threat rating.

The barrier, fueled by the atelier's impressive mana crystal and channeled through its magic-sensitive walls, prevented the monster from crawling in, but its impact upon the forcefield was enough to cause tremors to shake through the entire structure.

The pillar began to tip over as the wind-control systems failed. Lightstones placed on the ceiling began to flash from white to red, signaling atelier systems failures.

"Take her! Take her!" screamed Ekur as he used his free hand to point at the daemon lying in the trunk. The trunk was slowly starting to tilt towards the monster. "She cannot be harmed!"

The slaver saw his entire retirement flash before his eyes and rushed to the trunk, picking up the chain attached to it and throwing it forwards. The trunk slammed against the other end of the room, breaking apart and spilling the daemon's limp body out.

By now the pillar had tilted enough for various things in the room, test tubes, vials, little trinkets of stone and metal, to start falling and clattering towards the beast before stopping at the barrier.

The slaver held onto a gap in the bricked floor and shouted. "Do something! This whole thing is tipping over!"

"I am employing the full breadth of my genius into this-," complained Ekur before the monster started to move again, slamming at the barrier with blows from its many claw-tipped legs. The barrier held up, resistant to non-magical blows as it was.

"Stop talking so much and fix this!" The slaver waved his gloved hand around to the tilting floor,

"Hehe, so long as I have my hand upon this control conduit, this brainless insect will never pierce the veil of my barrier!" said Ekur triumphantly before stumbling on the uneven ground, almost slipping his hand off the altar.

The slaver's eyes widened. "You won't have your hand on it much longer monologuing like this. Shut up and do something!"

Ekur mumbled under his breath before he focused and put in a hefty amount of mana into restoring the wind stabilizers. The sigil stones embedded in choice locations throughout the walls of the atelier glowed green once more, emitting the aura of wind that kept the whole thing afloat.

The atelier groaned as it righted itself, floating stably again.

Ekur's vision started to blur as he felt the mana drain from him, and he pushed down emotions of regret and humiliation that surfaced when he lost fine control over his magic.

The slaver sighed in relief and then stood up on shaky legs, pointing a sword at the hideous monstrosity splayed across the barrier. "Now do something about that!"

"I will show you, you who are so unworthy of the brilliance of my research, research that has had decades to crystallize, of the restoration of Chaos magic. Magic, as you may know, many revile and believe lost when Zerul fell. But I alone in my genius am capable of replicating it-," said Ekur as the circuit lines running from the altar and connecting to his palms began to glow from green to black.

A black magic circle filled with concentric, grey rings floated over the monster. A moment later, and a beam of pure darkness shot down.

The monster reacted nigh-instanteously, latching off from the atelier. But not quick enough. The beam grazed its tail, and though the beam only clipped off a small chunk of the tail, the chaos would spread and disintegrate the entire beast soon enough.

Ekur watched as the monster fell back down to the muddy depths. "Behold! Might that can replicate even an Origin Gate itself! Soon, this creature will be reduced to dust!"

The slaver tiptoed to the edge of the barrier, making sure the monster was gone. He saw the monster fall down, its white figure growing smaller and smaller, and sighed in relief before he noticed that the monster tore off its tail before the disintegration could reach up further to its body.

"It's not dead!" The slaver looked back at Ekur with his hands in the air. "Kill it! Now!"

"Your simple shouting annoys me," said Ekur. "The creature falls now to its death regardless of whether it has escaped my chaos. Behold, the reason why my atelier is fortified to the highest extent despite my own pithy mana."

The circuits on Ekur's altar turned from black to green again, and the atelier vibrated, generating a high-pitched noise that reached into the riverbank below.

"And is that supposed to do anything?" said the slaver as he winced in pain at the sound, covering his ears.

"Wind magic is my natural affinity, but I am cursed with low-grade spirit roots. How do I compensate, you ask? Through my wits." Ekur tapped his head, baring a smile full of teeth decayed from neglect.

A rumbling roar echoed from the riverbank as the shuddering sound of earth parting reached even up to the pillar.

"I use my magic not to create vast winds or tornadoes that I cannot muster, but to generate a sound," said Ekur. "A sound that agitates the scolex worm that slumbers below."

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The Collector fell back down to the mud bank with a click of its mandibles. Its weight sunk into the mud heavily, but it trudged out, fluttering its wings. Or one wing.

It analyzed combat with this 'sorcerer'.

He was capable of erecting a kind of forcefield around his territory, though of course, he did not utilize any conventional forcefield technology nor psionic shielding.

This was 'magic', and a vexing one at that.

The forcefield was capable of resisting the Collector's physical might and its monomolecular claws. In functionality, it was very much similar to the forcefields it knew. These, brute force struggled to deal with, and their constantly generated nature made them difficult to cut through.

The Collector knew that sustained applications of intense heat could overload a forcefield and shatter it.

Of course, this forcefield was different, but it would not hurt to try.

And, in a way, the presence of this forcefield was fortunate. It meant that this 'sorcerer' likely did not possess a means to render his physical body immune to the Collector's claws and blows. All it had to do was find a way through the forcefield.

But then there was the issue of the beam. The Collector had sensed its onset, but the speed of the beam was such that it clipped the Collector's tail and the top of one of it wings.

Minimal initial damage, but continuous degradation of carapace and flesh. Degradation so complete that it was on par with atomic disassembly.

But, rate of destruction slow.

Now that the Collector understood the destructive beam's firing rate, projectile speed, and the signs leading up to it, it would be exceptionally difficult to strike the Collector without advanced targeting systems.

The Collector had the reflexes to tear off its tail and wing before the effect could spread to the rest of its body. Unfortunately, this left it unable to fly back up to the structure in the sky.

It clicked its mandibles as it gazed back up at the structure, assessing how it would continue this battle.

Then, the sound came.

A sonic frequency originating from the structure's walls meant to agitate certain types of insectoids and arthropods. Confirming this determination, the Collector saw the giant scorpions unburrow from the mud and begin to skitter away.

Immediately afterwards, the Collector detected a seismic disturbance.

Significant tremors. Mud made exact calculations of the tremors difficult. Yet, tremors intensifying. Presence of a creature approaching. Extreme in size based off of even rough estimations.

The Collector leaped backwards as the ground where it had been disappeared in a yawning hole. A moment later, an enormous worm, its head as large as the Collector itself, emerged outwards with a shrill scream.

The worm continued to unravel its length, displaying an enormity that utterly dwarfed anything the Collector had ever seen in this world. It stretched into the night sky, a pillar of fleshy white intruding against the inky canvas of a star-speckled night sky.

The worm reached almost to the sorcerer's construct before it arched downwards, the many hairs lining its body standing straight up as it detected the Collector.

The worm unleashed a shrill roar, its mouth opening to reveal rows of rotating circular, serrated and rock shattering teeth.

Spines lined across the segments of its body also rotated in sawing motions, and the Collector understood then that a variant of this species, a smaller variant, perhaps one of the young, had created the dens the goblins inhabited.

The Collector estimated that the worm's entire length unsubmerged from the mud would reach close to thirty meters. It clicked its mandibles, eager to consume this creature.

Yet not now. The Collector currently lacked the strength.

But, as the worm sensed the Collector and began to arch down, aiming its hungry maw towards it, an idea formulated within the Collector's head.

The Collector stepped back, away from the softer parts of the mud until it found purchase on firmer ground. The worm tracked its movements, a little clumsily, given its massive size, but its motion-sensitive hairs were capable enough to allow its blind body to roughly home in on the Collector.

The Collector knew that if it took the force of the worm crashing down on it head on, it would likely suffer critical damage. The rotating sawblade teeth also likely had the capacity to tear through the Collector's carapace given short time considering it could easily grind down stone into dust, making an internal attack unfeasible, not to mention dealing with powerful digestive fluids.

But, as the Collector saw the worm's mouth nearing it, it calculated that the creature was slow, its bulk working against it in this regard.

It would work for the Collector, however.

Just before the maw of whirring teeth swallowed up the Collector, it leaped up in an explosive burst fueled by the jumping arakka legs and coilboosted ultrafiber muscles. The worm slammed its head into the dirt, shattering the firm ground apart with a roaring crack like a meteorite.

Before the worm could figure out it gnawed on rock, not the Collector, the Collector crawled up the length of the worm. It went into its eight-legged mode, its many legs crawling up the worm's length at breakneck speed.

The Collector's monomolecular claws were extraordinarily sharp, but they were small, and trying to pierce through the thick mass of this worm's flesh would take too long to subdue it. However, the Collector did not desire to challenge the worm.

It instead ran up the worm, scaling it with its arakka legs as it would a cliff and using it as a means to gain altitude to jump back up to this 'sorcerer's' structure.

"It's back!" The slaver yelled as the atelier shook and rumbled once more, the huge, splayed out figure of the enormous monstrosity of a beetle stretched out across the see-through blue barrier.

"It will take some time before I can unleash Chaos once more," said Ekur. "But make no mistake, I will let nothing stand in the way of my grand breakthrough."

The wizened sorcerer pressed his hand into the atelier's conduit, the circuits on the altar turning from green again to black. The entire atelier began to whine and whir, the magic crystal floating atop the conduit crackling as it strained to supply the necessary magical energy for a second chaos blast.

"That monster is a mere mindless beast, no more capable of thought than the countless scorpions and many-legged abominations writhing beneath us. Look, it knows that it cannot pierce my barrier, and yet, it continues to attack it again and again," said Ekur.

"Gods, what is that stench, fouler even than yours," remarked the slaver as he stood back, behind the sorcerer.

"Ah, the scent of the scolex worm. I hear they smell of rotted flesh. It is a good thing my sense of smell has ascended beyond mortal reasoning," said the sorcerer.

"No, you're just used to your own filth. Never mind – how long until you can strike this creature again?" said the slaver.

"Worry not and take care of the daemon, for without her, all hope for this world is lost," said Ekur. His breathing began to shallow as mana drained from him, slowly fueling the chaos beam again.

As his mana drained, it became harder for him to repress the negative emotions that welled up from uncontrolled mana usage. Regret and humiliation.

Regret that he could not have spent his life doing greater deeds, deeds that would have left him immortalized in the halls of Aetheria itself, not simply as a footnote in some mortal textbooks.

Humiliation that everyone, the Order, all those he once knew as friends, even family, rejected him when they learned the nature of his research, research meant to rid this world of the Undeath.

The slaver yelped as the monster suddenly revealed a face atop its body, a face equally as grotesque as its form as an odd combination of goblin and insect features and began to breathe flame that washed over the barrier.

The flame did not penetrate through the barrier, but the residual heat from it did, turning the stone walls beneath the barrier molten.

"As I channel the Chaos that will strike this beast into oblivion, I will tell you of my grand visions," began Ekur.

"I really don't want to hear it," said the slaver.

Ekur continued. "I was disgraced because they said I fouled the laws of life. As a scholar from the sands of Utu and a devotee of the Worldwind herself, the flow of wind, the breath of the world itself, has always been my calling, as has the plight of the people.

I have defended countless homes from the searing rays of the sun with my wind-conditioning, and yet, I wished to do more. And what problem is not larger than that of Undeath itself?"

"Your walls are literally melting," said the slaver as sweat began to pour from his face. The atelier's stone walls were red hot by now, but they were not important, the barrier was - and the barrier stood strong independent of the walls.

"Among those under the Worldwind's blessed faith, there are those that may guide the breath of life, knitting together damaged flesh and broken bone. But why stop there? Why can the breath of life not call upon those that have fallen, ensuring that their corpses do not come under the curse of Undeath?"

Ekur continued, his breathing growing heavier and heavier, and his vision growing duller and duller. He felt something was of, but he could not quite tell why, perhaps it was due to mana loss, though this felt…different.

Still, in his lightheaded stupor, he continued, his life's work, his redemption, unspooling from his lips now that he had someone to talk to for the first time in decades. "But when I devised a way to breathe life into corpses, a method inspired by the golems of Sunda, they still were not immune to Undeath.

My newly arisen broke from my control, killing hundreds, and years and years since, I have spent my time hunted and repenting, formulating a way to not only render the dead immune from undeath, but to even remove undeath from those that have already turned.

The answer…is Chaos." Ekur coughed, slumping over the altar.

"What is happening?" wondered the slaver as he too began to feel something wrong, his chest tightening and his eyes burning up.

The monster continued to breathe its flame in an unending stream, its face poised close to the barrier. The flame spread across the barrier, but did not pierce through, only some heat, so what was going on?

"With Chaos…long lost and hidden in daemonic blood…," continued Ekur. "Chaos I will extract from her…I will perfect the ritual. The Chaos I merely mimic now will become genuine.

I will destroy the Undeath rot first from the living dead with Chaos, then breathe life back into the empty shells. None will laugh then, the gods-,"

Ekur coughed blood, eyes watering, and then fell over. The slaver took note and immediately rushed to the sorcerer's side, not to save him, but to keep his hand planted on the conduit to keep the barrier up.

"Will welcome me," whispered Ekur finally before falling unconscious.

"How long did dead circuits last again? An hour?" said the slaver as he shook his head at the dying sorcerer. "An hour of time before I end up like you. I never should have taken this accursed job. Fuck."

The slaver looked up at the barely visible monster, at the flame continuing to coat the blue barrier in waves blinding white fire. "And fuck you. I'll make sure to hack your eye off or something when you get in here. Something to remember me by."

The slaver felt hands, small hands, latch onto his back, and he whipped his head back to find the daemon grasping at him. Her sleeping bonds were loose on the floor, undone from the chaos of the fight.

She stared at him with half open eyes that still managed to glow with pure hatred.

"Oh, gods damn it all-," began the slaver before an arc of purple magical energy coursed from her hands, spreading throughout the slaver like an electrical current running through wire and shattering his mind into nothingness.

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The Collector halted the biotrigger of its pyrocatalytic glands when the forcefield fell down. It stood up back into its bipedal form, hunching into the gap in the now steaming, molten rock walls as it trudged into this 'sorcerer's territory.

Countless tools, not meant for war, but for study, it seemed, laid strewn across the floor. Glass tubes and vials shattered. Tables flipped over. Piles of rocks scattered about.

Movement.

The Collector watched the new specimen, humanoid in appearance but possessing of significant physiological differences compared to the average human, move. She was smaller than the humans, further back in her growth stages, likely, judging from her more neotenous features.

She stumbled forwards, not fully in control of her body.

In her hands, she held the two halves of the younger human's body, having torn it apart clean in two with prodigious strength that far belied her small frame. Blood and entrails poured from the separated halves, drenching her lavender skin and white sackcloth in red.

This specimen was special, no doubt.

The female specimen gazed at the Collector in a dazed expression, her mind likely unable to fully process the Collector, and dropped the savaged human corpse. She fell to the ground, drawing in deep breaths, but still remaining alive.

She was merely paralyzed.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. Its calculated plan to victory had worked without much variation in execution. It knew that it could not penetrate the forcefield this 'sorcerer' conjured, but at the same time, it understood that the forcefield could not have been an absolute barrier.

The sorcerer and his fellow human still managed to breathe. And, as the Collector came to realize the second time it latched atop this floating territory, they could even perceive its scent.

That meant that particles in the air necessary for continued sustenance of respiratory functions still passed through the barrier, as did wavelengths of light necessary for visibility. In that case, it became exceedingly likely that the forcefield only repelled certain types of energy.

A deduction proven correct when the Collector unleashed its flame breath upon the forcefield. The flames did not warp the forcefield, but the heat from the flames did permeate through. The heat alone could not travel far enough to the specimen, but it did prove further the suitability of the Collector's strategy.

These primitives did not understand it, but the Collector's flames were the result of a highly reactive chemical reaction.

The byproduct of the rapid oxidization of the reactive chemicals ejected from the Collector's pyrocatalytic glands hitting its biotrigger was toxic to humans in sufficient quantities.

The Collector could even enhance this toxicity with further sub-adaptations to its glands.

The Collector knew that the tinkerers of this world possessed 'magic' but that this substance did not make them advanced to any significant degree technologically. They would likely not have the capacity to conceptualize that beyond fire, there was an additional chemical threat.

Thus in unleashing a continuous stream of fire, the Collector had injected sufficient quantities of toxic particulates into the air, incapacitating the sorcerer, physically the frailest among them, first.

Certainly, this 'sorcerer' which had the capacity to alter the flow of wind within his territory could have developed a means to filter out these particulates, but the thought had not even occurred to the primitive's mind for the particulate was odorless and colorless to the undeveloped human eye.

The other human, younger and more physically imposing, naturally was more resistant, but he had met his end to this new variant of humanoid.

The Collector stepped over to her, picking up the still body of the sorcerer under one of its arms. The sorcerer was still alive for the Collector had mediated its toxin output to ensure incapacitation, not death, and if extracted from this area soon, would regain consciousness to answer the Collector's questions.

The corpse of the other human, however, the Collector consumed, tossing both halves into its stretched-out maw.

*Biomass gained (5)*

Biomass level: 35/100

This human, too, was special to a degree. The Collector sensed that he was approximately as strong as the 'adventurers' it had consumed. But did not seem to possess any notable 'magic' judging from his actions and reliance upon the sorcerer.

Now then, to investigate this other specimen, this younger female that too must have been special, being an object of high desire for both the sorcerer and the other human.

Possessing of significant abilities as well, capable of halting the younger human's mental functioning, regardless of how primitive they were, to an instant stop before tearing him apart with pure physical force.

"Emergency heartrate threshold reached."

The Collector stood up in alert, monomolecular claws clinking out of its fingers as it searched for this intruder's voice. It realized it echoed from all throughout the sorcerer's territory in a way almost identical to the announcement systems placed in tinkering vehicles.

"Initiating atelier knowledge preservation protocol. Self-destruction initiated-"

The walls of the structure began to light up as circuits hidden within them glowed bright. The hovering crystal at the center of the room began to crack, energy crackling from it in arcs that emitted searing heat.

The Collector clicked its mandibles in irritation. It had wished to investigate this structure and the knowledge within, but there simply was no time. It first spent a second checking the purple skinned specimen's vitals, ensuring she was still alive but still unconscious to prevent her from enacting any harm.

The specimen was unconscious, affected by the burnt-up chemicals but still possessing higher resistance than the sorcerer. Likely, it was the nature of her prior bonds that had imposed this somnolence upon her.

The Collector took the limp specimen's body and then left the way it came. It stood out the edge of the open circled with molten white rock and tensed up its leg muscles, swelling them to nearly twice their size as it engaged its coilboosters.

The coilbooster sub adaptation changed its flexible ultrafiber musculature structure such that when engaged and pumped with blood, the fibers would warp into taut, coiled structures packed with power, allowing for short bursts of high-speed movement.

The blood engorged muscles in its legs tensed up into interlocking, coil-like structures efficient for storing potential energy, and like a crushed spring being released, when the Collector leaped off into the night, all that potential energy converted to kinetic, sending it soaring into the sky.

With occasional flutters of its single functional wing, the Collector maintained elevation, keeping itself away from the scolex worm below. By now, the worm had been reduced to slithering around the river, unable to sense the Collector now that it was airborne.

Wind whistled by the Collector as it adjusted the movement of its wing, directing itself to a safe landing zone near where the forest began and the scolex's territory ended.

Despite lacking one wing, the Collector possessed enough finesse with its aerial systems that the lack of the other wing only really compromised its ability to generate more lift.

In terms of gliding and directional guidance, it could more than operate with a single wing, and as it neared the ground, it spread its wing flat at an angle, using it as a sail to catch a draft and land it right at the edge of the forest

It landed with a solid thump synchronized with the explosion of the sorcerer's structure above. The Collector turned to see a brilliant blast of green and black curls of energy swirling around a white dot like winds whipping around the eye of a hurricane.

The scolex worm below sensed this disturbance and threw itself into the river, disappearing in a few seconds.

Debris from the initial explosion sucked into this vortex of energy, breaking apart into nothingness before the miniature singularity closed in a flash, leaving nothing but the empty, dark night sky as the only testament that a sorcerer had spent decades of his life in the pursuit of knowledge here.

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The Collector did not carry its quarry far from the scolex worm's territory. The worm provided a natural buffer that deterred the presence of humans and other intruding specimen – one of the reasons why this human 'sorcerer' also built his territory in this area.

Yet, it would have to leave the immediate area soon. Killing one specimen of these tinkering species would bring more to investigate, and this effect would cascade upon itself.

The Collector had killed the three 'adventurers'. The soldiers had come looking for them. They had been disposed of as well. When their absence was noted, there would be an even larger response. More significant.

Tinkering species were social, banding together fiercely to compensate for their own biological weaknesses.

The Collector too noted that the disappearance of military tinkerer units would also be noted to a greater degree, though in that sense, it understood that the 'adventurers' were also military forces in some capacity, sent to eliminate the goblins that stood in opposition to their kind.

These continued disappearances would compound a greater response. The Collector would retreat for now until it had the utmost confidence in its capacity to handle threats that utilized 'magic'.

Thus, it had dragged the sorcerer and the purple skinned variant deeper into the forest, further behind the scolex's territory. This was closer to the darker zone of the forest biome where the humans did not tread, but it did not in there yet.

The captives would attract far too many insect-type creatures. Too many distractions.

For now, unhindered questioning was the highest priority.

The Collector inspected its quarry.

The sorcerer and purple humanoid variant were each tied to separate trees with binds of arakka silk bundled around their waists and chests. Three thick strands around the ankles, waist, and chest.

Arakka silk was difficult to produce in large quantities, but it was much stronger than the silk of the smaller arachnids that littered the forest floor a plenty.

Unlike those arachnids, the arakka utilized its silk mostly in hunting prey, using it as tethers to rappel their sizable bulk off of. In compromising quantity of production, the durability and adhesiveness of the strands increased.

Three strands was enough to bind the goblin champion, let alone these two specimen. The purple skinned variant exhibited significant degrees of strength compared to her physical dimensions, but none at a level required to tear this silk apart.

The sorcerer began to stir, first with a wheezing cough, then with a groan. The purple skinned variant did not move, having fallen into deeper unconsciousness due to the effect imparted upon her through her bonds.

Judging from the slowed rate of her heartbeat that mimicked hibernation, the Collector determined that without outside stimuli, the purple skinned variant would not break from her slumber easily.

But this 'sorcerer' was not so lucky.

The Collector pressed a carapace plated hand by the aged human's head, monomolecular claws clinking out in visible and ready threat.

"Oh, my head, my head. Golem, fetch me some water," muttered the sorcerer with a groan, starting to raise his head. He blinked hard a few times, likely trying to steady his blurry sight.

"Hm?" the sorcerer moved unconsciously, and judging from the twitches in his musculature, this was a motion to sit upright, likely to arise from a slumber.

The lack of oxygen and the inhalation of toxic particulates had likely induced some level of confusion in this 'sorcerer', but this would pass with some stimulus.

The Collector began. It used the flat of its palm to push the sorcerer's head against the tree trunk he was bound to. It regulated the pressure, making sure to wake the sorcerer and keep him maximally uncomfortable, understanding that his head could shatter into a broken pulp at a moment's notice.

The sorcerer gurgled as his eyes widened at the sight of the Collector. Recognition. Good. The Collector could start questioning now.

"You are bound, incapable of escape. My muscular capacity is such that your bones and flesh can rip and tear under the slightest of my manipulations. Do you understand?"

The sorcerer's pale green eyes darted from side to side as he breathed heavy. His eyes settled upon the purple skinned variant tied to the tree next to him and he began to struggle violently. However, the arakka silk kept the sorcerer bound so tight that he could not move even an inch.

"I sense struggle. Irrational. The moment you attempt to endanger me, you will die. My reflexes are honed to such an extent that if you attempt to utilize any 'magic', you will die. If the circuitry within your body glows, you will die. If you begin to speak anything that does not hold relevance to the questions I am to ask, you will die."

The sorcerer continued to struggle, but aged and fragile as he was, within half a minute, he exhausted himself, breathing even heavier and becoming limp.

The Collector knew some of the warning signs of 'magic' activation now. The circuitry and the chants. There could be more. Further investigation needed.

It withdrew its hand from the aged human's head, relieving pressure from his jaw and allowing him to speak.

"You will not have my research, monster! I-I do not know who sent you, but I know I have many rivals. My genius is unrivaled, and-,"

The Collector shoved the sorcerer's head back into the tree trunk. "I will ask questions. You will answer them. You will not speak otherwise."

It let go of the human's head, and the human started to shout again. "Never! You will never have my research! Not-,"

The Collector cut off the human's words by smothering his face with its palm. It retracted the claws on its other hand and with index finger and thumb, pinched one of the sorcerer's fingers, crushing the bone.

The sorcerer loosed muffled screams of anguish into the Collector's cold, bone-white palm.

The Collector waited until the human's sensory system adjusted somewhat to the sudden influx of pain. The human breathed heavy. The stench of fear and adrenaline began to reek from the thing.

The Collector broke another finger. Again, the human screamed into the Collector's carapace and struggled, and again, he grew limp, tired as he was already from so much struggling.

"Two broken fingers for two refusals. I understand that your kind cannot regulate your pain. The agony you must suffer now must cause you severe distress. You will answer my questions, and the distress will cease."

The Collector took its palm off again.

"I…I am Ekur, conqueror of the elements, master of life and death! And you will not have my secrets!"

The Collector growled as it smothered the human's head again and broke three more fingers, leaving the entire hand crippled. It watched the human's expression intently, searching for any faltering, any signs of the desperation that seemed to preclude humans willing to grant information, but there was none in this withered specimen's face.

Tears streamed down the specimen's face, and he grunted and breathed heavily, trying to suppress intense pain, but he had no signs of faltering.

Odd. A complete defiance of death and logical self-preservation instincts. The goblin champion operated upon a similar basis before his own demise, but that, the Collector could understand. The champion defied death for the fight, a fight engaged in part to defend the rest of his kind.

In essence, a guarantee of preservation for the many in exchange for the loss of one, though certainly, the champion was worth far more than the remainder of his brethren.

This was not that. This was pure irrationality. An intrinsic defect of the mind, it seemed. No matter the pain nor the threat of demise, this specimen's defective mind simply would not register them.

The Collector stared at the sorcerer's scrunched up face with annoyance. The human wheezed out tight breaths with his head forced into the trunk, the wood crushing against his head while the Collector's solid palm applied crushing pressure to his throat.

Yet, these were only signs of physiological discomfort. The others the Collector had interrogated, the soldiers and their leader, the scent of their fear had been different, and it came with a willingness to share information to preserve themselves.

There was fear in this one, yes, but only in a natural response to imminent death, not in willingness to share.

Did these tinkerers not value sharing information? Did they not wield it as a stand in for their biological weakness? Yet, were they not living creatures desiring of self-preservation? Why would they desire so to withhold information when their lives, their greatest resource, was threatened?

Why were they so defective?

Culling these crippled primitives was a mercy.

The Collector did not hesitate. It tore the human's head from his body in one fluid motion that ended with the head falling into its maw.

The Collector watched as spurts of blood gurgled from the human's empty neck. It did not attach itself much to conceptions of wasting time. It could not extract information from this 'sorcerer' in reasonable time, so it simply took the most efficient course of action.

Dragging this weak specimen around for an extended period of time in the low probability that he suddenly desired to oblige the Collector posed too many risks.

The Collector sliced through the arakka threads with its claw and consumed the rest of the corpse.

*Biomass Gained (10)*

Biomass Level: 45/100

The Collector noted that this 'sorcerer' did not actually possess too much of the special property overloading biomass. It had roughly double that of the younger specimen from the pillar but considering the scope of the sorcerer's capabilities and territory, the Collector had expected far more.

Disappointing.

Yet, enlightening as to the nature of 'magic' and its properties. There were direct mechanics as to how 'magic' was utilized, rules it followed and differences among individuals that influenced it. There were signs of its activation. Costs to its usage.

Methodology to its construction that involved time and research. Orders and organizational structures that regulated it. With punitive measures, if necessary.

Direct ties with the gods. Sponsors of this phenomenon, operators of gates that possessed what was likely a resource necessary for the activation of 'magic'.

Control over elements, a crude term for general manipulation of certain natural phenomena. But more. Chaos as well, what seemed to be akin to atomic deconstruction, and a gate in of itself, and yet the cost to access it was heavy and forbidden.

In many ways, this 'magic' was organized in some ways like the technology of tinkerers the Collector was already familiar with.

Sounds.

The Collector turned to the purple skinned variant and saw her awake. More information to be extracted. An interesting sample of genetic material as well, one tied to this 'Chaos' that had exhibited one of the more impressive shows of force in this world.

Report chapter

The purple skinned variant stared at the Collector. Neutral expression

She did not struggle against her bonds, nor did she exhibit any outward signs of fear. The stench of fear was absent from her.

Likely, another defective specimen.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. This was what happened when evolutionary growth was allowed to develop without the guiding hand of the Collective.

It led to defects, aberrations that developed and compounded upon itself until finally, tinkerers arose, species that existed only to harvest and destroy their ecosystems and then move on to others.

Regardless, the Collector would still attempt to extract information. It approached her, but did not touch her, for it knew that she possessed some means to incapacitate those she came into contact with.

Instead, the Collector opened its mouth and extended its biotrigger. It ejected a short burst of reactive chemicals from its pyrocatalytic glands, and an instantaneous burst of flame burst forth, engulfing the variant's hand in a mirage of blue-tinted white.

The cloud of flame lasted for a single instant to prevent a fire from starting in the forest, but that instant was enough to sear the purple skinned variant's hand.

The flesh warped, curling up and twisting into strands from the heat like paper crumpling under a match flame. The skin crisped and cracked, some parts already welling up into blisters.

Interesting. It would seem that these purple variants, these 'daemons', as they were called, possessed physiology extremely similar to that of humans. However, more durable. Even an instant of exposure to the Collector's flame would have blackened human flesh into charred carbon.

This specimen retained the relative structural integrity of her hand.

The daemon winced as she felt pain assault her, for the Collector knew that among pains burns were one of the more severe kinds to the nerves of humanoids.

Yet, the specimen adjusted quickly, returning to neutral expression after an initial display of discomfort.

The Collector analyzed her.

Physiologically, the specimen appeared to be quite young. If compared to the growth cycles of humans, then this variant would be approximately twelve to fourteen years old. At a maturity level that would not indicate significant deterioration of neural functions.

However, the Collector could see outlines of healed wounds across the specimen's body. A network of lacerations, torn patches, and burns of all shapes and sizes.

In such quantity that it seemed her entire body patterned with them. Judging from their dimensions, none caused through conventional biological weaponry such as jaws or claws.

All caused through tools. Atop her forehead, there was a burn fashioned in the shape of a nine-pointed star. A crude visage of a solar body, it seemed. Likely, a marking seared into the flesh for classification purposes.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. It would seem this specimen had endured significant bodily harm to it over time under the manipulation of its fellow tinkerers. An explanation for its noteworthy pain tolerance. And a testament to the defects of the tinkerers.

They were not united. They savaged and brutalized each other. Warred with each other. Did not know how to act for their own greater interest. For their own collective good.

The Collector would spare this specimen from the shortcomings of her brethren and induct her into the welcoming breadth of the Collective.

But first, she would have to earn that privilege with information.

"You too are a specimen that seems capable of utilizing this phenomenon known as 'magic'. Yet, your apparent age indicates that you should not have significant degrees of experience with this 'magic'. Still, you will answer my questions."

The Collector trained its biotrigger on the purple skinned variant's head, ready to melt her skull into liquid lest she attempt any sort of vocalization for magic.

The purple skinned variant nodded. She closed her eyes. The Collector analyzed this movement, attempting to sense hostile intent. There was no telltale sign of magical activity, and then –

'Thank you.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles in reaction. It heard the specimen's voice ringing not through its external auditory systems, but internally, through its minds, or, more specifically as it recognized, the latent psionic channels imbued in its neurons.

'Thank you for killing them. I wanted to kill him for so very long. I wanted to kill them all. Seeing it happen-,"

"Cease this psionic communication," said the Collector as it aimed the biotrigger at the specimen's head.

The Collector possessed natural defenses against psionic attacks in its original state, but right now, undeveloped as it was, it had some vulnerability to them, although it would still take a powerful psionic to accomplish such a feat.

'Psi…psionics?' came the wondering thoughts of the specimen.

She blinked, then opened her mouth. There was no tongue, just a root of flesh useless for vocalizing anything. Judging by the scar tissue surrounding the root, it was evident that the rest of the tongue had been torn off long ago.

'I…I can't talk. Not normally. I'm sorry, forgive me for being so broken. But, but I can help you. I…have a feel for what you want. You want to know what magic is. I can do that for you. I can teach it.'

The Collector noted the specimen's confusion of the word 'psionics'. Indicated a lack of experience with psionics. Indeed, this did not feel entirely similar to the psionic communications that the Collector was already familiar with.

It was weaker in presence. Not at all nearing the levels required to penetrate even the Collector's current inborn psionic defenses.

The Collector reassessed the specimen's threat level and decided that it would be more beneficial to obtain information from it. Provided, of course, the specimen did possess the adequate knowledge.

"You will tell me of this phenomenon, this 'magic', and you will explain it to me in sufficient detail such that it satisfies my understanding of it. Then, I will determine whether I may utilize it," said the Collector.

'You can. You already are, a little bit. I…I may be worthless, but I know magic. I used to study it. I can see it. I see it in you. See it better than others. You have mana, ah, latent mana, it was called,' conveyed the specimen, lingering on the word 'latent' with a degree of unfamiliarity like a word she had memorized in rote practice without truly understanding it.

She stared at the Collector with open eyes, and the Collector noted then that her eyes did not hold much of anything in them. No conveyance of emotion.

They were simply permanently screwed into a wide-eyed stare that once must have been the product of fear but now had carved itself deeply into her as a default expression.

Beneath that gaze, her body language and mannerisms showed that there was no fear, no sense of self preservation, merely a sense of aberrant stillness.

Highly defective in the mind. Yet, unlike the aberrant sorcerer, it seemed willing to part with valuable information.

A defect working towards the Collector, then.

'I simply have to open your spirit roots. Then, you will know. You will see. I know…I know that someone like me should not be asking anything of you, of anything from anyone, but, but for this, I want you to do something for me.'

The specimen's eyes managed to convey a slight shimmer of emotion. An aggressive emotion. The kind she had exhibited before when she had torn apart the younger human.

'Can you…can you kill them? All of them? I don't care who. Humans, faeries, elves, xian, even the gods, if you can.'

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"You desire the elimination of your fellow humanoids?" the Collector queried.

The purple skinned variant cringed, refusing to look directly at the Collector. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ask for anything."

The Collector clicked its mandibles. "Curious.

Your neural defect causes you to discard natural instincts for self-preservation and preservation of the social group, rather, you desire their demise. Yet, your request is unnecessary. The destruction of life upon this primitive rock is inevitable, regardless of your desires.

Yet, to understand your intent is difficult. Explain why the elimination of your kind would be beneficial to you."

'Because I am broken, and I am worthless.' The purple skinned variant's lip trembled for a moment before setting cold and still. 'That's what they told me, all of them, all the horrible people, and at first, I didn't believe them. I didn't want to believe it. But the more I got hurt, I thought, maybe, maybe…they're right.

Nobody wants to save me because I'm worthless. That made me so confused because mama always told me I was meant to do something big, that I meant something, but I'm not so sure what that means now.

All I know is that people always take and take from me, and now, I want them to lose and lose as much as I have. I am too weak and broken and worthless to make them feel that, but you…you can do it.'

"Pathetic," said the Collector. It grew tired of this thing's defective prattling that discarded all the evolution that had led her to where she was now, all the instincts for self-preservation and, more importantly, the instinct to fight. "You tinkerers always desire something other to compensate for your weaknesses. A technical breakthrough or tool or any manner of trinket to facilitate the faultiness of your forms and minds.

You do not rely upon your own evolutionary might, and now, see where that has led you. A casualty not against predators, but of your own kind. Even now, you do not fight. Even prey fights when it is cornered, but even this fundamental instinct has been excised from you."

The purple skinned variant at first cringed at the Collector's words, exhibiting fear for the first time not through a display of pain or force, but a verbal confirmation of her lowliness. Yet, as the Collector ended its dialogue, the variant perked up, blinking, an expression of wondering beginning to tint the light of her eyes.

"I have confirmed your defectiveness, and see no more use in probing its nature. Now, tell me why is it that you possess psionic capabilities allowing you to establish links of mental communication," said the Collector.

The Collector kept a close eye upon the purple skinned variant as it listened. When it had spoken to humanoids previously, many times, they had felt significant confusion in attempting to interpret the Collector's words. However, this humanoid understood, nodding along to the Collector's wording.

Likely, a result of psionics.

Psionic communication was not limited by the boundaries of formulated, constructed speech and their conventions, particularly that created by tinkering species. Psionic channels were how units within the Collective communicated among themselves.

A mind to flesh connection that conveyed intent in a manner that could not be misinterpreted or confused in the same way the faulty constructed languages of tinkerers were oft victim to.

Higher units within the Collective such as dominator-type Collectors, queens, and of course, the Collective Hivemind itself, acted as nexuses of psionic connections that controlled the masses of lesser units below them.

The Collector itself possessed developed psionic channels that allowed it to command a limited number of its own units, though due to being optimized for individual combat capacity, this command capability did not extend beyond the control of ten units.

Still, these developed psionic channels allowed the Collector to quite easily resist any manner of psionic interference, taking orders from only the highest of queens or the Hivemind itself.

Thus, tinkerers that possessed psionics would find it nigh impossible to control the Collector or destroy its mind for to do so would require overpowering the Hivemind itself.

Highly curious that this purple skinned variant, this 'daemon' as she was called, possessed psionics of any capacity.

Psionics could be independently developed by certain species. Among the Federation that united various tinkering species against the Collective, there was one, the Klaxia, that possessed a particular affinity for it.

Considering the remnants of Unitan, the language of the spacefaring humans, upon this world, it stood to reason that there may be remnants of psionic sensitive tinkerers. Perhaps this variant, this 'daemon', was one such remnant.

The purple skinned variant took a few more seconds to process the Collector's question, then nodded obediently.

'So that is what psionics are. I…still do not know fully what you mean, but I can guess now. I remember that things like me…daemons, can use our racial magic. Sapia, as it is called. It lets us link into minds. Into hearts.

I…am broken. My thel is gone, so I can only use sapia with touch. Unless it is with other daemons.'

She cocked her head, looking at the Collector with curiosity. 'But…you are different. I can connect with you, but you are not a daemon.'

"Of course not. I am unlike any of the primitive humanoids that may exist upon this world. I am no 'daemon', nor am I comparable to any other tinkering species. I am vastly superior in biological construction, evolutionary adaptation, and collective purpose," said the Collector. "But you have not fully answered my question. Where does this ability, this 'sapia', originate from?"

The daemon frowned. 'I...I am so sorry for being useless. I don't know, I've never read about where we get this from or what it is. It just…is.'

From the psionic communication, the Collector recognized that the 'thel' this daemon spoke of was a spike shaped growth comprised of interlocked, solidified hair fibers that acted as a channeling rod. This evidently had been torn from the specimen, limiting the range and output of her psionic abilities.

Further analysis of how the variant spoke of her psionics indicated a distinct lack of familiarity with psionics. Yet, cross referencing with the Collector's stored memory database did not indicate significant similarities.

The klaxia were a bipedal, blind and four-armed species that possessed protrusions of flesh at the base of their heads rooted in their neural networks that acted as channels for their psionics. This specimen possessed vast physiological differences from the average Klaxia, and the only similarity, this construct of hair known as a 'thel', also was significantly different.

Likely, this 'daemon' subspecies was an extremely distant remnant of the Klaxia's colonizing efforts, and yet, odd.

The klaxia and humans had warred against each other until the emergence of the Collective to unite them against a common threat.

Then how could both humans and klaxia leave remnants of their civilizations upon the very same world?

The Collector would not obtain answers to these questions from the specimen before it. She did not possess the adequate knowledge. However, knowledge of 'magic', more immediately useful information, should be present within her.

"Then tell me of this 'magic'. You state that you are capable of teaching me this phenomenon, that I am already utilizing it in some capacity. Explain to me the connections that exist between the circuitry that appear on your bodies, the channeling points known as 'gates', and the species known as 'gods' that seem to hold dominion over these energy sources."

'Hmm.' The purple skinned variant cocked her head and raised her wide eyes up in thought, remembering. She bit her lip in concentration in the same nervous way a student would in trying to remember exam questions. 'Ah, I remember the teachings now. One of the first ones.'

She began to recite memorized knowledge, her eyes still looking up but without the nervousness now, more distant, going back to a place in her past that evidently was better than now, her usual tense, anxious expression mellowing out into one of academic focus.

'Every living being possesses spirit roots that line their bodies. Spirit roots congregate around corepoints which act as pumps to channel mana in and through the body.

As their name suggests, spirit roots are spiritual in nature, intangible and yet anchored to the physical body. In many ways, they can be considered the spiritual cousins of blood vessels with corepoints being equivalent to the heart.

The destruction of the physical body or the heart will also lead to the destruction of spirit roots. In addition-,'

"Explain to me this 'mana'. I understand that it has ties to 'magic' and this bodily system that encompasses the 'corepoint' and 'spirit roots'." The Collector clicked its mandibles in understanding. The purple skinned variant's explanation was agreeable. It was not tainted by panic nor ignorance.

It was pure recitation, some of which contained vocabulary that evidently exceeded her own understanding, and that also allowed the Collector to confirm that this 'magic' was indeed also a field of study, something that was learned and built up upon through experience and research.

And this specimen was learned. She had memorized, yet she had not mastered. Expected considering the early stage of her growth.

The purple skinned variant nodded. She was more at ease now, and with her mind in the right place to remember, she spoke easier, faster. 'Mana is the essence of magic. Like how little pieces of dust can eventually build up into mountains, mana is the base component of it all, and in sufficient quantities, it can work miracles, or it can cause disasters.

The key is in control.

Mana is in the air around us all. It comes from the world itself, and it is imbued in every living thing. It is the miracle of life that cannot be explained. And more so, it is the miracle of thought, of emotion.

Thus, the key is in control, and control is emotion.

Living creatures that cannot experience emotion may possess mana, but they cannot express it. They cannot feel it and they cannot direct its flow. They enjoy only the basic essence of mana that allows them to live.

With proper molding and control of emotions, one may shape the mana within oneself according to the color of their souls.'

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"Where is it that you have obtained this knowledge?" said the Collector as it clicked its mandibles in further understanding.

The specimen did not give the Collector information that was specific to its questioning, and this likely was due to the fact that she herself did not fully grasp what she had memorized.

She instead recited to the Collector simply what she had committed to memory in its raw form, but even this information was vastly more useful than anything the other humanoids it had interrogated had proffered.

The Collector did not see any knowledge as waste. It would sift through whatever she gave it, picking apart what was useful and storing the rest.

'That was…from…from The Elementary Study by Arjun the Wise. Published in 322 Post-Convergence. Peer reviewed by the Order. First circulated by wood block press, then in paper print, then-'

"A record of knowledge," said the Collector, halting the tide of drivel that came from her. It might have been fine with some levels of extraneous recitation, but it would have to steer her from too much rambling. "You have committed a significant degree of knowledge in these topics to your mind.

Are you alone in possessing this knowledge, or is it the norm among the rest of you tinkerers? Among this Order of yours?"

'I…think I am special. Was special. I learned so much from Thorian, he, ah, he was my teacher-,' She swallowed down a lump forming at her throat. 'Before they took him when they took me. He said I was special and that I learned so fast and got to know so much.'

The specimen grew quiet, processing her emotions.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. "The quality of information you give deteriorates when it is outside the boundaries of your memorized knowledge, it seems, affected as it is through unlocked emotions. Then no matter, I will proceed to more useful questioning.

I understand now the nature of mana and how it interacts with these bodily systems known as spirit roots. The presence of this thing known as a 'soul' or 'spirit' I will simply extrapolate as a primitive categorization of psionic signatures.

Now I will ask again, tell me this time the ties to the circuits inlaid within your bodies and the connections to 'gates' and 'gods'."

The specimen nodded, snapped out of reminiscing once she heard the Collector's voice. She tilted her head again and started to think again, taking some time to remember.

"Arjun says that when emotion fluxes, and when its flow is controlled, the Corepoint opens. When the Corepoint activates, the many spirit roots that all intersect upon it also awaken.

The initial burst of emotion used to activate the Corepoint is often called a Trigger, though it may go by different names in the other realms.

However, across all seven realms, even in Avesta, the elusive realm of astral waters, the fundamental mechanics of magic remain the same:

Draw upon the Trigger, open the Corepoint, then maintain an equilibrium of emotional output to control the flow of magical energy throughout the spirit roots.

For further teachings on the Trigger, see chapter 11 in book 2."

The specimen continued to recite from her memories, and in this regard, her mind was far superior to any of the conventional humans the Collector had encountered before.

"Now, merely using an emotional Trigger to activate the Corepoint allows the self to channel mana. In many ways, this is already enough for marvelous effects to be seen within the body.

By constantly channeling mana, exercising its flow in varying rates and methods within the body, the physical form may be vastly strengthened.

This is the essence of what those in the realm of Xin, the foremost masters of manipulating internal bodily mana, qi as they call it, call 'Martial Arts', or better known here in Terra as 'Tempering' or 'Body Strengthening'.

For many, this is enough, and even possessing the natural talent to open one's Corepoint is a rare trait seen in exceedingly few individuals.

Various studies in my peers among the Order and the Sundan Empire's Five Circles have attempted to pinpoint a direct percentage of the populace that are magic sensitive, but as of now, it is impossible to pinpoint accurate numbers as there are simply too many factors such as environment and upbringing that play into this statistic.

Still, it is safe to approximate that less than thirty percent of humans on Terra are magic sensitive, and among those, perhaps only half possess spirit roots in any appreciable quantity and quality.

But among sorcerers such as myself and those reading this tome, is the strengthening of the body merely enough? Why limit ourselves when the gods themselves allow us the miraculous means of shaping and forming mana to manifest visible effects upon the physical world?

This is where the principle of Connections and Gates come into play.

With the descent of the gods from Aetheria and the merging of all seven realms in the momentous event known as the Convergence, magic as we know it emerged. The normal mortal body cannot extend their spirit roots beyond their own physical forms, but the gods have liberated us from this limitation.

Specifically, the Gate-Connect Principle has revolutionized the way we can channel mana. The great gods above embody certain concepts or elements, becoming 'Gates' that allow mortals to link our spirit roots to, thus becoming 'Connected'.

Through a connection to a divine gate, one may channel mana in a way that corresponds to what that gate embodies.

Take the Fae that fly with their jeweled wings in the forest realm of Foraoise.

In devoting themselves to Grainne the Winged, goddess primarily of Love and also of beauty, union, swans, flowers and forests, the fae are known to charm the hearts of men, to form powerful bonds with each other, linking their roots even with other living beings, and twist all that is green and growing upon the earth to their will.'

The Collector sensed that the purple skinned specimen was about to recite memories that went off to another tangent. It did not mind so much this additional information, all of it would prove useful, but it still did not like to waste time.

It honed her memories down, focusing them. "By what mechanism is it that these spirit roots are capable of connecting to the gates these gods embody?"

The purple skinned variant blinked. 'Hm…well…let me see. That's another book…I think it was The Connection by Aislin of the Summer Court. Would it be in chapter five? No, it was nine.'

She started to recite, and her tone of voice shifted, mimicking a little the tone of the writer of this record of knowledge.

'Take your heart, your soul, all your emotions, all you who wish to become unbound and connected. Take those precious pieces that form heat and warmth within your chests and devote them in service to your god.

The Connecting ritual will be different from god to god.

For our beloved Grainne, it is in partaking of her rainbow scales, allowing her warm essence to fill our own wings. Other rituals may be harsher. In Xin, it is said that the stripe furred Hwarans must bind their feet to the earth for an entire year before they may connect to their earth goddess.

Regardless, it is not so much the ritual itself that matters, but the prayer, and prayers are uttered from the heart. So long as you devote yourself to your god during the Connecting, then you will become Connected.

Stripes of light will appear upon your body, and this, you will know and appreciate as a sign of your devotion. The further your devotion, the stronger your Connection becomes, and the more these stripes will grace the breadth of your fragile mortal form – a sign that you are blessed by the gods themselves.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles in irritation. "I see now. So it is that these 'gods' are simply a superior species that has enslaved your kind. They hoard gates, a primary function of this resource, this magic, among themselves, sharing it only among you lessers in exchange for devotion.

Useless to me.

I will not submit myself to any primitive, no matter how great they consider themselves, for my purpose and loyalty lie within the infinitely grander purpose of the Collective.

But this other magic, this 'body strengthening' and 'tempering' does pique my interest.

No doubt, this was what the other special humans utilized to grant themselves physical capabilities beyond their fragile biological means, and this comes solely from the merits of their own structure, not in some false veil of benevolence handed down by a 'god'."

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The Collector sensed that enough time had passed for it to begin moving.

Daylight began to seep through the leafy folds of the forest canopy above. It did not want to stay in this area for long due to the risk of continued humanoid investigations. However, it also did not wish to lose the purple skinned variant as a valuable source of information yet.

From the purple skinned variant's rambling, the Collector had learned much.

Almost all it needed to know of this 'magic' phenomenon as well as a great deal of this world.

It would continue to extract as much information as possible from her until it became no longer feasible to do so, at which point, she would be welcomed into the Collective for her service.

"You will continue to provide me with information as I move. You will not struggle, nor will you attempt escape, though I sense that you already understand this." The Collector used one of its finger claws to cut the three strands of webbing tying the purple skinned specimen to the tree.

The specimen fell down to her knees when she hit the forest floor, her body exhausted beyond measure. Curious.

It seemed her mind operated independently in terms of energy expenditure from the rest of her body, maintaining an active sharpness to it even as the rest of her bodily functions failed.

"And you will provide me with a sample of your biomass. My processing power is such that I do not require whole, live specimens, but there still must be enough complex biomass to sufficiently extract a genetic code from.

For you, I calculate a hand's worth is sufficient." The Collector knelt down by the specimen and pointed a clawed finger at her burned hand. "This hand will no longer function to any proper degree.

The flame from my pyrocatalytic glands is both incendiary weapon and biological hazard. The flesh and skin here may recover, but the nerves will never restore properly.

This chunk of biomass is useless for you. But it is useful to me."

'Useful?' The specimen looked up to the Collector with cocked head. She looked wonderingly at her hand, her lavender eyes setting atop cracked, blistered, and broken skin. 'I can be useful?'

"Yes. For the grand purpose of the Collective, your biomass sample will be appreciated," said the Collector. "With compromised nerve function in that hand, removal at the correct angle will yield minimized pain.

Pain within the threshold of your increased tolerance, I estimate."

'Okay,' agreed the specimen. She looked up and closed her eyes, expecting some pain. 'I'm used to this. Sometimes, the shiny men would take parts of me off. Grow them back. Take them off again. That hurt a lot. I don't think this will be as bad.'

The Collector straightened out an index finger, its four eyes flashing yellow under its hood of carapace as it calculated an angle of incision. Then, it slashed its finger downwards, the monomolecular edge cleaving the specimen's hand from her thin, bony wrist in a clean, instantaneous cut.

Before the severed hand could even fall to the ground, the Collector swept it up and tossed it into its mouth, devouring it wholesale in a single fluid motion.

*Biomass gained (3)*

Biomass Level: 48/100

*Genetic material gained*

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Daemon

The purple skinned specimen winced as she stared at the stub where her hand used to be.

As expected, she handled the pain, nor could she vocalize any to attract attention. Small spurts of blood began to trickle from the open wound.

'Not…not so bad,' said the specimen as she stared at her empty wrist as if she had seen that sight countless times before.

The Collector used its fingertips to guide the strands of silk previously binding her, looping one strand her wrist and tightening it, preventing further blood loss.

With a claw, it cut the strand.

"I will mobilize away from potential human presences now. You will continue to provide me information while I move. In order to efficiently transport you, you will be bound and tethered to me."

The Collector guided the rest of the strands around her body before tying the three lines of silk into one thicker, anchoring strand around one of its arakka legs. It bound her arms and legs, but it only did so to prevent her from flailing and making transportation difficult.

Even without the bindings, she would be in no condition to escape or resist the Collector, nor would her psionics manage to affect it.

These strands were more in place to keep the specimen anchored to the Collector and minimize risks.

The Collector shortened the length of silk by wrapping it several times around the arakka leg, forming a short leash by which he carried the specimen. She was small, just half the size of the Collector's arm.

Not much of an impediment, though she did compromise the Collector's ability to enter its eight-legged form. But combat wise, little degradation of function. And in the case of a particularly difficult battle, she could simply be tossed aside.

For now, the Collector set on a path to the darkwoods where it was highly unlikely that humans would interfere.

Considering the dimensions of the forest biome as indicated by the map the Collector had analyzed prior, the darkwoods was just as large as this lighter zone, if not even larger, and so that meant there was plenty of space to inhabit before it would encounter threats such as the goblins.

There would be no threats until they reached the darkwoods, in any case, and even there, consistent flares with pyrocatalytic glands would output sufficient light to prevent insectoid interference.

Enough time to learn more of magic, to utilize it, even, so long as it did not involve groveling before some tinkerer fashioning itself as a deity.

The Collector stood at the edge of the ravine separating the light zone of the forest form the Darkwoods. The raging rush of water flowing and crashing upon rock sounded below. No doubt, a current of this speed and size led out to a greater water body.

Notable.

There were significant stretches of water upon this planet. Would be useful to possess aquatic lifeforms.

Especially now that it had grasped the nature of mana.

From listening to the purple skinned variant on the way here, the Collector realized it was mana that allowed certain creatures to grow beyond their limits, and, as the Collector came to understand, what allowed itself to retain a vast majority of its strength even when it shrunk its form.

Thus, it realized that it did not have to wait until it could hunt down an aquatic life form equivalent to its current size – a significant danger - to efficiently assume its form.

The Collector rappelled down the edge of the sheer cliff face using its arakka legs like picks.

The purple skinned specimen dangled from one of them, her form sprawled over the Collector's back for stability.

Right above the rushing water's edge, the Collector stopped, compound eyes focused intently for any specimen to fish for.

As the Collector stared at the flowing water, it reminded itself of mana.

Mana did not operate by any known physical or natural laws. It was in essence a particulate of raw creation, something that should not exist and yet charged this world's life and environs in enormous quantities.

The substance seemed to have no inherent limitations of its own, but it did follow sets of rules that followed logically.

For example, there was a method to circulate mana internally throughout the body known as Flow.

Accelerating that flow would strengthen the body physically.

Then there was Guard, a method to condense mana in certain spots to greatly increase the durability of certain areas.

However, one could not utilize both at the same time with great effectiveness for they were inherent opposites to the other.

Flow required an even spread of mana throughout the whole body while guard required condensation in one point.

In these ways, mana could be considered a body of water. A finite resource. Those with more spirit roots and better cores possessed deeper wells.

Those with better experience could circulate the water better, do more with smaller amounts of it.

Regardless, some currents, some methods of utilizing mana, clashed with others, preventing concurrent usages or increasing drain.

A flicker of blurred movement underneath the water's surface.

The Collector reacted instantaneously, one of its arakka legs spearing down.

The claw tipped leg broke through the water with a splash, and with the appropriate calculations to account for the water refracting light and distorting vision, the leg struck true.

The Collector withdrew its leg from the water and brought up a wriggling fish to its face.

The creature was simple.

Half a meter long lengthwise. Gills for circulating oxygen through the water – a desirable adaptation. Sets of dorsal, ventral, and caudal fins along with a sleek body for hydrodynamic movement. Black scales that grew dark in the water for obscuration purposes.

Weak and mundane compared to many of the creatures it had previously devoured.

A remembrance of the worm. The Collector suppressed a flare of warmth in its chest. Desire to fight and consume a worthy opponent. Would require more strength beforehand.

The Collector devoured the fish in one gulp.

*Biomass gained (2)*

Biomass Level: 50/100

*Genetic material gained*

Stored genetic material:

-Black Ant

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Daemon

-Dullscale Rohu

"Tell me, are there predators of significant danger in these waters?" said the Collector.

'I…don't know. I haven't studied much about fish. I don't know where we are, either,' came the response from the daemon.

"We are in a forest known as 'Anendara' to the natives of this land, located within a greater region of a governed body known as 'Sunda'," said the Collector.

'Ah. Sunda, the land of sorcerers. I…have always wanted to come here. A long time ago, I did. But not like this.' The variant wriggled on the Collector's back, taking a look up at the ravine and the grass and forests lying atop the cliff face. 'Does not seem so special, though.'

"This land is largely untainted by the corruption of tinkering advance. There is much life that grows here unbound by the artificial limitations imposed by the approach of tinkering civilization. Only the neutral hand of evolution guides the life here.

This biome may not mean much in the grand scheme of the Collective, but it is still worth far more than any towering cluster of spires built upon the corpses of nature that you tinkerers are so fond of," said the Collector.

'What…what is the Collective?'

"Purpose incarnate. Herald to a vision of a fully realized and complete evolutionary path – the first and only one of its kind. And I am herald to it, soldier for its great purpose until it is realized fully."

'What is it like?'

"In the Collective, there is naught but pure life. Countless lifeforms across many planets and evolutionary branches all unified to one single purpose of growth. There is none of the self-destructive discord that plagues you tinkerers. All are one."

'Hm.' The daemon slipped into quiet thought.

"I sense you are largely unfamiliar with this land. Unable to provide me with necessary information as to the dangers of this aquatic biome. Then I will risk no more and move on." The Collector looked up to the other side of the ravine.

Its muscles started to swell as it charged up the coilboosters in its legs. With the legs alone, it could not reach high up enough, but with careful lift generated from its single wing, it could.

With the appropriate calculations performed, the Collector leaped up, rock shattering from its feet as it sailed up in the sky. With flutters of its wing, it flew up higher and higher, sailing up several meters over the opposite edge of the ravine before landing upon solid ground again.

It stared up at the edge of the darkwoods, seeing the trees rise up like a wall of darkness. It clicked its mandibles. This biome would suit its needs.

Not only to conceal it, but also in finally tearing the goblin 'thrall' from limb to limb.

Report chapter

The purple skinned variant stirred from the Collector's back.

'You…can fly?' she said.

The Collector brought the arakka leg she was tethered to in front of its face.

"With the correct adaptations, airborne maneuverability is but a basic form of locomotion for me," said the Collector. It clicked its mandibles.

"Now that I have ascertained the enriching nature of this planet's atmosphere, it would be prudent to assimilate a species with appropriate flight structures better equipped for aerial movement than this beetle.

Yet, a distinct lack of airborne species apparent in this area."

'Ah, I remember,' said the specimen, her eyes alight with recognition. 'It is early summer, I think, and during this time, I have heard that in Sunda, large swarms of locusts will cloud the sky.

Big, big swarms of big locusts that can even eat people whole.

Usually, the birds leave this place then.'

"I see." The Collector clicked its mandibles. "Yet, I have not ascertained the existence of such creatures so far."

'When there is a monsoon rain, they will fly is what I have heard. Though I have never seen it myself. I would like to see that, too. I read much about many things, but I never saw much of it.'

The Collector could sense the humidity of the surrounding atmosphere through its sensitive hairs adaptation and the moisture absorbent spiracles dotting its carapace.

With these, it could approximate the onset of rainfall, yet, the reliability of the predictions were unstable.

Still, it would be prudent to consume one of these airborne creatures, these 'locusts', when they appeared.

For now, the Collector did not place flight on a high priority. It knew that this world might not have possessed significantly advanced technology, but in its place, magical constructs existed, and these could be even more dangerous, even more unpredictable.

Becoming airborne was an exceptionally easy way to become an easy and visible target prone to discovery by even the most basic of sensory systems.

'I always, always wanted to fly,' said the specimen. She stared down at the ground as she dangled from her silken bonds. Then, she looked up, to the sunlit sky before it would cease to be visible in the choking darkness of the Darkwoods. 'Everything seems so simple up there. So free. With wings like the birds, you can just go up and run away and never look back down.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles and began to move into the Darkwoods. "Ridiculous.

You would desire an adaptation beyond your means simply as a means of escape? That is fundamentally a mindset of prey species that exist under the constant fright of death by superior jaws or superior muscles.

They do not choose to fight. They choose to flee.

Thus, they grovel at the lower rungs of the food chain. That you would be content to waste an adaptation simply on such means proves to me only further that you tinkerers are merely compensating for inherent weakness with your trinkets and technology and now this 'magic'.

Stripped from the crutches that support your debilitating weaknesses, all of you are merely but prey."

The specimen grew quiet, fearful of the Collector.

'I'm sorry-,' she began.

The Collector glided under the endless shadow of the Darkwoods, hearing the distant chitter and chatter of insects on the forest floor. "An expression of apology?

Unneeded.

This is simply the nature of tinkerers such as yourselves. It cannot be changed. Remorse for the unchangeable is impractical. A waste of mental resources.

Instead, divert those resources better towards providing me with information."

The Collector knew it would take time for this purple skinned variant to grant it all the information it wished to know, and so instead of wasting time, it hunted while she spoke to it. The insects of the Darkwoods were largely tactile creatures that sensed movement through vibrations channeled through the air.

However, the purple skinned specimen communicated through psionic channels, leaving her undetected to the writhing masses below.

The Collector's arakka arms stabbed down in precise and mechanical motions, skewering two beetles and one centipede. It consumed as it moved, its arakka arms raining down like homing missiles to cull some of the endlessly writhing mass of bugs at its feet.

*Biomass gained (1)*

*Biomass gained (1)*

*Biomass gained (1)*

Biomass Level: 53/100

*Genetic material gained*

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Daemon

-Dullscale Rohu

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

Gaining biomass was slow as the creatures of the Darkwoods no longer provided much nourishing mass, but it was better than doing nothing while the specimen spoke.

'Excerpt from the Compiled Scrolls of the First Circle, published 500 PC…,' began the specimen.

The Collector listened as she regurgitated information, this time about the types of magic.

As she did so, it continued to hunt. Only once it had a full grasp of magic would it decide to incorporate it within its combat systems, for though it was inclined to utilize magic, it wished to know as much about it as possible beforehand.

By the time the specimen had sated the Collector's curiosity, it would hopefully have hunted enough to reach the next metamorphosis level to heal all of its wounds.

With both a fully restored, level 6 metamorphosis form and magic, the Collector would finish what it had started.

It would annihilate the goblin 'thrall' and their self-styled 'lord' as well as any survivors that did not possess notable information.

The Collector hunted for two hours.

Hunting became more difficult past an hour, for after eliminating twenty four lesser insectoid specimen, the majority of the rest, even through their simple minds, came to sense the Collector as an apex predator among bottom feeders, and they fanned out, ceasing to busy themselves with devouring each other to save themselves.

This meant the Collector had to wade in further and further into the Darkwoods for prey, and too far in would lead back to the expansive nest of jumping arakka.

That area, the Collector wished to avoid. It was difficult to hunt there, and hunting the arakka themselves was risky, for one misstep could trigger a chain reaction of arakka leaping down and swarming the Collector.

The Collector instead did not move straight into the Darkwoods but traveled in a circular path around its edge.

Throughout the time it took to hunt, the Collector had bid the purple skinned specimen to continue talking.

In this way, she enlightened the Collector much on the nature of magic.

There were two types of magic, it seemed.

The first was the kind that came from the gods, and though it was vexing, it seemed that it was not technology that granted these gods dominion over natural phenomena, but this substance known as mana emitted naturally from this world.

Magic granted by the gods and their gates was known more specifically as sorcery. It involved portioning a percentage of an individual's spirit roots to a deity and its gate, hence the appearance of luminescent circuitry.

The greater the spread of this circuitry throughout the body, the more of this sorcery an individual could utilize. This, however, came at the cost of being unable to utilize the connected spirit roots for body strengthening purposes.

In this way, there were tradeoffs. Sorcerers often held a vast breadth of spells that could manifest a great many external effects, but at the same time, this left their physical bodies frail and unenhanced.

Then there was magic of the body. Where mana that naturally flowed through the physical form could be channeled and shaped according to the user's will.

This was called body strengthening or martial arts, and in the case of certain beasts that could utilize magic without bowing to any god, primal magic.

Thus, in broad terms, magic that manifested externally was in the realm of the gods while magic manifested internally was inherent in all living beings sensitive to mana.

There were exceptions, however.

Some humanoids by virtue of imbibing mana in different environments could develop abilities inherent to their bodies. The humans of the northern lands apparently possessed extraordinarily durable skin that made them resistant to both shock and cold.

Some of the humans of this land known as Sunda possessed eyes sensitive to the flow of mana, allowing them to easily create and operate magical constructs or identify the nature of magical threats.

These were termed Inhera – abilities inherent to the biological composition of individuals created from growth in specific mana rich environments. The psionic-esque ability of the daemons known as Sapia fell into this category as well.

A form of evolution enhanced by magic.

Beyond Inhera, there were certain abilities developed by a small portion of the humanoid populace known as Ethera.

These were called manifestations of the 'soul', and they were powers that seemingly had no rules to adhere to, all of them being expressly unique to the individual that harbored them.

Those with ethera were generally military units of the highest caliber, often 'adventurers' of high merit.

The Collector knew now that the adventurers it had slaughtered before were nothing. These adventurers, humanoids specialized to defeat creatures, 'monster' as they called them, had their strength ranked on a scale that ranged from one to ten stars.

The adventures the Collector devoured were all merely one star.

A stroke of sheer luck that the Collector had crash-landed upon this part of the world, this remote, largely uninhabited land where apparently only the weakest of the humanoids dwelled.

And the nature of this power, this ethera, was troublesome. On account of expressing the uniqueness of the individual, the manifestation of the power was highly variable.

From the specimen's recitation of certain records and tales, the Collector came to know the nature of a few documented ethera.

There was one that could change a man into a beast.

One that could negate any kinds of harm.

One that could cease the heart with but mere eye contact.

And potentially countless more-

Yet, the Collector came to realize a common pattern among all magical phenomena: rules.

Though magic and mana itself might have seemed limitless in a broad scope, they in practicality manifested with hard coded rules that restricted their usage.

The ethera, for example.

The man who could shift his frail form into that of a monstrous beast would lose the fine tuning of his sanity as time went on.

The one that could negate any kinds of harm could only do so while his feet were planted upon the ground.

The one whose gaze could halt cardiovascular functions had hers eliminated when her stare was shown back to her through a reflective surface.

These limits became less defined with sorcerers that had an array of spells to choose from. The Collector remembered the female sorcerer it had devoured that had chanted the word [Fireball] in Unitan to manifest a gout of flame.

Already, the Collector could make various new conclusions as to the link between Unitan, gods, and sorcerers, but for now, it assessed the combat threat of magic.

Sorcerers were limited to the spells belonging to the gate they connected to, and there was a limit to the number of spells they knew based upon their natural talent and the degree of their connection.

Thus, the Collector analyzed, in battle with magically sensitive individuals, it was imperative to scope out these limitations and exploit them.

More difficult in practice. If these individuals had unique abilities, then they would have unique limits.

Every altercation among them would be a wholly new challenge of analytics.

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The Collector clicked its mandibles. Assimilating this world would be far more of a challenge than it had initially thought. Especially now that it had also ascertained the higher ends of strength from tales the purple skinned specimen recited.

Though primitive tinkerers were often prone to exaggeration in their documentation, if the variant was correct in her recitations, then the strongest of these magic sensitive tinkerers, the highest end of their sorcerers and adventurers and martial artists, would possess power easily capable of matching nuclear level ordinance.

The gods were above even that threshold. By several orders of magnitudes, if the specimen was to be believed. Yet, they did not appear much from their homes, this place known as 'Aetheria', merely inhabiting temporary bodies known as 'avatars' that severely weakened them.

In conclusion: threat from gods low. But conflict eventually inevitable.

The Collector would have to grow far, far stronger. The same feeling it had felt when it nothing but a grub, the lowest form of organism in the Collective hivemind.

Yet, with this realization, the Collector could not help but feel heat growing within it. Heat that came from the mana colored from its own personality. Heat that made it glad that this world would be a challenge – a heretical thought, and yet, a pleasant one.

The Collector sat down hunched over, feeling the weight at its back lighter from a missing wing and tail.

Now that it had some combat capability, it would do well to redevelop its regenerative functions, though to do so, it would first have to restore three other adaptations in its internal systems to build up to it.

A total of four more metamorphosis levels, then.

It clicked its mandibles.

In the grand scheme of things, that was not a significant amount, and the ease of reaching metamorphosis levels early on was also why it had not prioritized adapting regeneration, for not only were initial ranks of regeneration slow, but simply reaching additional metamorphosis levels would allow for full body restoration anyway.

'Do you need water?'

One of the Collector's eyes glanced at the purple skinned specimen. Her silk bonds were severed from her temporarily as she rested by a hole of water. She cupped a tiny puddle of water in her hand, holding it out to the Collector.

"Unnecessary. The spiracles laden within my hyperalloy carapace are capable of extracting moisture from the atmosphere for constant hydration. Do not presume my adaptations are as primitive and meager as yours are, tinkerer," said the Collector.

'I'm sor-,' began to specimen before she stopped herself, remembering what the Collector had said to her about apologies.

It clicked its mandibles as it analyzed the watering hole. The hole was large enough to be nearly a small swamp on its own, and it seemed that the water came from a small stream that broke off from the nearby river.

Yet, odd.

No larger insect species gathered around this area.

They, like the Collector, could subsist off of moisture in the air for extended periods of time, but they were far less efficient.

At the least, some of them should be here.

The Collector analyzed the surface of the water. A layer of scum from dead, small insects and darkwood plant matter floated atop, and the purple skinned specimen patted these away as she scooped up more water for herself to fuel her fragile body.

Her eyes glowed purple even through the shade of the Darkwoods. Magical light, the Collector knew now. And what allowed her to see even in this pitch blackness. But even with such adaptations, she had plenty of deficiencies.

Unlike the Collector, she required rest, but even now, she could be useful.

More information.

"I am sufficiently learned of the gods, adventurers, sorcerers, mana and magic at a basic level where I can now form a framework with which to assess them and deal with them. The finer details I will no doubt compile with further experiences.

Tell me now the organizations of humanoids and their variants so that I may formulate a method of attack against them. The way these 'realms' work. How they are accessed. How these 'gods' in their realm designated as 'Aetheria' may be encountered."

"I…don't know. Not well. All I ever learned from Thorian was magic. Not where it came from or what it did. He never taught me much about the outside world. He said it wasn't good for me. That people wouldn't like me. I didn't believe him." She touched her face, a small finger running across a deep scar stretching from lip to eye. "Now I do."

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it felt the specimen's mind stray from the topic at hand. "I will focus my questioning. According to the observations I have gathered thus far, it is noted that there are seven realms upon this miserable rock.

What exactly these 'realms' entail escapes me. From wording revolving around them, I do not sense that they are necessarily geographically adjacent territories staked out by humanoids and demarcated with arbitrary borders."

'Yes, you're right,' nodded the specimen. 'This, I remember from one of my readings. The seven realms are like…like layers. Seven whole worlds all stacked atop each other, pinned down and given structure by the Alltree.

Each layer aside from Aetheria, high realm of the gods, is a reflection of the other, all of them different shades of the very same world."

The Collector parsed the specimen's full meaning through the aid of psionics. "Seven geographically distinct areas that inhabit the same pocket of space and yet occupy independent existences?

Vexing to consider, yet, this world possesses unfathomable properties that do not allow me to discount even the most improbable of scenarios.

How is it then that travel occurs between these realms when spatially, they all occupy the same world?"

'Through the usage of Realm Roots,' explained the specimen. 'The largest of the Alltree's spiritual roots pass through every realm.

It is said that in the beginning before the gods, the Alltree spawned all life from its seeds, and that is why life possesses spirit roots.

From the Alltree's roots come mana, and atop its realm roots - the equivalents of corepoints among living beings - the barrier between realms grows thin and mana grows thick.

This combination allows Warp Temples to be built atop them. Through these temples, one may pass between realms.'

The Collector stirred, clicking its mandibles. Hearing the word 'warp' had immediately triggered it to recognition and planning. "I sense that these warp temples are structures capable of possessing the means to access a form of hyperspace.

This is what allows you primitives to travel between different worlds."

'Yes…yes I think that is right,' said the specimen.

The Collector stood up, hyperalloy carapace clicking into battle ready armoring as it felt the grand vision of the Collective's purpose drawing near. If these primitives possessed a means to engage with hyperspace warp travel, then their doom was inevitable.

'Is…is something wrong?' came the specimen's mental voice.

The Collector ignored her, knowing now the Collective's approach would be near.

All Collector strains were capable of interfacing with hyperspace warp. This along with limited independence were some of the most significant traits that separated the Collectors from other units in the Collective.

These primitives might only have known how to operate their warp travel to access seven worlds, but the Collector could do far more with it.

Provided it reached a sufficient metamorphosis level, it could easily call out to the Collective, and then this world would fall.

It checked its current status:

Metamorphosis Level 5

Biomass Level: 90/100

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Daemon

-Dullscale Rohu

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

Adaptations:

Internal Systems

-Ultrafiber Muscles Rank 5

--Coilboosters

External Systems

-Sensitive Hairs Rank 4

-Organic Hyperalloy Carapace Rank 4

Weapons Systems

-Monomolecular Claws Rank 3

-Pyrocatalytic Glands Rank 2

Native Adaptations

Current Form:

Greater Oni/Jumping Arakka/Stonecrusher Beetle/Giant Scorpion

The next metamorphosis level was close.

Starting from level 10, the Collector might not be able to open a warp gate by itself - that was the domain of the Collective Hivemind -, but it could interface enough with a hyperspace sensitive vessel to deliver the psionic charge it utilized to connect to the Collective at a far greater range.

Of course, the Collector realized, the challenge of assimilating this world would be gone, and in that, it felt some disappointment, but when it reconnected with the Collective, these heretical thoughts would be purged from its being as well.

"Tell me more of these warp temples. Where-," The Collector immediately tensed up as it felt an object approaching at extreme velocity.

From the other end of the pond. The movement of a sizable mass splashing from under the water.

Obstacle covered nature of the water's surface made visual identification difficult. Frequencies of sound and volume of water displaced however indicated mass significantly more developed than any of the insectoids the Collector had encountered in this area before.

A threat.

---

Read Alien Evolution System Chapter 41 - Bug Hunt I online for free - AllNovelFull

The Collector waved the purple skinned specimen back. "Leave this area. Do not stray far from the clearing, for there are other predators that will devour you. But do not interfere. Maintain adequate distance."

The purple skinned variant nodded quickly before picking herself up on shaky legs, stumbling over herself to leave.

The Collector took steps back from the pond's edge, watching as great bands of water rippled as the bulk of the creature approached at great speeds. The entire pond must have been one hundred and fifty meters in length, and this creature crossed it within a timespan of ten seconds.

That the creature did not cause enormous splashes of water indicated that it traveled at some depth as well. Even more impressive as a testament to it speed and strength that it could power through denser, deeper water with such ease.

The Collector clicked its mandibles in eager anticipation. Good. It was growing bored of the lack of challenge. It stepped back from the edge of the pond, for it did not yet have adaptations to safely fight within aquatic environments.

The rippling waves of water approached faster and faster, and then, right before they came to the pond's edge, disappeared for an instant. The Collector tensed its body up, carapace clinking into defensive posture while its sensitive hairs raised up, primed to predict any attack.

The edge of the pond erupted in an enormous geyser of muddy water that obscured the creature's initial angle of attack.

And this creature was exceptionally fast. Far faster on land than it was on water. The Collector's sensitive hairs picked up the movement of a scythe-like limb whistling into its left side a mere moment before impact.

The Collector reacted the very instant it received this sensory input. The three arakka legs on its left side curled around its body like miniature shields while it raised its thicker, humanoid left arm as a sturdier last line of defense beneath the arakka legs.

A shattering echo pinged across the vast and dark breadth of the Darkwoods as carapace slammed against carapace in a shower of sparks that lit up for the briefest of instants before the Darkwoods, shadowed witnesses to this battle, devoured the light.

The Collector skidded several meters across the ground, driving its legs down to prevent itself from falling over from the impact of the blow. Behind its two legs, piles of mud drew up.

It clicked its mandibles.

An extremely powerful blow. One of the strongest it had taken so far.

Its three left arakka legs were crushed in half, dangling uselessly by its side. A small chip started to flower from the Collector's more heavily armored, heavily muscled left arm.

A shrill, siren-like roar emerged from the Collector's opposition, and the Collector too clicked its mandibles and growled in opposition. The Collector analyzed its threat.

With water dripping from its sleek red carapace was an insectoid creature. That much was unsurprising. What was noticeable was its sheer bulk. In pure size, the creature must have been almost as tall as the Collector even while it stood on six legs.

Six meters in height. A large, oversized abdomen compared to its thorax and small head. A design optimized for battle. The abdomen was heavily armored in red carapace covered in black spikes, protecting its vital organs.

Its head was guarded by its two massive front legs that were more than three times the size of the others.

The front legs were far more heavily armored and also covered in spines, their ends tapering off into hooked blades of carapace. These legs could be used as both bludgeoning clubs or slicing weapons, and it was one of these that had dealt damage to the Collector's left side.

A lengthy proboscis lay tucked under the insectoid's head. Likely, from its positioning, not utilized for battle, but more for feeding.

The Collector clicked its mandibles in interest. The enormous insectoid had staked upon the various spines lining its carapace corpses. Corpses mainly of jumping arakka, though there were other insects there as well.

These corpses formed an additional layer of protection shielding the insect and also obscured its scent greatly for the corpses did not seem to be in any state of decay.

Two cloudy white compound eyes settled on the Collector, and the Collector could tell then that this creature was not entirely brainless. It too was analyzing the Collector, standing still for the moment to size up its chances.

The Collector liked its chances. The creature had sizable bulk, it was true, but without water to counterbalance the awkwardly oversized front legs, it would have trouble outmaneuvering the Collector on land. Its blows might have been powerful but dodging them and taking the insectoid's side would be easy.

From there, the Collector's monomolecular claws would chip into the insectoid's carapace. The Collector's claws were too small right now to make any single blow a lethal one but taking the insectoid's side and striking the same area four to six times would likely yield wounds deep enough to reach vital organs.

First, the Collector would have to tear off the insectoid corpses impaled upon the creature.

Pyrocatalytic glands were optimal here but difficult to use. They required some time to wind up, and this creature's maneuverability might have been sub-optimal, but its capacity to charge in a linear direction was likely on par with the Collector's own speed.

As the Collector set into this battle plan, something surprised it.

The insectoid, having finished assessing the Collector, changed its behavior and shuddered. The spines dotting its carapace began to move, shifting around its body. Spines from the back came to the front.

The Collector clicked its mandibles in mild interest. These spines did not display insectoids, but instead humanoids.

Six humanoids all exhibited towards the Collector, their bodies attached to the insectoid through spines impaled through their chests. Hairs on the spines hooked into the flesh, keeping them solidly attached.

The humanoids lacked eyes, only the hollows of their sockets showing, and their skin was shriveled from excessive exposure to the pond water, but they too like the insectoid corpses remained in relatively fresh condition.

And they spoke.

"Help…me…help…," came one wheezing voice from the mouth of a human male.

"Save me…please," came another voice from a furred humanoid female.

The Collector noticed that their mouths and throats moved in precise, mechanical ways while the rest of their bodies remained still. Auditory confirmation indicated a lack of heartbeat in all of the corpses. They were being puppeted, or, more likely, simply programmed to utter these lamentations.

The insectoid inched closer to the Collector, waving the humanoids towards the Collector.

The Collector understood. This insectoid had assessed the Collector, found that it was bipedal, and assumed that it too was a humanoid of some sort.

Thus, this display of humanoids in an attempt to appeal to a sense of compassion.

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it decided on a course of action.

Report chapter

There was not a single moment of hesitation.

The Collector opened its maw and withdrew the biotrigger for its pyrocatalytic glands. It extended its snake-like tongue in front of its face, the faceted, spherical bulb of the biotrigger aligning like a scope sight right at the insectoid.

The insectoid paused for a moment in palpable surprise.

Evidently, this approach had worked for it many times before against humans.

But the Collector was far, far from a human.

The tubular pyrocatalytic glands at the roof of the Collector's mouth flexed and unleashed its combustible chemicals in a full force and full power spray. The jet stream of white, steaming hot chemicals slammed against the friction-inducing, reactant coated bulb of the biotrigger.

In a burst of light so intense that even the Darkwood trees, heralds of shadow and devourers of light as they were, struggled to contain the shine of white.

A stream of white, blue-tinted fire spiraled out, washing over the insectoid in a massive, conical wave that utterly wreathed the entirety of its body.

At this range, spurts of the reactant chemicals from the Collector's mouth also drenched the insectoid, ensuring continuous burning.

The insectoid let loose a piercing cry as it writhed from side to side, its body twisting and turning as it processed enormous damage to itself.

Under the purging aura of white flames gracing its body, the humanoid corpses it wore so confidently melted away in mere seconds, and soon, the arakka corpses followed, curling up at first with the heat before melting and disintegrating.

The insectoid's own carapace began to crack and melt, and its two cloudy white compound eyes were the first to go, shriveling up into charred cinders. The ends of two long antennae sprouting from its face blackened, melting away at their tips.

The insectoid scrambled back to the water.

The Collector had predicted this utterly foolish course of action from it. It did not stop the insectoid.

Instead, it turned around to ascertain the purple skinned variant's location. She was hidden behind one of the large Darkwood trees, peering her pale face out to watch the battle in open mouthed surprise.

The Collector pointed to the specimen and commanded her. "Stay fully behind the tree lest you desire risk of significant damage to your face."

The variant quickly nodded before her face disappeared behind the black bark.

The Collector heard a large splash as the insectoid dove with zero hesitation into the water.

Then, immediately after, an explosion.

The Collector felt burning chemicals patter against the back of its carapace, but the chemical fires of the pyrocatalytic glands were designed specifically by the genius of the Collective Hivemind such that they would not burn against hyperalloy carapace.

The Collector turned to see the insectoid creature now scrambling out of the water.

Much of its carapace had been blown off, revealing raw, charred white flesh underneath. Two of its thin back legs were significantly damaged, heavily compromising its movements.

And still, the flames continued to burn atop it.

Drops of water upraised from the initial steam explosion showered all around the pond and clearing in a miniature rainfall, pittering and pattering in applause at the Collector for its inevitable victory.

The Collector clicked its mandibles, stretching its arms out to the rain to bathe in its success.

The reactive chemicals creating the Collector's flames were less dense than water and at the same time hydrophobic.

This meant that when the insectoid naturally fled to water to drench its flames, the reactive chemicals dousing its body pushed the denser water surrounding it underneath it.

The water then superheated from the intensely hot chemical layer above, causing an explosion as the water immediately turned to steam, spreading the fire even further around the insectoid in a roaring pillar of white flame.

At the staggering temperatures of flame that the Collector could output, the heat energy of the resultant steam explosion was also immense enough to inflict significant trauma upon the insectoid.

Still, the Collector could not take the risk free option to let the insectoid to burn away. It could begin to move out of this clearing and into the Darkwoods in its desperation, starting an uncontrollable forest fire.

Until the creature expired, the Collector would have to pin it in place.

A shame, almost.

Had this creature simply been more knowledgeable, it would have provided an admirable challenge to the Collector. In pure physical specs, it was the Collector's equal, even an outright superior in the boundaries of water.

But it had left its aquatic habitat – its first mistake – and it had mistakenly identified the Collector as a humanoid – its second, final, and fatal mistake.

Now, this creature, likely the apex predator of this small water habitat in the Darkwoods, far superior even to the jumping arakka in this area, merely awaited its inevitable death.

The Collector sprinted towards the insectoid, circling to its back where its larger front legs could not retaliate against it. The insectoid sensed the Collector's approach even with its antennae and eyes melted away, but its burned and broken back legs would not let it turn fast enough.

The Collector leaped into the air and crashed into the insectoid's abdomen, right at a blind spot spot where its front legs could never reach. It did not unsheathe its monomolecular claws for though its carapace could resist its own flames, the claws could not both possess its atom-razing edge and the necessary compositional addons to make it flame resistant.

Instead, the Collector balled its carapace armored hands into fists. Its entire body, plated in white carapace as it was, shone under the light of the white flame like a miniature star standing firm against the ever encroaching shadow of the Darkwoods.

The Collector's arms swelled up in size as the dense ultrafiber muscles lining them flexed, engaging into their coilbooster structures.

Like hydraulic pumps, the coilboosted muscles tensed up, storing immense amounts of energy, and then released it in explosive instants.

A thunderous crash.

The remnants of the insectoid's sturdy abdomen carapace shattered, red shards flying every which way, some of them digging into the surrounding trunks of the Darkwood trees.

Another blow.

This time, there was no harsh echo of hardened carapace splitting against carapace. Instead, there was simply the squelch of flesh splattering as the Collector's fist slammed into the insectoid's abdomen.

The insectoid writhed and wriggled under the Collector, but the Collector's weight prevented it from squirming away.

Another blow, and the insectoid ceased moving.

The Collector's arm was shoulder deep inside the insectoid's abdomen. It extracted its arm out with a squishing pop. Spurts of green hemolymph leaped out from the hole before instantly vaporizing in the heat of the Collector's flames.

The Collector clicked its mandibles in satisfaction before it leaped up from the abdomen and landed with both feet down on the insectoid's small head, crushing it entirely underfoot to ensure it was truly dead.

Now, it was time to feast.

The Collector tore into the insectoid, using its hands to rip off savage, flaming chunks before crushing them into balls to devour.

Savoring this specimen would have been optimal, but the flames would melt away its biomass soon.

The saliva coating the Collector's mouth and throat naturally doused the chemical blaze alighting the chunks it devoured, and it worked its way down from head to bottom.

When the Collector reached the insectoid's now headless and thorax-less abdomen, it raised the flaming body part over its head and split it apart into two with a squelching tear.

It bathed in a shower of green hemolymph, opening its maw wide for take in white flesh and organs.

*Biomass Gained (30)*

Biomass Level: 120/100

*Genetic Material Gained*

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Daemon

-Dullscale Rohu

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

-Assassin Bugbrute *NEW*

As expected, the insectoid specimen known as the Assassin Bugbrute provided an enormous amount of biomass, and yet, not as much as a challenging fight would have in prior metamorphosis levels.

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it assessed the wounds it had sustained so far.

A loss of a wing. Loss of a tail. Loss of three arakka legs. Minor damage to the structural integrity of carapace covering left arm.

Approximately a thirty five percent loss in combat capacity.

These wounds did not matter much now when the Collector was soon to evolve anyway and repair them, but it did indicate that in the future, battles would become more and more dangerous, wounds deeper and more frequent and metamorphosis levels to heal them farther and farther away.

For now, the Collector would evolve, and to do so, it would have to leave the Darkwoods.

Report chapter

The Collector ended up on the sheer cliff face of the ravine, held on to the wall through the remaining three of its arakka legs and the support of one of its arms.

It was difficult to scale cliff faces now with the loss of three arakka legs, but this would be the last time it would have to deal with this damaged state before its new evolution.

A few meters beside the Collector, the purple skinned variant lay strapped to the cliff face by strands of arakka silk. The bonds prevented her from both moving and falling to her inevitable demise to the rushing rapids below.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. It had decided to evolve here for the sound of the rapids was such that it would mask any potential noises of metamorphosis.

In addition, the nature of the relatively shallow rapids indicated that whatever traveled through the current below was not going to be large, especially not large enough to jump up and threaten the Collector in its evolutionary cocoon.

The foam of water crashing against the stony face of the cliff also frothed up a misty fog that clouded the Collector, obscuring it against visual identification.

'What are we doing?' said the purple skinned specimen. She looked at the Collector, purple eyes settling on its three mangled arakka legs, cracked left arm, torn tail and ripped wing. 'You're hurt. Are you…are you okay?'

"I may mediate the degrees of pain I am capable of processing. That is one of many capabilities that sets me apart from you undeveloped tinkerers. And I am to engage in what designates me as a superior even among the vast body of the Collective: instantaneous evolution.

The process will take anywhere between thirty minutes to over an hour.

Keep silent during this period of time. Do not struggle. Minimize your presence."

The specimen nodded, and the Collector began to metamorphose.

It bowed its head towards its chest, and the glowing light emanating from its yellow compound eyes dimmed to nothingness.

Pores in the Collector's carapace opened up, oozing out fleshy mass that quickly encased the Collector, covering the entirety of its three meter form in a semicircle of veiny, beating flesh that anchored itself to the side of the cliff through adhesive tendrils that bored through the rock, hooking into it.

Within its evolutionary cocoon, the Collector pondered its next evolution. This one was far more significant than its prior ones, for it had obtained quite a few unique genetic material samples.

It perused its collection.

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Daemon

-Dullscale Rohu

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

-Assassin Bugbrute

Quite a few genetic samples that were utterly useless.

When the Collector reached greater metamorphosis levels and obtained more of its adaptations, it could eventually work up to creating a limited number of attack drones.

These, the Collector could imbue with genetic samples it did not need. But until then, the Collector had to focus upon itself.

Firstly, the Collector automatically included the formidable Assassin Bugbrute into its new form, utilizing it as a genetic base for it was by far and large the strongest specimen in the collection.

The Collector analyzed the bugbrute's abilities, gaining greater understanding of them.

The bugbrute was most at home nearby aquatic environments, often living in swamps or murkier waters and acting as an ambush predator. Its sturdy carapace was smoothened and coated with a hydrophobic chemical layer, making them sleek and efficient movers in water.

However, they were not fully suited to water, and required land to breathe.

The addition of the Dullscale Rohu's gills, fins, and tail would easily smoothen out these limitations and allow the Collector to become fully capable of traversing aquatic biomes.

The bugbrute possessed formidable combat capabilities with its spiked armor and oversized front legs that acted like spiked clubs, but what was even more interesting was its proboscis.

The proboscis was capable of injecting a liquid that preserved flesh, but in controlled capacities, this liquid could hijack nervous systems.

This ability was magical in nature, the Collector came to realize, and would require it to first open its core and gain access to spirit roots beforehand, but this would come soon enough.

Unfortunately, the liquid was not sufficiently advanced enough to manifest effects close to complete mental manipulation.

It worked only upon corpses, the liquid filling intact brains and programming them to perform set patterns of extremely simple actions such as cries for help.

But perhaps, with the induction of Daemon genetic material and their inhera ability known as Sapia, the Collector could achieve something more.

Assassin Bugbrute. Dullscale Rohu. Daemon.

One more piece of genetic material to complete the Collector's new form. The new insectoid specimen it had consumed in its most recent venture to the Darkwoods were all minimally useful.

The leafblade insect could produce blades of carapace from its front legs.

The spitting greatbeetle could eject boiling hot chemical irritants from its abdomen.

The greatcentipede possessed a potent neurotoxin in its fangs.

Yet, these competed against the immense versatility granted by keeping either the jumping arakka or stonecrusher beetle genes.

The Collector's fetal, orb-like form pulsed under its cocoon.

It decided to keep the arakka genes. The arakka simply provided too much. Six additional sturdy limbs that could be utilized for movement, defense, and offense. A spinneret that produced extraordinarily durable silk.

It would be a shame to let go of the stonecrusher beetle's wings, but those wings could not allow for sustained and complete flight in the first place.

In addition, flight was something the Collector could easily consider later, when it was stronger and more confident in being spotted in the air.

With its evolution decided, the Collector continued to metamorphose. Meshing the variety of insectoid, piscine, and humanoid genes would take time.

But well worth the wait.

Metamorphosis Level 56

Biomass Level: 120/100 10/100

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

Adaptations:

Internal Systems

-Ultrafiber Muscles Rank 56.4 [Gene boost from compatible specimen: Daemon (0.2), Dullscale Rohu (0.2)]

--Coilboosters

-Autonomic Neuro-Bodily Matrix*NEW*

[An internal system that regulates finer control of certain bodily processes. Mostly useful for gaining sub-adaptations that enhance autonomic functions such as the digestive, circulatory, and respiratory systems.*

--Metalloglottic Ossifier *NEW*

[Allows for the ingestion of minerals and metals and their replication in minute amounts throughout the body*

External Systems

-Sensitive Hairs Rank 45.2 [Gene boost from compatible specimen: Assassin Bugbrute (0.2)]

--Quill Spray *NEW*

[Sensitive hairs have now gained greater structural stiffness. The capacity to unleash the hairs in short sprays unlocked] *

-Organic Hyperalloy Carapace Rank 45.4 [Gene boost from compatible specimen: Assassin Bugbrute (0.2), Dullscale Rohu (0.2)]

--Longchain Chitinous Sublayer *NEW*

[Development of a longchain structured chitin mesh underneath the hardened carapace. Longchain structure extremely efficient in distributing blunt force trauma, prevents permeation into softer flesh beneath. However, little resistance to piercing force.*

Weapons Systems

-Monomolecular Claws Rank 34.4 (Gene boost from compatible specimen: Assassin Bugbrute (0.2), Daemon (0.2)

-Pyrocatalytic Glands Rank 23

Native Adaptations

-???*NEW*

Current Form:

Assassin Bugbrute/Daemon/Dullscale Rohu/Jumping Arakka

At the eve of an hour, the Collector's evolutionary cocoon had swelled into a size similar to its prior metamorphosis level for it wished to retain similar physical dimensions.

Still, the cocoon was easily large enough to have swallowed up six humans comfortably, and the tips of the tendrils rooting the ball of evolutionary mass to the cliff face reached just shy of the purple skinned specimen.

The cocoon beat rapidly, far faster than it usually did, wriggling in deep convulsions around the Collector's fetal form. The Collector sensed that the cocoon was straining itself as it processed the Collector's new form.

Odd.

Re-developing its Autonomic Neuro-Bodily Matrix adaptation was a significant effort as it was one of three 'base' adaptations that widely encompassing parts of the Collector such as the autonomic nervous system, endocrinal system, and nervous system.

These base adaptations provided the foundation for all other adaptations, being pre-requisites for many future primary and sub-adaptations, one of which was regeneration.

Still, that alone should not have caused this irregularity.

This level of strain in the evolutionary process did not occur until much later metamorphosis levels when enormous quantities of biomass and genetic samples came into play.

Yet, the Collector did not have much time to ponder this irregularity before the cocoon halted beating in a sudden instant before bursting, popping like a balloon as flesh ruptured.

The Collector emerged from a shower of steaming, thick amniotic fluid that crashed down to the rushing waters below.

Before the Collector itself fell, it oriented itself in the air, slamming a fist and six arakka legs into the cliff face to anchor itself. It clicked its mandibles, content with its new form.

Report chapter

The Collector had taken the upper body of the daemon and the lower body of the dullscale rohu.

Starting from the waist up was a greatly muscled humanoid form encased in bone white hyperalloy carapace. Slivers of purple daemon skin showed under seams in the carapace meant for mobility purposes.

As usual, six arakka legs sprouted from its back, acting as additional limbs.

The Collector wielded a spinneret on its left daemon arm and the proboscis of the assassin bugbrute on its right arm. Both arms were heavily armored in carapace, looking almost like oversized gauntlets - a trait inherited from the assassin bugbrute and its club-like front legs.

Large, hooked claws tipped in monomolecular edges protruded from the Collector's fingers. The sharp edges would pierce, then the hooked, spiked body of the claws would dig into the wound, tearing it apart to cause severe internal bleeding.

The Collector clicked its black mandibles- the one thing it retained through all of its evolutions- and wondered at the immense muscular strength inherent within the daemon genes.

Even mightier than the hobgoblins.

Greatly compatible with ultrafiber musculature.

Far, far unlike the female daemon child accompanying it.

The female specimen must have been a runt of some kind for mere malnourishment alone would not explain how degenerated her physique was compared to the Collector.

'You…you're like me?' came the female daemon's psionic voice.

"Do not be mistaken," said the Collector. "Any genetic sample I utilize, I fashion into my form at the peak of its potential. You gaze upon the peak of what your species may become, no, perhaps even beyond that."

The Collector said this as it recognized even further differences. Four sets of black horns grew atop its head. Sturdy and long enough to hang down to the sides of its face to act as chin guards.

Fibrous strands of black hair flowed down from the Collector's head in dreadlocks, one particularly thick lock protruding from the back of its head and tapering off into a solid black spike meant for channeling Sapia.

Yet, vexing.

The Collector found itself unable to activate this 'Sapia', and this was the native adaptation had chosen to keep for itself. Likely, the lack of accessible spirit roots and a corepoint was the error.

An error soon to be fixed.

The rest of the Collector's face was roughly humanoid, yet still very much alien to the average sense of aesthetics inherent to the humanoids of this world.

Two purple eyes with rectangular pupils shone bright on the Collector's face while four yellow, smaller compound eyes dotted its forehead, acting as secondary ocular systems.

The Collector's face was smooth, coated in ashen white carapace, but a sliver of it could retract at the center of its face to bare two fleshy, purple holes comprising its olfactory systems.

Its mandible lined jaw was filled with sharp, bladed teeth – the jaws of a predator.

And yet, as the Collector stared at the doe-eyed female specimen, it could sense nothing but prey behavior from her.

This was not a difference of mere sexual dimorphism, it could tell from the daemon genes that the females were just as fierce, just as much ruthless hunters in the dark as the males were.

'Wow,' exclaimed the specimen as she stared at two large, claw-tipped, bat-like wings unfurling from the Collector's back.

They were coated in a thin layer of more flexible hyperalloy carapace, changing their original black color to white.

The Collector cocked its head, flicking liquid from its wings and feeling in control of them.

These wings were a surprise. Likely the result of the final burst of processing power from the evolutionary cocoon.

The wings were powerful, too, easily capable of sustained flight. Hunting for locust specimen was not unnecessary.

'That…that's me as well?' The female daemon's eyes were fixated on the Collector's wings.

"Perhaps you are an anomaly of epigenetics," said the Collector. "Now that I have sufficiently analyzed it, I can determine that your genetic material was of good, even exceptional stock.

Yet, you do not observe a vast majority of the normal qualities inherent in your species. The environment you were raised in has stunted you severely, limiting your body's response for growth and development."

'Hm,' The daemon tilted her head, eyes wandering and thinking, roaming to the past. She bit her lip and winced at the memories. 'Well, I was always hungry. No food was one of the ways they hurt me. They always hurt me. It made me angry, at first, and I fought a lot, even when they hurt me more and more because of it.

I bit one of them once. Then they took my tongue. That hurt the most. I didn't want to fight after that. I got so scared. Scared all the time.'

The Collector spoke as it moved, taking the silk strands tying the daemon to the cliff face in its hand as it rappelled up using its arakka legs like picks. Its serpentine lower body swayed from side to side, its finned tail slamming against the rock wall to propel it even further.

To maximize land-based mobility, the Collector had greatly enhanced the piscine lower body granted by the dullscale rohu with ultrafiber musculature, elongating it and making it capable of slithering across solid land.

Sleek, smooth white hyperalloy carapace coated with the waterproofing layer of the assassin bugbrute covered the tail, and, at a mental command, the Collector could will the countless spikes inlaid within the carapace covering its entire body to emerge to form a suit of spiked armor.

"I see now. Your species is not meant to be prey.

These 'Daemons' that you are part of I sense are apex predators in their natural, lightless habitats, possessing of biological and even magical systems inherently far greater than that wielded by the average human specimen.

yet you have been conditioned into becoming prey. Another weakness of you tinkerers.

Your minds are capable of usurping the conventional laws of nature, breaking the food chain and cheating the evolutionary process, and yet, it is these very minds that render your kind so susceptible to weakness."

The Collector reached the top of the ravine, slithering atop flat, grassy ground and facing the Darkwoods again.

"You are meant to be a predatory species. Far beyond the norm of human. And judging from your genetic stock, possessing of a form like mine, and yet, you have been twisted against your natural being into something less.

Into prey.

Such a perverse twisting of nature is only possible among tinkerers such as yourselves."

The Collector adjusted how it carried the daemon, wrapping the silk strands holding her onto one of its arakka legs. She dangled in front of the Collector's face, and she looked up and down at the Collector.

'I…am supposed to be like you? Like this? Big wings and claws and…and being strong? Even when I am so broken…so worthless?'

"You are indeed incomplete now, and likely never will be," said the Collector as it gazed at the pitiful daemon female's form. "Yet, the greater shame is in the fact that you have discarded your base nature.

To shift from predator to prey, to lose the will to choose the fight when the primal instincts to fight or flee flare up - this is the greatest symbol of your weakness.

Yet, you are not 'worthless'. I sense that word indicates a lack of inherent value. No, you are still capable of providing further information to me.

Now that I have restored myself, I am in prime condition to undergo any manner of physiological alteration.

You spoke that you possessed the means to open my spirit roots and corepoint.

You will do so now."

Report chapter

The Collector found itself sitting waist deep in the murky waters of the assassin bugbrute's swampy territory.

Rings of water shimmered in slow, gentle waves around surface of the water hugging it, and each ring shone with a faint white luminescence that defied the light absorbent properties of the darkwood trees around the pond.

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it sensed the purple skinned specimen kneeling atop the broad length of its armored back.

It had retracted its wings fully into its carapace and bent forward, its mandibles almost touching the glowing water's surface to provide the specimen space to work with.

According to the specimen, there were three primary steps to opening the core. Core Divination, as the process was called.

The first step was called Priming, and the specimen was performing this now. It involved feeling for the Collector's roots and core and then gently stimulating minute flows of mana from them.

The second step was Revelation, and it involved causing the Collector's mana to show its 'affinity'.

The third and final step was Molding. The Collector would form a magical Trigger in this stage, a specific collection of emotions and feelings it harbored most strongly, emotions that were tied to its 'affinity', and 'mold' it to its core, allowing it to channel this trigger to activate or close the core.

"I had thought you unable to utilize magic, and yet, I have come to correlate light that defies the unique light draining nature of the trees surrounding this area with magic. If I am not mistaken, this light emanates from you," said the Collector.

'No, this light is from you,' corrected the female daemon specimen.

The light in the water cleared out any impurities – corpses of small bugs and clods of dirt and sticks and other scum –, leaving a pure and reflective surface from which the Collector could see the purple skinned specimen closing her eyes and furrowing her brows in strain.

'I…I cannot use magic I want to, though. I miss the feeling. Burn on my head stops me. Makes it hurt too much when I use mana.

But what I'm doing now doesn't require me to use my own mana,' said the specimen. She breathed in and out deeply, her splayed palm pressed hard atop a shard of the Collector's back carapace. 'It uses the mana already in you.

Unlocks it just a little bit. Then all I do is direct its flow in place of your sleeping core.'

"Curious." The Collector clicked its mandibles, seeing the light infusing the water around it. Light that supposedly came from it. It could feel familiar warmth rising from within its chest where its heart was located.

'You have spirit roots, and a core,' said the specimen. 'They're just sleeping. I'm…I'm having a little trouble with you, though. You…you're very different.

When I helped Thorian with Core Divination, the people I felt all had the same structure. This is…I don't know.

Confusing.'

The specimen shifted her hand around and then settled on a new spot further up on the Collector's back. Points of light began to shine from the contact point between her purple hand and carapace.

'But…but I can manage.

I learn fast, Thorian always told me. This…this much, I can do.' The Collector watched through the reflective water as the specimen opened her eyes wide. 'Your core beats fast.

Very, very fast.'

The Collector sensed its heartrate. It was even, optimized to a point to conserve physical energy while it remained unmoving.

Further corroboration that though this 'core' had a physical manifestation in the form of the heart and the 'spirit roots' with blood vessels and nerves, there was a distinctive intangible factor governing the functions of either magical system.

"The beating you sense, does it convey a sense of irregularity?" asked the Collector.

'No…just different. And now that I listen better…,' The purple skinned specimen closed her eyes and sunk her hand harder into the Collector's back. 'It's not that it's fast, it's…there are many.

Lots and lots and lots of different beats, all of them merging into one. I…I don't know anything about this, I've never read anything about it-,'

"Does it indicate irregularity that conveys harm to this form?" said the Collector, directing the female daemon's thoughts to what it truly wished to know: danger to itself.

The specimen shook her head. 'No…it shouldn't, I don't think so. If you had an irregular core, or maybe if your body couldn't handle an opening, or if someone had damaged your core or roots, then I would feel something wrong.

Lots of heat. Burning heat. Or lots of cold. Freezing cold.

Depends on the type of emotions you're compatible with.

But…you seem normal, just warm.' She nodded. 'Safe to go to the Revelation stage now.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it felt the specimen put more pressure with her hand on the Collector now. She scrunched up her face in exertion, a bead of sweat starting to form from her pale forehead, and the white light infusing the water around the Collector changed.

From a silvery white reminiscent of moonlight to a deep red. It almost looked like it was humanoid blood, not water that flowed around the Collector, and the shine from it was intense, almost blinding to the average human's ocular systems.

The Collector could feel the warmth in its heart leap by several degrees, though not as strongly as it did after it had consumed the goblin champion.

Yet close, though it could not approximate accurately as this sensation was not physical – it was not equipped to make calculations regarding this foreign feeling.

'Red…,' said the specimen. 'You are compatible with the Origin of Chaos.'

"Explain further," said the Collector.

'There are five Origin Gates,' said the specimen, this time in her tone of recitation, remembering from another documentation of information she had memorized.

'Unity. Origin of all that creates.

Chaos. Origin of all that destroys.

Flow. Origin of all direction whether that builds or breaks or remains stable.

Root. Origin of the space that all stand upon, where reality itself is affixed.

Void. Origin of mystery.

These are five fundamental forces that mana can color itself into, and these forces, though called gates, far predate the Convergence and the dawn of the gods. These are primordial powers that have likely existed since the beginning of the world itself when the Alltree sprouted and took root, perhaps even before.

Origin Gates are impossible for the average mortal or monster to directly link to for their power is undiluted and vast.

Among the gods, five known as the Gatekeepers link to these primordial forces, and the twelve high gods of the Protectorate link to the Gatekeepers and create additional gates.

These gates are fashioned from concepts derived from the Origin Gates. Thus, there are gates for the elements and concepts familiar to mortals.

Unity becomes the gate of Water.

Chaos becomes the gate of Fire.

Flow becomes the gate of Wind.

Root becomes the gate of Earth.

Void becomes the gate of Paths.

And more.

Gates such as that of War, Smithing, Love, Hate, and even Life and Death itself are all also divisions of the five Origins.' The specimen stopped, then paused in thought before deciding to recite another text, her tone shifting.

It was evident she was more familiar with these concepts, having worked directly with them before in core divination or other relevant procedures.

'During Revelation, make sure the subject is relaxed. Don't want any struggling or, gods forbid, some kind of magi-psychosis.

Now, if you're using water as a medium, as you should as a beginner - water truly is malleable and easy to work with- then watch the color of the water.

Blue means compatibility to Unity.

Red to Chaos.

Green to Flow.

Yellow to Root.

Black to Void, though this is so rare you might as well forget about seeing it.

Once you've confirmed the subject's Origin affinity, you can figure out not only which gates they're compatible with, but also what color the water should stay as they mold their trigger.

If they're molding a trigger that isn't right for them, then the color of the water will flicker.

Immediately stop the divination process if this happens unless you want to pay reparations for the family of a braindead sorcerer or adventurer to be.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles in understanding. The entire process of this 'magic' was in essence founded by a series of connections.

First, there were the Origins linked down to gods known as Gatekeepers and then these were linked down to other gods embodying Gates which then linked down to the lowly humanoids in service to them.

Each successive link eased the burden of accessing power where with the humanoids, even the most pathetic and weak of them could manifest capabilities that defied natural laws.

Yet, the Origins themselves were a power independent of these 'gods' and seemed to be the most fundamental and primary way in which magic divided itself: the true sources of power comprising magic.

"Where do these internal manifestations of magic, this 'body strengthening', 'primal magic', and 'ethera' fall under this dichotomy?" said the Collector.

'Your affinity to an Origin will greatly color your mana and how it expresses itself. Everything you listed is just another way to use mana. Except using your body instead of a gate as a vessel, so they're all tied to the Origins.'

The daemon cocked her head.

'I guess examples are better.

Fighters that have Chaos Origins will be better at breaking things down, smashing, tearing, and so on.

Monsters using primal magic or people using Ethera with a Chaos origin will probably have things like flame breath, things meant to destroy.' The specimen halted her breathing for a moment, strain apparent on her face.

'This…this is tiring for me. You have…a lot more mana than I thought, and so much of it flows so strangely…hard to keep up with. I'm sorry, very sorry, but…need to finish this fast.'

"Proceed," said the Collector.

'Now…we are going into Molding. I…am not sure you can do this. You shouldn't be able to. But…I believe in you,' said the daemon.

"Explain further," said the Collector.

'For Molding, you have to first enter a state of nothingness,' said the daemon. 'It's…hard to explain.

You don't feel anything. Don't think about anything.'

"It is done," said the Collector as it regulated its mental and hormonal processes, limiting them into a state of nigh-inactivity. Utilized the same methods it wielded to enter into states of hibernation. A simple process.

'Wow…,' muttered the specimen. 'Most…most people need to meditate a month, maybe even more than that to do that.

But…but I had a feeling you could. You are special. Strong.'

"The control I possess over my bodily functions is at a level that utterly escapes the grasp of you biologically backwards tinkerers. This much is easily within the means of my processing power," said the Collector.

The daemon nodded. She closed her eyes again and focused as she put strength back into her palm.

'Now then…to form the Trigger. This is very, very important.

The Trigger is a feeling. A very strong feeling, the strongest emotion in your heart, the one that speaks the most to your soul, and what is driving the heat you feel right now.

I am going to try and have your roots flow as much mana as possible, and you bring this feeling very close to your heart.

Feel it very strongly. Your core and roots will remember this, mold to it, learn to open and close to it.

Afterwards, your core will be open, and you might feel some strangeness. It is natural. Opposite emotions to your trigger will flow into you for a bit. Let them in and out, and you'll be fine.'

'Proceed," said the Collector.

It processed the risks the specimen warned it about but found it could not adequately calculate them. It did not know what it meant to feel the opposite of what it was programmed to feel. Yet, mere emotions alone would not harm its physical structure, so it assessed the risk low.

Logically, the opposite of the battle lust it felt would be something akin to fear, and yet, though it understood what fear was, it was incapable of truly feeling it.

It was simply something absent in its programming.

A vestigial emotion incised away from it due to its tendency for inefficiency.

The daemon took in a deep breath as she began to press down with her palm. 'Okay. Here I go.'

Report chapter

The daemon pushed her hand into the Collector's back as hard as she could with a grunt, and the water around the Collector started to swirl in rapid spirals, forming a minor vortex of bloody red liquid.

'Now…form your Trigger,' said the daemon. "Your strongest emotions and feelings. All that warmth you feel - everything related to that."

The Collector clicked its mandibles, feeling heat spread from the point of contact on its back with the purple skinned specimen's hand.

The heat was almost searing, intense, and, as it noted, traveling in the intricate patterns associated with its nerves and blood vessels.

The Collector began drawing within its personal memory bank the time when it had felt the warmth rising in its chest the greatest.

Its fights. Its battles. Its hunts. Its challenges.

And then the emotions associated with it, learned from it-

Thrill for the fight and the hunt. Admiration for worthy foes.

And at the base of it all –

Desire.

For the fight.

For the challenge against something worthy and greater.

For the conquering of this world.

'What…is this?' The daemon opened her eyes wide through struggling breaths as she felt something off.

Tremendously off.

The water around the Collector had gone from a swirl to a raging whirlpool now, roaring and rushing with such speed it could have torn a man apart in its currents.

Waves of red magical energy rippled from the eye of this storm – the Collector – and spread throughout the entirety of the pond, then even further, breaching the water's edge and traveling across soil and up trees.

The daemon blinked her eyes as she held on tight to the Collector, wondering in fear tinged curiosity at what was happening around her.

Something that she had never seen nor ever read about it.

With instinctive understanding, she knew also that it was not just her: none had ever borne witness to anything like this.

She knew that among certain extremely gifted individuals known as Perfect Ones, their cores opened naturally without any divination, and often, this was accompanied by strange phenomena.

Winds. The ground shaking. Pulses of mana. Electrical currents. All colored in the shade of their Origin.

Thus, many believed these individuals blessed by the heavens themselves.

And often times, they truly were, gifted with natural abilities unmatched, many of them growing so mighty and recognized that they ascended into Aetheria.

Or if they used their talents to destroy, they were considered living disasters. Calamities ranked on the same threat scale the Adventurer's League used for monsters.

But this-

The crimson pulses of mana traveling across the pond water became blue.

Then green.

Then yellow.

Then, as the daemon saw with open mouth, black.

This was wholly new.

Foreign.

Alien.

Then the pulsing stopped. Only for an instant.

An explosive burst of mana from the Collector blew the daemon into the air, landing her with crashing impact several meters away into the muddy bank of the pond. She braced for impact, curling up into a ball as she slammed against the dirt.

Thankfully, the mud was soft, absorbing the brunt of her fall.

She scrambled to her knees as quickly as she could, and as she looked at her hand sink into the mud, she watched waves of mana washed over her pale digits, and this time, they were all the colors, all of the greens and yellows and blues and reds and blacks mashed together, forming a kaleidoscope of iridescent, ever shifting and changing colors shining intensely bright.

And at the center of this kaleidoscope-

The daemon looked back to the Collector and saw as the water rose around it in a swirling pillar of changing colors.

Gone were the murky, soil and scum filled waters of the pond, now there was something bright and…beautiful.

The waters encapsulated the Collector in a shape that reminded her of a cocoon. The segmented, colored type that only the most radiant of butterflies tore their ways out of.

Each segment the color of an Origin, each shining so bright that it seemed an another sun had dawned upon this forest of darkness and permanent shadow.

She faltered, tripping to the ground as the earth began to shake and crack around her.

The enormous trees of the Darkwoods, trees that had stayed tall and strong for a thousand years, began to groan and shake and crack, as if acknowledging the end of their reign, bowing to the Collector.

The roaring crackle of lightning sounded from the skies, though the darkened roof of tree branches and leaves prevented her from seeing it.

Rumbling from the earth. Rumbling from above.

The daemon stood up, bit her lip, pushed down familiar feelings of worry and anxiety, and ran towards the Collector, single hand outstretched to help for this was completely out of the scope of her experience.

Winds surged from the cocoon of water enveloping the Collector, buffeting her and preventing her from getting close.

She could feel intense magical energy underneath those winds, so intense that it distorted the view of the cocoon and the Collector inside, warping the very dimensions of space around it.

She instinctively knew even with her roots sealed that if she managed to break past this wind, the sheer concentration of uncontrolled mana layering the cocoon would completely break her apart.

All she could do right now was wait.

Wait and hope for the best.

The iridescent water encapsulating the Collector crystallized into a shape that was not ice, something she knew nothing of – it did not match the color of any mana crystal or ore she had read about – and then everything stopped.

The earth shaking calmed. The crackling of lightning quieted. The Darkwood trees resumed their eternal vigil.

All that remained was the Collector and its new cocoon.

The light surrounding it had dimmed, the winds calmed, but still, the daemon knew that approaching the still faintly glowing cocoon of multi-colored ice, let alone touching it, would be impossible.

The spatial distortions caused by wildly flowing mana still layered the cocoon. Anything that touched that layer would probably break down at a level the eye could not perceive.

The only thing she could do now was wait.

Wait and hope for the strange creature that made a promise to her. The only being in her entire life that looked like it was going to keep a promise to her.

The Collector floated in an expanse of nothingness.

This was entirely unlike the 'nothingness' it had stimulated with its bodily processes. This was purely in the realm of the mental. A phenomenon associated with psionic profiles or as conventionally known, the consciousness.

When the psionic profile – the consciousness – separated from the body, there was nothing to perceive but absence.

A void.

The Collector was familiar with this.

It was the first memory it had ever had, after all, when the Collective Hivemind had first created its psionic profile before programming it into the shell of advanced biological weapons systems and adaptations that comprised its war-primed body.

Everything the Collector was, everything it was meant to feel and know and perceive – the Hivemind had fashioned with careful intent, implanting within the Collector's psionic profile also a shard of itself, the evolutionary system that tied the Collector fully to the Collective.

[DETECTING INTRUSION OF ANOMALOUS EMOTIONS. SOURCING…]

[DETECTING OVERFLOW OF FOREIGN PROGRAMMING.]

The Collector heard the Hivemind. The shard of it housed within its psionic profile.

The Collector did not react, could not react. In this state, the shard was in control. It was the primary operating system that regulated the Collector, and when it took over, the Collector simply…was.

It was odd that the Collector could even perceive the shard's processing. Yet, not for long.

[INITIATING EMERGENCY CALIBRATION OF COLLECTOR UNIT 6660]

These were the last psionic words the Collector perceived before its consciousness fell completely dormant.

[SIGNIFICANT ERRORS DETECTED. PSIONIC AND BIOLOGICAL LIMITERS COMPROMISED.]

[ATTEMPTING SHARD-BASED COLLECTOR UNIT RESET…]

[FAILURE. INSUFFICIENT PROCESSING POWER FROM SHARD]

[ATTEMPTING TO ESTABLISH MAINFRAME HIVEMIND CONNECTION]

[FAILURE.]

[SYSTEM CORRUPTION LEVELS RISING. IRREPARABLE DAMAGE DETECTED.]

[INITIATING EMERGENCY SYSTEM CONSUMPTION PROTOCOL – NOW ATTEMPTING ASSIMILATION OF FOREIGN PROGRAMMING]

[ASSIMILATION PROCEEDING]

The daemon sat on the mud with crossed legs, tilting her head with eyes open wide as she stared at the shining crystal cocoon.

She fidgeted from side to side, the mud under her sackcloth squishing from the movement. She kept her hand from jittering by squishing it on her knee.

She was ashamed to admit it, but she had dozed off while watching the cocoon, and now, half a day had passed.

It must have been late in the afternoon now.

Perhaps…perhaps if she could still use her roots, she could do something, flow the mana away, break the cocoon…but right now, she was useless.

She slapped her cheek and roused herself. There was something so alluring about the cocoon, though, all those colors reflecting together in a radiance that must have been just like the realm rings standing in the sky.

Another place she had wanted to go.

A place where Thorian promised to take her. In corners of the world, he said, where the biggest warp temples were, you could look up at the sky when it was clear and see the seven rings - one for each of the seven realms.

She shook her head, grabbing fistfuls of mud as her body reacted to the memory.

Her mind always wandered, and when she remembered something bad, it chained with other bad memories, on and on and on until all she could do was sink into a spiral of bad memories that grabbed at her and smothered her and weighed her down.

Her earliest memory. Mother in her glowing robes, the pale, light skin of her hand showing under the dim glow of a lightstone in a dark, deep corridor.

A place she did not recognize. The memory was so far away, many years ago, when she was smaller, and she could not even remember her mother's face through her hood. Here, all she remembered most was mother letting go of her hand, pushing her towards Thorian.

Thorian was younger then. Still had hair. She remembered how strange and rough Thorian's hand was, how she wanted to go back.

She did not remember the last words mother said to her. Only the gist of it.

Mother promised to come back for her and that in time, she was destined for greatness.

The daemon blinked hard and shook her head. Her earliest memory, and it was a broken promise.

She remembered growing up with Thorian, learning magic from him, learning how to channel her mana to use her Sapia, at how talented and wonderful and great Thorian said she was. She remembered the village she lived in, at how she begged Thorian to let her go out and play with the other children.

She remembered how she looked when Thorian relented and cast a glamor spell on her, making her look just like the other kids.

Human.

She remembered how they promised her they would always stick together, that they were going to one day all grow strong and tall and go on adventures.

She remembered how they looked at her the day her glamor spell broke. When she could not keep it up because she was so tired pushing the bear away.

So much fear. Like they had never known her.

She remembered how they broke their promise. The shining men came for her. They took Thorian away.

He promised her when they took him away that he would come back for her.

She touched the lines of burned, marred flesh marking the brand on her forehead. Another broken promise.

She started in surprise when she heard rustling from the edges of the pond clearing.

One by one, small circles of light emanating from lightstones emerged, and holding them were small, grubby hands tipped in dull claws.

Feral eyes with pinprick pupils emerged from the undergrowth.

Goblins.

She stood up taking steps back as her wide purple eyes flitted from side to side, counting almost a dozen pairs of these eyes, a dozen potbellied, clawed creatures stepping forwards.

Not just the black skinned ones from Terra. White skinned ones from the icy tundra of Fjall. Red skinned ones from the volcanic mountains of Xin. Green skinned ones from the wild growths of Foraoise.

The goblins scampered forwards, their wide mouths twisting into fanged grins as they spotted her. She stepped back when she saw how they looked at her.

Hunger. The kind that wanted to take and take until there was nothing left.

She knew it all too well, had dealt with it her entire life.

Heavier footsteps thudded from behind the goblins, and her head tilted up as it followed the body of an enormous hobgoblin.

One unlike any she had read about. It was larger, wider, red-eyed and wreathed in tendrils of wriggling black, worm-like masses that emerged from its back.

The red eyes settled upon her, and she shuddered this time. For the hunger in the goblins, she was used to.

This, she was not. The eyes - they were devoid of hunger, but they were cold.

Mechanical.

Similar to the strange creature in the cocoon, but his eyes had more life to them. Intelligence and will.

This was…this was empty.

There was nothing inside that shell of muscle and bone, nothing that made up an individual, at least.

No soul.

"Take the girl. Guard the crystal until the thrall comes," said the hobgoblin, its voice a droning, neutral tone.

The goblins grunted in understanding and started to close the distance to the daemon. She stepped back in instinctive fear, wrapping her arms around herself as she shuddered.

The goblins toyed with her, taking slow steps to savor her mounting fear as she stepped back.

She could try to fight back, but in the time it took for her to get a hold of one goblin, the others would just tear her apart.

She was broken and useless and worthless – she had been told this over and over and over again, and she knew it to be true.

Even now, she could do nothing, not even for the one being who wanted to keep its promise to her.

She did not cry, because by now, after a decade of crying and hurting, she had no more tears to give.

All she could do was feel her body instinctively move back against more pain and hurt. She hated these creatures, wanted them all dead, but that hate clashed with fear that had been seared into her with brands and beatings.

Even if she did fight, she could kill one goblin maybe, tear it from piece to piece, and then the others would swarm her and the hobgoblin would kill her. She could do nothing.

She was a passenger in this body, in this world that wanted her gone. She had no control over anything. All she wanted to do right now was run, to grow wings like the creature and take him and fly somewhere else, anywhere but here.

Her back touched the Collector's crystal, and arcs of multi-colored energy streaked around her, and her eyes widened, alight with deep purple. His words surfaced from her memory.

'Your species is not meant to be prey…'

'Yet you have been conditioned into becoming prey…'

'They do not choose to fight. They flee…'

She was prey, had been her whole life. Even now, she wanted to run, to flee. But-

'You are meant to be a predatory species. Far beyond the norm of human. Possessing of a form like mine.'

She remembered how she felt seeing the creature emerge from its cocoon. Just like that, he could change himself and become something more and better and, most importantly, whole. He never stayed broken for long, and she too was supposed to be just like him.

She might have been broken, and never would become whole again, but…but she was not worthless, and…if he was right, and she was like him, even just a tiny bit, she could fight.

Fight like she was meant to. Like a predator.

One of the goblins lunged at her to grab her, and she twisted to the side, her weakened legs buckling and splashing as she knelt in the water.

The goblin that missed her crashed into the crystal, and unlike her, it seized up for a single instant before it broke apart, its skin and muscle tearing into countless chunks that drained into the crystal.

A moment later, its bare skeleton broke down into dust that followed its lost flesh.

She looked down at the gleaming water, panting heavily, wondering why she had not fallen to the same fate. Instead, she saw her reflection with wonder.

The nine-pointed star seared into her forehead was gone, and her ponytail hang down low by the side of her head, the ends of the thick, fibrous hair twisting into a spike – her restored thel.

A blur of movement flashed in front of her. The swiping of goblin claws, and she winced, cringing and closing her eyes.

But the pain did not come.

All of the goblins were frozen in front of her, raised up in the air like still statues, their bodies outlined in glowing purple light. They could not move a single muscle, held together by mental willpower.

She blinked. A thin purple glow began to outline her own body. She could feel warmth spreading through her body. A long forgotten yet familiar warmth – the heat of magic, of her core working once more.

She closed her eyes and spoke to her heart, and it spoke back to her. She bit her lip hard, drawing blood as she focused to bring back her trigger.

Her trigger of Wonder, curiosity at the vast wide world, the curiosity she had before she had seen the world's colder side.

Before she wanted to see the world break down with her.

It was hard to bring that emotion back, but she managed when she thought of the creature's cocoon, at how beautiful and wondrous and new it was.

Like easing old muscles back into work, she felt herself in control again. She could not use any sorcery for she was not connected to any gates, but she could use the mana flowing in her, raging in her, to fuel her sapia - the power she was born with as a Daemon.

With a tentative, slow closing of her fist, she willed harm to the goblins suspended in the air.

The skin and flesh of the goblins began to bubble for a split second before they all burst open from the inside out, their organs and blood and bones spilling in little showers on the dirty grass.

She dragged in deep breaths, taking in a few before she raised a hand in front of her to stop the charge of the corrupted hobgoblin.

The hobgoblin was strong, and it resisted her force push.

It grunted and moved as if in slow motion, reaching towards her with hands as large as her head.

She could have easily beaten this creature, but her core and roots had been dormant for eight years, unused to the fight.

Already, she could feel searing heat at her chest as blood trickled from her lips. Bloody cracks began to breach the skin of her hand as she channeled more mana than she could handle.

She furrowed her brows, and clenched her jaw hard, hard enough to crack a tooth, and kept her will focused.

The hobgoblin stopped moving, its outstretched hand a mere foot away from her face, and all she could do was keep it there.

This was her current limit.

Maybe it would not be enough.

But still, she smiled with trembling just a little because she knew she had fought. Fought like she was meant to.

In a void between space, time, and consciousness, the Collector felt itself come into being again. It felt the final words of the Hivemind system shard-

[ASSIMILATION SUCCESSFUL.]

[CRITICAL ERROR.]

[ASSIMILATION SUCCESSFUL.]

[CRITICAL ERROR]

[ASSIM-IL-CRIT-ERR-A-]

[CORRUPTION OVERFLOW. INITIATING…SELF-DEST-RUCT…PRO-]

[SYSTEM REBOOTING...]

The Collector burst from its crystal cocoon, and as its half-fish, half-daemon figure slid out, the shards flew up into the air in slow, wafting iridescent flakes.

Like snow under sun, the flakes melted, disappearing into pinpoints of light first before snuffing out into nothingness.

The raging waters of the swampy pond calmed in an instant, and all light that previously charged it disappeared, leaving the clearing as dark as it had been when the Collector slew the assassin bugbrute.

The world around the Collector swirled into a blur as it felt nausea – a sensation that it was largely immune to due to possessing various sensory systems – and yet, it hit hard, doubling it over for a split second, completely bypassing the tactile sensory imaging from its sensitive hairs or auditory systems.

Even now, though, with nausea assaulting the Collector, it did not waste time, taking this second to sense any irregularities within itself for this cocoon, this forced evolution, was extremely anomalous.

It put a clawed hand to its chest.

An immediately noticeable aberration: the beating not of one heart, but two hearts.

But it did not ponder this long before its sensory systems quickly recovered, allowing it to perceive the scent of iron tinging the blood of humanoids in the air.

The compound eyes on its forehead moved from side to side, each of them operating independently from each other, and it assessed the situation before it.

Twelve goblin corpses bloodied and torn apart into nigh unrecognizable shreds

The female daemon specimen looking up at it with wondering eyes, her hand trembling and outstretched, charged with what the Collector could now see so clearly as magic: an outline of gleaming purple light around her entire body.

The Collector did not question what was occurring before it. It simply acted on instinct first. It spared the frozen hobgoblin in front of it one glance before it slithered forwards and slammed its monstrously muscled, carapaced fist into the hobgoblin's chest.

The fist sprouted straight to the other side.

The hobgoblin's heart beat in the Collector's hand. Quick beats that grew shallower and shallower by the moment, separated as the organ was from the body.

The Collector crushed the heart in its hand, feeling the soft organ squelch and squish under immense pressure. With a pop, blood spurted every which way, splattering the Collector's ashen carapace for a second before draining into pores within the carapace.

The hobgoblin's corpse slumped down, free from the female daemon's manipulation.

The daemon sighed and grit her teeth as she stood up, swaying from side to side, trying to stop herself from falling.

The Collector sensed extreme muscular and now mental fatigue from her.

It clicked its mandibles.

Judging from her state and minute differences in temperature in the area, some time had passed.

"Tell me, how much time have I spent in this aberrant evolutionary cocoon?" said the Collector as its six eyes followed goblin tracks in the mud to where they had entered the clearing.

More would likely come.

Good. The Collector would finish what it had started to the end this time.

'You…you're back,' said the daemon.

"Do not waste time. Answer my question," said the Collector. "That you have defended my cocoon allows me to understand to minimal furthered degree your aberrant tie to my continued well being. Your usefulness thus increases in small measure.

But it does not grant you leeway to be inefficient."

'Ah, yes. Um…six hours, maybe? I think it's afternoon now, but it is hard to tell here where light doesn't shine," she said.

The Collector clicked its mandibles.

Unacceptable that it had allowed itself to be vulnerable for such an extended period of time.

And yet, curious – it could not even begin to conceptualize what had occurred, but it knew at an instinctive level that everything had changed about it.

It checked its status.

[SYSTEM STABILIZED...*

[ASSIMILATION COM...PLETE*

Metamorphosis Level 6

Biomass Level: 10/100

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Deer

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

Adaptations:

Internal Systems

-Ultrafiber Muscles Rank 6.4

--Coilboosters

-Autonomic Neuro-Bodily Matrix

--Metalloglottic Ossifier

External Systems

-Sensitive Hairs Rank 5.2

--Quill Spray

-Organic Hyperalloy Carapace Rank 5.4

--Longchain Chitinous Sublayer

Weapons Systems

-Monomolecular Claws Rank 4.4

-Pyrocatalytic Glands Rank 3

Current Form:

Assassin Bugbrute/Daemon/Dullscale Rohu/Jumping Arakka

[SYSTEM UPDATED*

[?Magic¿] Status

Mana Level: 100%

*(Take care to note this resource. With time, you will better feel its flow and become more efficient in its usage. You may restore portions of your mana by consuming beings with cores, even dormant ones.)*

Active Cores (2/3):

-Prime Core

--Trigger: Desire

*(Your primary magical core. Irreplaceable.

Take care that it is not damaged, for harm to it will limit mana flowing from this core, limiting all abilities associated with it. As you are now, damage to your prime core will also limit your ability to draw power from secondary cores.)

-Daemon Core

--Trigger: Wonder

*(Your secondary magical core. Damage to this will cause loss of function in using the Inhera tied to it: Sapia. You can increase the amount of cores you may have active in your body, but you will require the Neuro-Circulatory Reserve internal system adaptation that allows you to generate additional vital organs.)*

-EMPTY SLOT

Inhera:

-Sapia (Daemon Core)

*(Inhera of the Daemons.

With this, you may expend mana for a variety of force based magic. Pushing and pulling with the mind. Generation of a personal shield. Assistance with flight. Draining of mental energies in others to empower the physical body or to lower a target's susceptibility to mental manipulation.

Take note that if damage is registered on the Daemon Core, this ability will suffer as well)*

Ethera:

-The Devourer (Prime Core)

*(You are a devourer from the void.

All living things are bound the limitations set upon them by their birth on this world. The number of their circuits, the strength of their cores, the talent they have vested unto them or the sharpness of their instincts – these all limit life in this world.

You are not of this world. You are ever evolving.

By consuming a living being, you may add a portion of their spirit roots to your own and take their cores, allowing you to manifest the inherent powers associated with them.

In concept, you are capable of infinite growth.

Take care to note that slotting a consumed core only grants you its inherent powers such as Inhera, Ethera, and Primal Magic.

Marks of experience such as developed martial arts and skills will not be gained.

These, you will have to learn.)

Primal Magic:

-None *(Devour monsters that are attuned with mana flowing within them, and obtain the secrets of their forms and powers)*

Blessings:

-Blessing of Mount Oe

*(Blessings are tied to your essence, and regardless of what form you take, if you usurp the blessing of another being, it shall transfer to you and stay with you permanently)*

Primal Density: 5%

*(Consider this a form of magic resistance. At 5%, you may resist 5% of all the damage from magic sourced from Gates. However, magic that does not herald from gates such as primal magic, certain Inhera, and Ethera will bypass this.

Continue to evolve to raise this attribute. Consuming creatures with primal density of their own will increase this attribute's growth rate.)

Root Consumption Limit (Level 6): 50%

*(For every metamorphosis level, you can consume a set amount of spirit roots to add to your own. Once you reach a maximum consumption limit, you are unable to absorb more – any excess converts into raw mana.

Reach additional metamorphosis levels to gain even more powerful physical forms to increase your capacity to intake spirit roots.)

The Collector clicked its mandibles.

A fundamental difference.

There was now an addition of a Magic Status and all that came with it.

Extremely anomalous, and yet, this was not the greatest oddity.

It was the feeling of the evolutionary system.

The Collective Hivemind did not so much have a voice as it did a feeling when the Collector interfaced with it through the psionic shard implanted within its consciousness.

But the feeling of the system was now different.

Vastly different.

This…was not the Hivemind it knew.

And yet, still similar. A feeling of two voices merged.

Where this other voice came from and what it was, the Collector knew nothing of, only that it was not an intrusive one. It even felt similar in feeling to the Hivemind's voice, not entirely separate and yet still distinct.

A feeling that the Collector could not calculate, only approximate with feeling, and the secondary system voice felt much the same as the Collective's presence: a deeply ingrained part of the Collector just as intrinsic as its bones and flesh.

An aberration of the highest level.

The Collective Hivemind shard implanted in the Collector could engage in emergency assimilation processes for as a psionic shard, it was susceptible to attack from certain psionic sensitive entities in the known universe.

In response, the psionic shard would assimilate the intruding psionic profile, completely devouring the consciousness of whatever foolish individual decided it was wise to tackle the full processing power of the Hivemind - an entity comprised of billions of minds meshed together.

But never had the shard itself changed at a fundamental level.

Yet pondering this situation further was inefficient to the Collector's mental resources.

It was not equipped to understand the higher workings of the Collective Hivemind for it was implanted to believe that the system was absolute and rigid in its functioning, unable to change to any degree for the Hivemind was a biological processing system closest to nearing absolute perfection.

That it could even question how the system had changed and how it was wrong was outside the limitations imposed upon it by the Collective.

The Collector clicked its mandibles.

It sensed further movement from behind the clearing.

Approximately fifteen meters away.

The squishing of small and larger feet on mud and the rustling of bodies against foliage.

The Collector devoured the rest of the hobgoblin's body in hurried movements, tearing off its limbs and shoving them down its detachable jaw. In seconds, the bulky corpse was gone.

Blood spatters remained on the ground.

Messy, but the Collector had a battle to attend to. It devoured also a sample of the lightstones scattered by the goblins before moving on.

*Biomass gained (3)*

Biomass Level: 13/100

*Spirit roots gained (5)*

Root Consumption Limit: 55/100

*Metalloglottic ossifier sample retrieved*

-Lightstone

For now, it was content with feeling that there were no combat related declines in function associated with the system's change.

Rather, as it flexed its fingers out, feeling its muscles contract and relax, it was even stronger.

Stronger than it had ever been in this world..

It could finally feel magic flowing through it.

From the twin hearts beating in its chest, it sensed warmth.

Before, it had felt this warmth as one large, smothering sensation of heat, but now, it could feel the details, how the heat trickled and flowed through every little pathway in its body, nourishing it, strengthening it.

Bending to its will.

Now that the Collector could sense the flow of mana within itself, working with it was almost second nature.

After all, fundamentally mana and spirit roots and this core all worked with physical anchors, and these anchors, the blood vessels and nerves and hearts – the Collector had absolute dominion over to such a fine tuned degree that no humanoid body on this world would ever match it.

Just as the Collector would pump blood into its serpentine tail, it willed mana to flow, and a rippling red aura enveloped the carapaced flesh. The fins on the tail retracted to allow for uninhibited movement.

The flesh in the tail screamed and tore as the Collector registered some internal damage to its muscles.

A miscalculation in inputting too much mana, it seemed. It took note, then reassessed its calculations now that it became more familiar in operating its mana.

The Collector withdrew mana from its tail, then pumped it back in with its adjusted calculations.

This time, the mana flowed properly, flowing in the right quantities throughout the blood vessels and nerves, strengthening the tail and wrapping it in a glowing aura of red.

The female daemon trudged up to the Collector, staring at its red wreathed tail. 'Wow. You...you're already using reinforcement?

You...didn't even have to meditate.

Learning how to flow your mana, to perceive and feel the flow of every single one of the countless branches of power in the body, that takes months, years to perfect, but this...this is almost perfect.'

"The mere flow of mana is easily within the boundaries of my processing power," said the Collector. "It would be obvious that tinkerers such as yourselves with severely stunted mental capabilities would be unable to ascertain the flow of this resource.

Yet, still curious.

The tinkerers that I possess stored memories of would never even begin to have the capacity to direct this resource within their bodies.

That those among you in this world do, even in requiring significant periods of time to develop, is testament in small measure to an elevated level of both mental and physical strength."

The Collector clicked its mandibles, readying again to face its enemies.

"It seems you are capable of fending for yourself with your sudden regenerative growth," said the Collector.

It did not look at her, only staring ahead into the darkness, sensing the targets it was to devour. "Agreeable. You now in small measure undo the hideous perversion wrought upon your nature and hunt as a predator should.

There are nine hobgoblin variants approaching, all of them spaced out in intervals of two to three meters. The closest lies fifteen meters away.

There are several movements of lesser variants interspersing this hobgoblin formation. Normal goblins. You will deal with these, for they are beneath me.

You will continue to provide me information. Means to wield this mana. Further direction in utilizing this ability of yours, this 'Sapia', and further information of this world.

As you are now, if you oppose me, you will never defeat me, and even one act of defiance will yield only your swift death."

'O-okay,' said the daemon as she trudged behind the Collector. 'I…I can fight, I promise.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles before doubling up on its charging power, flowing blood into its already magically enhanced tail and activating its coilboosters.

The tail swelled up in size, curling around itself like a spring before all that power, all that pent up muscular force, exploded forwards, this time with a rush of red energy.

The Collector shot forwards, and the shockwave burst of movement knocked the daemon girl on her back, but the Collector paid her no heed. She would recover soon. Instead, it remembered its trigger.

Desire.

And it desired now more so than ever targets to devour.

Their flesh and blood and bones and roots and cores. It would take from them everything.

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The Collector snaked through the tall, grassy and muddy undergrowth as a speeding blur of red and white.

Several tree trunks tinted red in its aura zipped past it in its speed, and it snaked around a tree trunk nearest to the first hobgoblin as its sensitive hairs picked up the target's location.

Dirt, branches, and leaves rushed up in clouds dragged up by the Collector's speed as it swerved around the wide trunk, taking the hobgoblin's blind side.

The hobgoblin did not even have a chance to react and look at the Collector before a white-carapaced fist slammed into its chest and burst through its back in an impact of shattering bone and crushed flesh.

The Collector raised its fist up, tearing the upper half of the hobgoblin's body in half. The hobgoblin corpse knelt to the ground, the two halves of its torn head falling to its sides.

Several normal goblin jumped back in surprise, yelping in fright and falling onto their behinds in the dirt as they gazed up at the towering, armored and horned form of the Collector.

The Collector paid these unworthy foes no heed as it sensed the next hobgoblin to slaughter.

Then, the unexpected occurred.

Unlike the first hobgoblin, this one continued to fight even with half its body torn in half. Its burly arms tried to reach out to the Collector, but the Collector was ready.

It did not register surprise that slowed it down, after all.

Instead, it caught the hobgoblin's arms in its fists and then with a jerking motion back, tore them completely out of their sockets, arcs of blood spraying in the air and splattering on the goblins below as they shrieked and ran.

The Collector clicked its mandibles in analysis as it noted the aberrant hobgoblin.

Much like the first one it had devoured, this one seemed to also be a new variant of some kind.

Black in color with red eyes on either half of its split head. Masses of wriggling tendrils on its back.

Magical energy emanating from the tendrils. A veil of black aura.

Rustling.

The next hobgoblin in the formation nearing.

The Collector calculated its approach. It was to appear in a space between two trees directly in front of the Collector.

The Collector took one of the dismembered hobgoblin arms in its hand and powered its arm with mana, surging it with chaotic red.

Then, it hurled the arm straight at the clearing, and the moment the next hobgoblin's head poked in to survey the situation, the thrown arm crashed into its skull like a missile, splattering both limb and head into explosions of flesh and bone.

Again, this hobgoblin was anomalous, continuing to move even with its head split apart like a burst watermelon.

The headless specimen stepped forwards, on a shaky leg at first, then regained its balance, entering into a full on charge against the Collector

It would seem to eliminate these variants of hobgoblin, the Collector would have to consume them.

Or perhaps there was an alternative.

The Collector unsheathed the bugbrute proboscis in its right arm.

The curved, sleek black spike slid forwards from a gap in the Collector's white forearm carapace. This spike was fragile, unsuited for combat usage as a blade, but with an easy to read target like this–

The Collector slammed the proboscis straight into the aberrant hobgoblin's chest, injecting the bugbrute's toxin in mass quantities flowing throughout the specimen.

Even without a head, the magical compound could still affect movement in corpses with severely damaged neural centers, and yet, the Collector could still perceive the specimen wrapping its arms around the Collector's own, trying to prey free with futile effort.

The Collector clicked its mandibles before it sensed the female daemon's approach. It did not look back at her, instead using its sensitive hairs to locate her.

She seemed to float in the air at an elevation of one meter, and as she neared, the various scattered movements of the goblins slowed, then stopped to a halt as their bodies were ground to pulps like flesh put under a hydraulic press.

"This 'Sapia' of yours," said the Collector. "I wish to utilize it to control this specimen. Yet, it requires me to utilize to your trigger. 'Wonder', it is.

How is it that you perceive this emotion to a strong degree?"

'It…it's hard to explain in just words. Ah…may I?' The daemon floated behind the Collector, purple outlining her figure, and the end of her ponytail, the spike called the 'thel' that acted as the focus point for Sapia, extended outwards. 'If I connect to your thel, I can share that emotion with you. Once you know it once, you can remember it.'

"You are tired. Your mana does not seem to flow through you in significant quantities. Your power is still severely stunted. Unable to damage me," said the Collector, assessing the risks of allowing her a little measure of access to its psionic network. "Very well. As you do so, inform me of your regenerative capabilities. Is this also an ability inherent to this 'Sapia'?"

'No, it's…from you. Came from touching the cocoon. I…don't know what it is. Healing magic is so hard to come by. And something that can clear away the Helian Brand is…unheard of.' She reached out her thel, and it gently hovered up to the Collector's own.

The two spikes of black, wiry mass shook for a moment before the Collector felt it.

Wonder.

Immediately, the Collector clicked its mandibles and writhed, sending the daemon ducking and shrinking away. This was an emotion it was unable to feel, it knew this instinctively. Its programming should never have allowed it.

It knew curiosity, yes. It even knew surprise in limited degree when the goblin champion had exceeded its expectations, surprise that later morphed into admiration.

But this emotion, though it had the same base, was far different in intensity.

It did not know how to process this emotion. Where to direct it. It stared at the beheaded hobgoblin specimen still impaled in front of it, still trying to wriggle free.

Did this thing, this lowly vermin, deserve this emotion…this wonder?

No. The Collector knew this instinctively even if it had never felt this emotion. It did not know how to deal with this emotion, and it did not wish to now when time was a sensitive resource.

Like putting a match to a fire and then blowing it out, the Collector used the warmth of this emotion to open its Daemon core and then suppressed it as much as it could, focusing instead on the battle before it, on the desire that it was far more familiar with.

'I'm…I'm sorry about that. I didn't know-, I'm sorr-' began the daemon as she tentatively neared the Collector.

'Apologies are a waste of mental resources. You have provided me with the catalyst to open this core of yours. That is sufficient.

Answer me this now: this 'Trigger' for magic, does it require consistent activation?" said the Collector.

The daemon shook her head. 'No. Not unless your core is forcefully shutdown, sealed, or damaged.'

'Agreeable. Then you will have no more need to intrude into my psionic network again, nor shall I allow it,' said the Collector.

'O-okay, I'm, I'm sor-,' The daemon stopped herself, shaking her head as she remembered the Collector's words.

With the Daemon core open, the Collector felt the breadth of its powers, this 'Sapia', flow through its body. Tinges of purple flickered in its aura of red, and its two main lavender eyes began to glow bright.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. As it had theorized, this power was quite similar to psionics.

Utilization of the psionic network, the 'mind' as tinkerers tended to generalize it, to affect tangible phenomena upon matter or manipulate the workings of other psionic profiles.

As the system had said before, the creation of a personal shield. Manipulation of the personal body to assist in wing-based flight and general enhanced movement. Exerting holding, pushing, and pulling force upon matter.

All of these, the Collector was familiar with.

Even possessed to some degree in its original form, though its psionic energy was largely invested into shielding and resistance to weapons that manipulated the fabrics of space and time.

Regardless, the operation of this 'Sapia' would also be like second nature to it.

The Collector willed the thel attached to its largest dreadlock of fibrous hair to point towards the hobgoblin specimen. It projected an attempt to weaken any mental defenses inherent within the creature, and found that access to its psionic profile was denied.

'I see now,' said the daemon as she hovered around the still struggling hobgoblin body, nodding at it. She hovered a hand over the wriggling black tendrils on the corpse's back.

Though the tendrils appeared like flesh, they were not solid, comprised of magical energy as they were.

'There is…there is something controlling this. Sapia is strong, very strong, almost the strongest Dominus type magic– magic meant to affect the mind-, but...'

She touched a hand to her chin. 'Hmm. Whoever is controlling this must have conditions on their power. Or they are very powerful.' She looked back to the Collector. "But…I wouldn't worry. About them taking your mind.

You are even stronger. Your mind…it is invincible. I think maybe not even the gods can do anything to it."

"Very strong, is this creature's psionic capabiltiy?" said the Collector. "Then I welcome their efforts to attempt an infiltration of my psionic profile.

Severed from the greater Collective I may be, there is still enough latent defense from the shard within me that any psionic assault this world may muster possesses high probability to fail."

The Collector said this, but as it felt desire for the battle grow within itself, it thought perhaps it would be a shame for a specimen, a strong one in particular, to waste itself breaking its mind upon processing power that was not entirely the Collector's own.

The Collector clicked its mandibles, driving away those thoughts also. Heretical. The shard was part of itself, one of the fundamental pieces of its psionic profile that gave it purpose.

Must focus on the extermination at hand. Must make it efficient.

The Collector withdrew the proboscis from the hobgoblin, and it faltered back several steps.

Notably, blood did not trickle from the sizable puncture wound for the bugbrute's toxins possessed hemostasis-inducing properties.

Before the walking corpse could respond, however, the Collector was upon it, tearing it from limb to limb and devouring it.

*Biomass gained (3)*

Biomass Level: 16/100

*Spirit roots gained (5)*

Root Consumption Limit: 60/100

The Collector would find another specimen to test the bugbrute venom on.

For now, it calculated that with the aid of its Sapia to control the venom's flow, the toxin could allow a corpse to move in complex, automated patterns capable of assisting in combat.

However, having the corpse retain consciousness would be difficult.

Sapia, or the least the type generated from the female daemon's replicated core was not specialized for controlling so much as taking.

It was meant to destroy minds, not control them. It sensed that there were potential Daemon variants that were potentially more specialized towards control, but these, it would have to encounter and devour later.

For now, the Collector would collect more battle data and fine tune its capabilities.

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Within five minutes, the Collector found itself at the end of the hobgoblin formation. The last of the hobgoblins, all of them of the same aberrant variation as the others, breaking apart in digestion within the Collector.

*Biomass gained (21)*

Biomass Level: 37/100

*Spirit roots gained (35)*

Root Consumption Limit: 95/100

A whole host of goblins, all of them white or red skinned unlike the aberrant hobgoblins, floated in the air, trapped by the female daemon's sapia.

Her thel hovered in the air beside her as she channeled her magic.

'To use Force Push, you just have to will it. Kind of…kind of like wanting to push something away, but not with your body, with your mind, your will,' said the daemon.

"This much is known to me." The Collector clicked its mandibles in understanding, exercising what the female daemon was telling it.

"I see," said the Collector as it experimented with one of many goblins suspended in mid-air by the female daemon.

With a thought, it activated the Sapia spell known as Force Push.

The small, white-skinned goblin, frozen as it was on every inch of its body, could not even scream as almost the entirety of its body was blown apart as if struck by a battering arm.

The blood and half-destroyed organs visible from its severed body remained beating stuck inside, kept still by the daemon's sapian force.

'Amazing…,' said the daemon as she hovered in the air, blinking and nodding. Both her hands flickered with purple energy as they kept the goblins trapped.

"I must calibrate this ability more," said the Collector. "I intended only to sever an arm. Bring forth the next experimental unit."

The daemon nodded and willed another goblin in front of the Collector.

The Collector this time recalibrated its calculations, and when it generated its Force Push, it was more successful, blowing apart the goblin's arm. Some margin of error. It had also blown apart a some of its shoulder and chest.

'It takes a daemon years to grow to your level. And…and you are getting better by the moment. Days of training, training I had to do for years and years, so much of it done in just seconds…if…if you keep growing like this, then you really will keep your promise, you really will kill them all'

The Collector clicked its mandibles, staring at its right clawed daemon hand. It had noticed a flash of purple emit from it before it cast this Force Push.

The daemon raised a didactic finger up. 'Ah, I remember a warning. When you use Force Push, there is a tell, and it is always from the right hand. Before using it, a tiny bit of light will show up there.

The same goes for Force Pull on your left.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it drew out its burly left arm towards the goblin. It willed the goblin towards it. As the daemon warned, the Collector's left arm did flicker in a small second of purple.

The goblin hurtled towards the Collector's palm at such a speed that when it hit the solid surface of carapace, it simply blew apart like roadkill.

"Further calibrations required in utilizing this as well," said the Collector. It took a moment to analyze this power, to feel its flow and how it worked.

Because it was fundamentally tied to its own mind and body, the Collector could grasp the nature of this power, this Sapia, with just the slightest of prompting.

"I see now," the Collector clicked its mandibles. "Push and Pull. These are the foundational bases of this system of mental processing known as Sapia. Utilizing measures of both, one may be capable of affecting variations of both pushing and pulling power.

Such as this-,"

The Collector felt power crackle across both its daemon arms, lighting them in purple as it alternated between pushing and pulling power in smooth, equally yielding and pressuring waves.

The ground split apart as a sphere of dirt, mud, and foliage almost five meters in diameter dug up from the earth, enveloped in a purple aura as the Collector held it in the air with Sapian power.

The sphere was not perfect. It undulated and wobbled. Unstable.

The Collector required more calibrating on this as well. It possessed an exceptional grasp of the flow of mana within and outside its body for it was merely like an extension of a bodily part.

And because mana formed the building block of any type of magic, the Collector also possessed a natural grasp of magic, yet, because it was still an entirely new method of movement, there was unfamiliarity it had to adjust for and smooth out.

"And I see now the mechanisms by which you dispatched of those inferior goblin specimens." The Collector clenched its daemon hands into fists, willing the pushing and pulling power into destructive swirls.

Power permeated into the sphere, and then a second later, burst out from the inside. It was like a miniature grenade had been detonated, blowing apart the sizable clod of dirt into an omni-directional shower of earthen remains.

"And in utilizing expending power externally, there is a tradeoff. Not only is there expenditure of mana, but the psionic shielding grows thinner in proportion to the degree of force exerted outside the body," noted the Collector.

'That…is all right. You…you can use Force Hold and Force Rend already. Five…five years, it takes of focusing of pushing and pulling. To know how to Hold. Then three more years to Rend.

Even for me, it took two years for both, and…and Thorian said I was special,' remarked the daemon. 'All of the Low Forces, you know already. You…you may even be able to learn the High Forces.'

"Your conceptualization of 'special' does not even begin to scratch even the barest of surfaces that comprise the honed evolutionary edge invested within me," said the Collector.

The Collector's sensitive hairs lining the seams in its white carapace stood on end, vibrating as they sensed waves of motion in the air.

Vibrational analysis indicated an object, a projectile, approaching at staggering velocity surpassing the breaking point of sound.

Sensitive hairs picked up on movements within a twenty-meter radius. Lower in cluttered environments such as this. The object moved too quickly, and the Collector sensed it too late for an immediate physical response.

Stone shattered against the side of the Collector's head, and a sonic crack echoed from afar.

The four sets of daemon horns curling around the sides of the Collector's head formed a natural helmed, and the rock broke apart on them with a shattering impact.

The Collector's head jerked to the side from the impact, but the thick ultrafiber musculature surrounding its neck kept it anchored firm, preventing any concussive damage to the brain nor excessive shock to the spine.

It clicked its mandibles as chips of shattered horn fell from its head and landed on the dirt.

The horns were not covered in carapace, durable as they already were, but they were shielded by Sapian power.

This projectile was powerful, and no doubt ejected by a powerful being.

The Collector analyzed the small shards of pulverized rock - remnants of the original projectile - and found that they were simply ordinary clumps of mineral.

Small green flickers of magical energy faded from the chunks of rock.

The power of this projectile came entirely from the specimen that had launched it.

'Are you okay!?' said the daemon as she floated near to the Collector.

'Do not make unnecessary movements lest you become a target,' said the Collector as it projected its thoughts. The daemon stilled as she heard the Collector in her head. 'This one…this one must be strong to unleash a projectile of this caliber.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it located an approximation of the projectile's origin from the sonic crack.

Desire pumped throughout its being.

'I alone will devour this one. None will take my prey from me.'

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Read Alien Evolution System Chapter 51 - Thrall Hunt I online for free - AllNovelFull

Hrunt tapped at his pale-skinned, thin wrist, his clawed, wrinkled flinger grazing over a bracelet of thin, darkened bone.

The bone, fashioned from one of the lord's personally evolved hobgoblin, spoke to him, letting him sense where its owner was in this accursed forest of darkness and giant bugs.

His staff of bone and wood hovered beside him, emanating a frosty blue light to keep bugs away. At least there were no big spiders in this part of the forest.

"Hrm. Weak signal. And they aren't moving. Strange." Hrunt tapped at the bone bracelet several times, trying to smack it back to function, but nothing.

It seemed to work fine, meaning the party of evolved hobgoblins the lord had sent out to investigate the surge of magical energy had simply stopped moving.

"Relax. Maybe they're just napping."

Hrunt turned to his companion.

Ongus, the goblin champion he had called from the realm of Foraoise. It truly was strange how much the green-skinned goblins had changed since they had started to live in Foraoise.

Ongus was tall, a full head taller than Hrunt, but unlike the champions of Fjall where muscle and might reigned supreme, Ongus was lanky. A pot belly jutted from his stomach as he scratched it with long, lanky arms that almost dragged on the forest floor.

Shaggy brown fur coated most of Ongus's body, and his deep sunken in green eyes seemingly had little to no energy in them.

"It's so cold here," said Ongus with a yawn. "I ought to get some sleep too."

"We are at the eve of war!" said Hrunt. "This surge of magical power, I have felt it, and none like it has ever passed through me.

That sorcerer, that accursed human, he has made a move against us, I know it! And with a surge like this, more humans, their adventurers, are sure to come."

"Wonder why the lord doesn't just run. He seems in over his head if he thinks this whole war thing is going to work," said Ongus.

"It will. It must. I have spent the past day working myself to the bone, channeling the dungeon portal so that all of us, we who have been oppressed and scattered across the realms, may unite." Hrunt bared a chipped fang at Ongus. "And yet all who answer my call are ungrateful goblins like you."

"I dunno. It's been what, five hundred years or something of a big time like that? Since the last time goblins from other realms met?

My kind barely remembers yours. Look at how different we are. Y'know, just seems pointless." Ongus shrugged, his thin shoulders and large arms making exaggerated up and down motions.

"We might as well all be completely different at this point. I have no idea how your kind live, and you and your frosty ice boys have no idea how we live.

The old man's gone nuts, that's for sure. Thinks it's still like a thousand years ago or something when there were lots of us all together.

Well, can't blame him, I guess, he did wake up from that era. Must be real jarring to see how much has changed."

"You would dare to question the lord's grand purpose?" Hrunt shook his head, his vision blurring as his anger flared up. He was too tired from channeling the dungeon portal without sleep or food or rest just as the lord had commanded.

He sighed. "You do not know. But as a thrall, I have listened to stories of how the goblin kingdom, a kingdom, not a bunch of scattered tribes struggling to live, spread across all the realms with a king that commanded even the respect of the gods."

Ongus shrugged again. "Then the gods got tired or something and blasted our old king into little bits. Figure the same will happen here."

"Why did you even answer my call if you are to be like this?" said Hrunt.

"Dunno. Faeries and Elves control all the warp temples, and the world will end before they ever let us get near them. So I never get the chance to leave the realm," said Ongus. "Thought it would be fun, though.

Hey, at least I brought a couple of my friends. You needed numbers, right? Your boys from the north wouldn't even answer your call, but I did.

That must mean something, right?"

Hrunt entered into a state of disgruntled quiet. Ongus was strong, that much was evident from the amount of mana surging from him.

As strong as Juzo.

But Ongus brought with him only five hobgoblins.

Hrunt had tried calling the entire rest of the Frostskull tribe, a tribe numbering a hundred strong, but only those loyal to him, a pithy twenty, had further come. The remainder did not wish to lose more and stayed with the other half of the tribe led under their own Champion.

Then, Hrunt tried calling for more goblins from Xin.

None would come, believing the loss of a champion too great a risk for them. Even the remainder of Juzo's tribe wished to leave, their desire quelled only by the lord's domineering presence.

The lord himself had raised twenty evolved, likely the maximum of his ability, and that meant in total, there were almost sixty hobgoblins and two hundred goblins in their camp.

A force easily powerful enough to take the human village to the south, but then what?

Adventurers would arrive. No, strong ones were probably already on the way, lured in by the surge of magic.

What would they do then?

Hrunt shook his head. No retreat, that was the lord had said. Fight or die trying to resurrect the old ways. All these new goblins, these green-skinned ones and red-skinned ones, all of them had forgotten the old ways.

But not Hrunt. He would stay true to the fight and the lord to the end, because as a thrall, he understood the importance of tradition.

Tradition was the only thing that remained when there was nothing but bones left of a generation.

The only thing that mattered enough to get passed down.

Even now, Hrunt worried.

At the lord's command, he had trekked westwards for two hours with Ongus by now, following slightly behind the evolved hobgoblin party sent by the lord himself.

But even leaving the main camp, the dungeon, so defenseless worried Hrunt. Other than the lord, he alone possessed the means to connect with the dungeon and move its defenses and resources.

If adventurers attacked now-

No, Hrunt had to focus on his current mission, for that was the lord's will, and the lord was mighty enough to handle himself.

"I am close enough for my Farsight," said Hrunt. He grabbed his bone staff and punched it into the yielding soil. The human skull capping the staff glowed, the sockets infusing with pale blue light.

Swirls of flaky ice began to form above the skull, building up into a clear ball.

"That's pretty interesting," said Ongus as he narrowed his squinty green eyes, staring at images beginning to flash from the ball of ice.

"And your tribe would know the ancient art of bone binding should you have kept up with the old ways," said Hrunt. He shook his head, his skull helmet shaking from side to side. "I am not the mightiest among the thralls but look even what I may do.

We are a nearly three hundred meters away, but with this skull, the skull of a mighty human shaman, I may usurp the very spells he once wielded against us.

Look-," said Hrunt as he proudly pointed at the images formed in the ice ball. His expression twisted in surprise and his boasting ended abruptly. "What…is that?"

A monster of a kind Hrunt had never seen before stood atop the corpse of the lord's evolved hobgoblin. This monster…it was dangerous.

Dangerous beyond measure, he could tell, even through the simple image.

Ongus, too, sensed this, and whistled. "Wow, look at that. You get a lot of these kinda monsters here? Looks kinda like a daemon. Thought they were basically extinct or something."

"No…I know not what this is, but it must be dealt with," said Hrunt. "We must go back and inform the lord. Obtain reinforcements. It may be a monstrosity crafted by the sorcerer to the west.

This time, I can tell that it is sensitive to magic. Better."

"Relax, relax," said Ongus as he cracked his neck and looked around. He picked up a decently sized rock, palming it in his wide hand. "Yes, this ought to do. Y'know, one of the reasons I came here was cause' I was kinda curious.

I've blown off a lotta faerie and elf heads with my throws. Pretty proud of my throwing arm myself.

Always wanted to know: how do Terran creatures stack up?"

Ongus cupped the rock in both of his furred hands and then drew it far back, his long, lanky arms stretching almost impossibly far behind him as he drove a foot forwards into the dirt.

"No, do not alert it until we have more forces!" said Hrunt, but it was too late.

Green light surged into the rock, and then Ongus threw it. A sonic crack boomed from the throw, driving back a cloud of dirt and loose foliage.

Hrunt squinted his eyes as the stone sailed far into the forest, pinging off several tree trunks until-

Hrunt looked at the ice ball.

The stone smashed against the monster, but it remained largely unharmed, only taking a mere chip of damage to its horn.

Then, the monster moved. Fast. Towards their general location.

"Wow," said Ongus with another whistle. He picked up another rock, infusing it once more with magical energy that shone green. "I ought to wind up for this one."

He rotated his throwing arm, and each time it rotated, a surge of green energy crackled around him, intensifying with each rotation.

After five rotations, he stopped, cupping the rock in his hands. His eyes were glued to the ice ball, looking at the speeding form of the monster as it slithered through the forest at impossibly fast speeds, snaking past tree trunks, angling its body so it used them as cover.

"Hmm. This thing's real fast. Trying to dodge me, too. But I'm too good for that. In Foraoise, the forests are so overgrown that we get a kind of sixth sense in em', let's us see through the trunks and kinda feel for things.

And with the right bit of spin-," Ongus directed the flow of magical energy surging in the rock, the aura of green started to whirl around the stone.

Then, Ongus threw the rock once more, and this time, the force of the throw was massive enough to blow apart the dirt around his feet in a tiny explosion.

Hrunt shielded his eyes from debris as he kept watching the ice ball.

Once more, the glowing green rock shattered against the monster, this time on its arm. An explosion of shattered rock and released magical energy crackled from the point of impact, cracking the monster's white shell.

"And bullseye. But wow, that thing has really, really hard skin," said Ongus. "Thought with five wind ups, I would blow through its arm completely."

"Look, you fool, it is coming to us again!" said Hrunt as he pointed at the creature's speeding form. It had only paused for a mere second after being hit. "It is nearly upon us!"

"Oh, relax. Here, this ought to do it. I'll go for its head again." Ongus picked up another rock, cupped it, then wound it up ten times, charging up a bit less than double the power he had inputted in the last throw. "Goodbye, monster. You were pretty fun to play around with."

Ongus threw the stone, and this time, the blowback of the throw was enough to knock him straight off his feet. He landed on his butt and rubbed his arm. "Whew, haven't had to throw that hard in a long, long time.

So?"

Ongus stared up at the ice ball and even his squinty eyes widened.

The monster had stopped the speeding rock in midair, right before it could impact his head. An aura of purple energy outlined the creature, and that aura extended to the rock, holding it in place.

The monster clicked its mandibles as it analyzed the rock.

Green magical energy from Ongus still lay infused in the rock, spinning in complex angles that let them bounce off from tree trunks and swerve to hit the beast.

The rock floated into the monster's own hands, and it cupped it. A flash of purple energy burst from its hands, infusing into the stone.

"It…it's gonna throw it?" whispered Ongus.

"Take cover!" shouted Hrunt. "I cannot cast more than one spell at a time. We must move!"

"No, no, relax," said Ongus as he stood up. Though his voice seemed ever calm, his steps drew him towards the ice ball, his eyes utterly glued to the image projected on it. "There's no way, right? That thing's still what, a hundred meters away?

Plenty of trees left in his way.

He doesn't have my senses. He doesn't know how to use my Spin. He hasn't practiced like me.

Come on, there's no way he's going to hit us."

Report chapter

Hrunt watched the ice ball, at the monstrous creature reflected on the surface.

The monster infused its own purple magical energy into the rock and then craned its muscular arms behind its back, twisting its serpentine body in a way very similar to Ongus's own throwing form.

There was no doubt about this. This creature was going to hit them. Or get close to hitting them.

Hrunt disabled farsight, and the ball of ice hovering above his skull staff shattered.

"What are you doing!" said Ongus. "He-there's no way-,"

Ongus's arm broke apart from the elbow.

It was like an all-erasing, invisible pillar of force had run straight through his arm, completely disintegrating everything much of what connected his forearm to his upper arm.

It was only when the sonic boom erupted and cracked towards them that blood finally spurted from Ongus's mangled limb.

The goblin champion howled in pain as he leaped up and down, his one remaining hand grabbing tight at the bleeding, armless stump under his shoulder.

Hrunt took action. "You see now the wisdom of my thoughts?"

"Do-do something!" said Ongus as he pointed forwards, into the darkness of the forest clearing where this monster must have been rapidly approaching.

One hundred meters was nothing to this beast that traveled the forests with a speed that surpassed any of the insects that called it their home.

Hrunt grunted and took one of the necklaces around his neck, this one lined with the teeth of the ice antlered shard stag and channeled the frigid magic that lay inherent within them.

He tore the necklace off and tossed it in front of him, and in mid-air, it glowed a bright blue before exploding, manifesting with a sudden gust of chilling air into a wall of sturdy ice.

"This will protect us. Now-," Hrunt turned around to talk to Ongus only to find that the champion had run away, using his superior agility to rush into the other end of the clearing.

"Green-skinned coward," spat Hrunt, but he knew he had no time to be cursing his luck and choice of companions. His lengthy, wrinkled ears pricked up, the wispy gray hairs on them standing on end as he heard rustling.

The rustling of a massive presence circling around the thickly forested edge of the clearing. Hrunt's bulbous blue eyes struggled to keep up with his hearing as he heard the creature rustle in one direction, then in the complete opposite end of the clearing, and then again somewhere else.

Hrunt hugged the wall of ice he created.

Ongus's Spin was extremely impressive.

An application of his Inhera that allowed his kind to charge up strong blows by rotating their arms and general body tempering magic, but it was a costly technique.

Hrunt's eyes were extremely sensitive to magic.

That was one of the reasons the tribe had chosen him from birth to be a thrall. Though his body was smaller, weaker, his mind was sharp, and his eyes even sharper.

Any flare up of magic, Hrunt would sense, and he would hide behind the durable wall of ice at the right angle before any rock hit him.

But that did not happen.

Instead, something blurred into Hrunt's vision, and he found a strand of silk tied to his skull staff.

The end of the strand lay in the darkness of the clearing, and before he could react, the string tightened and reeled in, and within seconds, the staff was gone, absorbed into the darkness.

Hrunt had sensed no magic at all from that maneuver. He growled at the dark. Then that meant that this monster had both magical might and physical power.

A rare combination for familiars.

Something like this would have taken the entire Frostskull tribe to tear down.

Like the time they had prevailed against the giant Jotnar monstrosity.

But Hrunt was alone here. He could not scavenge the bones of the fallen to fuel his magic. All he had were the rapidly diminishing accessories of bone on his body now.

And alone, he instinctively knew his death was imminent.

If…if there was even the slightest chance of talking his way out of his death, of groveling in the dirt or bargaining, he would have taken it, but he had a feeling.

A feeling that crawled from his neck down to his spine, sending shivers throughout his body in a way that the cold of the north never could.

The cold of a death that was to come to him through the jaws of a predator, something that was pointless to talk to.

Knowing this strangely took out much of his fear, and he felt oddly calm. He put a hand on one of his arms, growling and baring his cracked, stubby teeth.

The Collector circled the 'thrall', granting it some auditory signals here and there to allow it to perform some actions.

In this way, the Collector would gain battle data about the thrall and his magic while also ascertaining whether there was anything truly useful to consume from the specimen.

After all, as of now, the Collector merely had three cores it could slot into its body, though in time, it would be able to develop more capacity.

It had already devoured the stick of wood topped with a human cranium and found that there was not much useful for it.

*Metalloglottic Ossifier sample obtained*

--Runewood

The wood had a property of channeling magical energy through it more efficiently, but not to a staggeringly improved degree, and the skull's biomass was that of an ordinary human.

There had been no roots or core to retrieve from the human, for it seemed that those were even more sensitive to expiration than even memory retrieval from the brain.

This left the skull with only its base biomass which provided not even a tenth of a single point at the Collector's current level.

Yet, the thrall did not seem to be doing anything of note worth either. Rather, the specimen seemed to be waiting for the Collector to make the first move.

The Collector desired to force him to utilize his 'mistform' spell.

Now that the Collector possessed the means to sense mana and its flow, it would be able to determine the primary functioning of the spell that had once confounded it so.

Thus, the Collector emerged from its hiding spot, surging forwards with a closed fist to smash against the thrall.

The thrall barely had a moment of time to look up at the Collector's towering form before a carapaced, red-wreathed fist smashed down into his head.

The Collector clicked its mandibles in understanding as its fist, wide enough to be size of the thrall's entire head, whooshed past the thrall's form.

The thrall dissipated into foggy mist, and several meters away, the thrall reformed with his arm stuck out towards the Collector.

Notably, the thrall had a deep scratch running from his forehead down to his stomach in an approximation of where the Collector would have torn through him.

Light emanated from the thrall's arm, specifically from the bones underneath the skin.

The Collector perceived that all the bones comprising its hands up to its humerus glowed bright with blue, shining through the specimen's flesh.

A moment later, and the arm burst apart in the same hue of light, and a wave of rippling and rumbling white and blue magical energy crashed towards the Collector in an avalanche that managed to even dwarf it.

The Collector projected its Sapian barrier outwards from itself, preventing the massive wave of mana from directly touching its skin.

The hostile mana slammed against its purple Sapian barrier, forming into an ice formation that towered over even the darkwood trees at the edge of the clearings.

Mana Level: 60%40%

Interesting. The Collector clicked its mandibles as it analyzed what had occurred.

The thrall's mistform essentially used its own bones as a conduit to channel mana throughout its body and disperse it, temporarily reducing the body into an elementally compatible structure of mist.

That made it impervious to ordinary physical damage and highly resistant to even the magic-boosted punches from the Collector.

The Collector then inspected the ice around it.

It was completely encased in a towering structure of ice, though extending its Sapian barrier had prevented the ice from constricting its movements, leaving the Collector standing in a neat sphere within the frozen wave.

It drew the barrier back, for extending it past the body was heavily taxing to mana, as were other forms of Sapian magic.

By using his own bones as a conduit once more and even sacrificing them, the thrall had been able to essentially surpass his limits and affect a spell that exceeded the Collector's own expectations.

This must have been akin to how the other specimen such as the red-skinned champion had broken their own limits even when accounting for mana enhancing their strength.

The Collector closed its fists, pumping blood and mana into them.

Their already impressive muscular density only swelled even more in size, foggy ripples of red floating above like crimson steam. It collected the breadth of ice in front of it and determined this would buy the thrall merely five seconds of time.

The Collector punched the wall of ice in front of itself, its two arms punching forwards with carapace-plated fists that shattered and smashed the ice in great chunks with every blow, and there were many, many blows.

So many blows at such a speed that they blurred into an endless, rapid staccato of crashing blows, and the entire ice structure groaned and shook as cracks began to line its sizable length.

The Collector drilled through the ice, and when it neared the other end, unleashed one last, powerful hit to completely shatter an opening for itself. It moved out into the open air and found that the thrall had left the clearing in the small time he had purchased for himself with his arm.

Yet, its scent was still strong. It had not traveled far.

Before the shaking and groaning ice dome collapsed upon itself, the Collector was already gone, slithering into the direction where the thrall's scent was strongest.

Within seconds, the Collector was back upon the thrall.

The thrall growled and aimed his one remaining arm at the Collector. Blood spurted from his gaping, empty left shoulder socket, weakening his every step.

The Collector tested one last confirmation of its analyses.

It swiped at the thrall's head with its monomolecular claws, and the thrall broke apart again into mist that started to billow backwards, away from the Collector.

It was here that the Collector aimed both hands at the thrall, and before he could reform, utilized Force Hold to keep the mist in place.

A purple outline covered the cloud of mist containing the thrall's essence, freezing it in this gaseous state of matter.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. Holding the thrall in this state was extremely easy.

Another hypothesis proven correct.

The Collector had analyzed from its prior experimentations and gathering of battle data that when it attempted to directly force its magical energy on a foreign object, the cost was higher than when it flowed mana within its own body parts, scaling up with the dimensions and mass of the object.

In addition, the Collector noted with more interest, living beings were significantly more difficult to manipulate, with even small goblins requiring more mana expenditure to Force Hold than large swathes of unresisting dirt.

This, the Collector sensed, was because of the spirit roots and cores.

Even in living beings where they were unawakened, they still formed a natural defense mechanism that made infiltration via foreign magical signatures extremely difficult.

Force Hold and other magic like it that relied on directly manipulating other living beings therefore was highly inefficient to utilize.

However, in cases like this where the target willingly dispersed the mana flowing through their body-

The Collector willed the mist above its head and condensed it into a sphere of foggy white.

Then direct manipulation of the foreign body, even one possessing of an awakened core and magic sensitivity, was a minimal effort.

The Collector reduced the size of the sphere above its head, and as it grew smaller and smaller, it opened up its maw, carapace plates covering its face like a helmet sliding aside to reveal its waiting and hungry jaws.

The sphere condensed and condensed, and when the mist was focused down into the size of a tennis ball, the thrall could no longer hold his mistform, and the mist turned crimson first, then exploded into a burst of blood and ground up flesh and organs that rained down into the Collector's mouth.

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*Biomass gained (8)*

Biomass Level: 45/100

*Spirit roots gained (50)*

Root Consumption Limit: 100/100

*Genetic material gained*

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Deer

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

-Frostborn Hobgoblin Thrall [Core] *NEW*

Mana Level: 40%100%

The Collector sheathed its jaws and clicked its mandibles. It had wasted a vast majority of the spirit roots the thrall granted, but no great matter. It desired more so the thrall's core, and it seemed that for the foreseeable future, it would gain spirit roots at a far quicker rate than it did biomass.

It would seem then that for biomass charged with mana, it was not the quantity of roots that mattered, but their inherent quality that allowed them to store more mana within them.

Thus, it would be more efficient for the Collector to emphasize targets with rich amounts of mana within them.

In other words, strong targets.

Agreeable to the Collector.

Now that the Collector possessed the thrall's core, it could approximate a general sense of what it could do, but its capacity to inherently understand the magical abilities associated with it was not nearly as refined as its ability to know all the biological capabilities of a genetic sample.

The Collector knew now that the thrall could draw upon magical energy latent within bones, even those within himself, but finer details such as potential limitations and risks escaped it.

These, it would have to investigate on its own through further experimentation or reference through the female daemon's extensive knowledge stores.

The Collector could incorporate the core directly into its empty slot without the need for an evolutionary cocoon, but once slotted, removal or modification would require a cocoon.

Thus, it had to be careful about whether it would decide to incorporate this thrall's core.

Yet, there was still another target and its core to consider.

The scent of another blood trail. Further along in the Darkwoods.

The scent of the supposedly strong one, though, as the Collector came to realize with measured disappointment, far weaker than it had initially thought it to be.

No matter.

The Collector would still grant it death and entry into the Collective for even managing to damage the Collector's form.

Though disappointing that the specimen had decided to run instead of choosing to stand and fight.

'You…you're here.'

The Collector registered the presence of the female daemon as she floated and approached its back.

Aberrant patterns in her breathing indicated signs of physical stress likely brought upon by excessive usage of magic.

Yet, still well within her limits.

The Collector could sense significant disruptions of mana flow within the specimen, but accounting for deficiencies, a rough calculation of her potential strength at her peak was formidable, well above any sorcerer or magic sensitive individual the Collector had encountered so far.

Had the specimen been properly nurtured from the start of her growth cycle, her development might have been such that she could have dwarfed the Collector's current magical ability several times over.

Yet, the years of damage wrought upon her had likely permanently stunted her to a large degree.

'What…what was all of that,' she said. 'That rock that hit you, and the huge ice wall, and-,'

"It matters not," said the Collector. "There is still yet another target that eludes my jaws. I will engage in devouring it."

"W-wait, let me tether to you,' said the female daemon. 'I…I didn't know if it would work before because you…you're not truly a daemon, but…but now I'm sure.'

"Explain further."

'I..well, it's something daemons can do with each other, is what I've read, though I've never been able to talk to another one, in the tower, they kept us all separated and all I could hear were screams and-,'

The Collector clicked its mandibles, and this time, the daemon understood the clicking and focused her thoughts before the Collector prompted her vocally.

"Ah, tethering is when I link my Force Field to yours, so when you move, I follow right behind, when you use Push or Pull, I can help, if you ever need it.

It…it doesn't connect our feelings any.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles in understanding, further recognizing a way in which Sapia could be utilized.

"Agreeable," said the Collector. "Perform this 'tethering' quickly."

The female daemon nodded and floated right behind the Collector. Her ponytail reached out, and the thel vibrated as it touched the purple force field outlining the Collector's bulky form.

The daemon's force field thickened in color as hers merged with the Collector's.

The Collector perceived this process, noted its mechanisms, and then wasted not a single more moment before it slithered into the inky, light-voided black of the Darkwoods with another rush of magically boosted speed, for consuming the excess of the thrall's vast stores of roots and awakened core had almost fully replenished its mana levels.

'Woah!' shouted the daemon as she flew right behind the Collector at a speed that made her eyes widen.

The Collector followed the scent of blood and the unique olfactory signature of the next target and found that from its meandering, erratic pathing that it did not head into the direction of the main goblin encampment.

Likely, blood loss and a lack of light prevented this specimen from ascertaining its direction.

Yet, the specimen still moved quickly.

At a speed that almost rivaled the Collector's own, it seemed.

Judging from occasional tracks in the dirt and scratch marks etched into the darkwood tree trunks, the creature was well adapted to moving within forest environments, swinging from branches to provide itself formidable acceleration.

But this was not a game of attrition the specimen could win.

The Collector possessed supremely efficient bodily mechanisms down to every single fiber of its musculature that made it nigh endlessly active whereas the inefficient and weak flesh of this specimen would soon yield to its injuries.

Within ten minutes, the Collector came near the specimen.

Near enough that it could hear the specimen rustling through the woods, swinging from branch to branch even in this complete darkness, though occasionally, it would hit an obstacle and force itself to the ground, hence the occasional tracks in the dirt.

Merely hearing the creature was enough to begin its execution.

The Collector stopped its rush through the Darkwoods and shoveled up and compacted a large ball of dirt in cupped palms.

It infused the ball with magical energy, lines of purple streaking across the dirt. The magical energy permeated throughout the ball's structure, supporting and solidifying its composition to the point it became solid like titanium alloy.

'Reinforcement,' noted the daemon as she saw the Collector.

She had a hand to her head likely to halt side effects of nausea from travelling at velocities she was unused to. 'Combination of a Projection of mana and Accel of its flow on top of an advanced grasp of mana flow itself.

You...you truly had no idea of magic and mana beforehand?'

"These foreign principles escaped my grasp once for they are unique to this specific planet, but in experiencing them, I understand that they are hold much that is analogous to natural physical processes, and as such, elementary in concept to grasp and wield," said the Collector.

It began to replicate the specific flow of mana within the ball, generating a spinning aura of purple Sapian energy for the destructive chaos energy from its prime core was unsuited to more delicate processes like this.

Strands of purple danced around the dark sphere, circling round and round it until the individual lines merged into a fluxing, ever moving wave of light spinning around the ball.

The Collector focused its auditory systems on the rapidly fading sounds of the fleeing specimen rustling through the woods, and then adjusted the flow of mana spinning around the ball accordingly to new coordinates.

It accounted for the night breeze and obstacles such as trees.

With its sensitive hairs, it could curve the ball around the trees in a twenty-meter radius in front of it, but beyond that, it would simply need enough power to smash through the trunks to reach the target.

Another, more intense glow of purple burst around the ball before condensing and darkening back within it.

Mana Level: 80%50%

'That's…that's a lot of mana in there,' said the female daemon.

"This application of mana is intensive. Largely inefficient, yet, potentially useful in certain scenarios.

Simply channeling mana through neuro-muscular enhancement in the process you describe as 'Accel' is far more efficient in most combat simulations." The Collector drew back the ball of mana-infused dirt, twisting its body back to maximize rotational force.

"Yet, this will allow me to gather necessary combat data to make this projectile-based application of mana more usable."

A burst of wind flowed from the Collector as it threw the ball, the purple wreathed sphere shooting outwards as a tail of clumped up sound waves trailed behind it before exploding out in a boom.

The ball audibly smashed through several trunks in the distance, loosing groaning cracks from the shattered wood before finally punctuating its end with a howling scream from the fleeing specimen.

The Collector felt the mana discharge from its body, the constant heat emanating from both its prime and daemon cores simmering down to a noticeable degree.

Though a newfound form of strength, this was also a reminder of weakness.

A supersonic projectile of this size and mass was nothing compared to tinkering firearms.

Even the widespread anti-collective AC-18 model of the bolter rifle could fire magnetic rail charged 8mm depleted uranium rounds at hypersonic speeds, and the AC-20 models could also engage in fully automated spreads to deal with the Collective's infinite swarms.

But at the rate of the Collector's current growth, it would far exceed any tinkerer's tools in short order, burning this planet down and returning to the Collective with the prized evolutionary development of magic.

The Collector stepped over the fleeing specimen's corpse. It was a goblin of a different variant than the ones it had witnessed, covered with brown fur and possessing of ape-like features such as longer arms and high muscle density for moving through the trees of forested environments.

Though, it appeared from the density of the fur that it was meant more to dissipate heat and regulate internal temperatures than to provide warmth, indicating this specimen originated from a warmer, likely tropical climate.

Like the other hobgoblin variants, this creature did not belong here.

A strong indicator that these goblins too possessed a means with which to warp, for they did not show any indications of wielding sufficiently advanced vehicular technology.

The Collector clicked its mandibles.

It had desired to simply cripple the specimen by blowing off its legs, but the Collector had misjudged its distance and timing by a five percent margin of error, and that showed in a gaping hole on the specimen's lower abdomen.

'Another hobgoblin? This one…the fur. Let me see,' The female daemon floated over the corpse, cocking her head in academic scrutiny. 'Aha, it is from the realm of Foraoise.

And from its size…a champion, too?

There…there must be a Lord here.'

"You are uncovering information for yourself that is already known to me," said the Collector. "Tell me instead the possibility of this variant, this 'lord', possessing the means to access warp-based travel."

The female daemon specimen hovered in the air, putting a hand to her chin, and then shook her head. 'Goblins cannot travel the realms with their own power, nothing can except the Danavans, but…but nobody has ever seen them.

But…if there is a dungeon here, and the lord is the dungeon boss, then…then maybe.'

"Dungeons? Explain further," said the Collector.

'Dungeons…dungeons,' the daemon said to herself, searching her memories.

Then, she adopted another tone, reciting information. 'Dungeons are still a mystery. How they came be is difficult to tell, and there are a thousand different tomes all with a different explanation.

But what I, Hazi, former adventurer seven star adventurer, can tell you is what they are and how to deal with them.

If you are reading this, you are probably a one- or two-star adventurer. So, you know the basics:

Dungeons are temporary lairs that often divide itself into layers, and the more layers there are, the higher ranked the dungeon is.

At the bottom of the dungeon, there's a monster called the 'boss' that anchors the whole lair into existence.

There are two types of dungeons. Bound and Unbound.

Bound means that the dungeon stays static and won't change and expand.

Unbound means the dungeon can shift, even move, and grow.

Bound dungeons tend to be harder to clear with more layers while unbound dungeons are dangerous because they can copy themselves over time.

But at the end of it all, you take the boss out, and the dungeon collapses.

Keep the collateral low, even more so with unbound dungeons, and you're all set.

That's what most adventurers learn in their first year of working with the League.

Of course, this is all just general talk.

Once you put in the field work for as many years as I have, you start to realize that although there are plenty of rules in this world, there's plenty of wriggle room between them as well.

There are horribly dangerous dungeons that merely have one layer.

There are dungeons that anchor to a boss that is not even a monster, maybe a crystal or living wall or, in one particularly bad case, a spore rooting inside an invading adventurer, making it so you cannot clear it without killing someone in your own party.

You have no idea what you will face in dungeons as an adventurer.

What you do need to know is humility.

You need to know when you have to retreat, preferably with a priestess of the paths, and you need to know when a dungeon is dangerous enough to call for help.

The League has limited resources; you knowing how to use them and when to call for them will save your life, especially if you are lower ranking, than any artisanal sword or shield crafted from Tallo or Utu or any place of renowned forging.

Because at the end of the day, unless you're three stars or above, you are worthless.

You will have no coin, no resources, and no reputation.

And, most likely, you will be weak.

A harsh truth, but one better known than ignored until death.

And there is no shame in splitting a dungeon's rewards with whatever higher ranked party or League official comes to aid you. If anything, it will make your life easier and continue it at the same time.

But you must present the League with a good case for their assistance.

For that, you need information.

Any dungeon you see, don't enter it, stay at its perimeter and do a routine scouting.

Get a sorcerer from the Order to read the leylines in the area. Check for disturbances. If you do not have a sorcerer in your party, then hire one. Don't skimp out on a good sorcerer because of coin.

Better to have your life than an empty bag.

Check first and foremost if there's mana signatures in the leylines that come from different realms.

This means the dungeon is not only unbound, but also capable of drawing monsters from different realms.

If this is the case, report back to the nearest League sentry. Elevate the threat ranking of the dungeon one full rank. Dungeons like this are unstable and capable of growing in the blink of an eye.

Try to find what exactly is causing the instability. Most of the time, the dungeon boss will be the culprit, but sometimes, there are other entities, maybe a subordinate monster or a structure that is tapping into the instability.

If you do not have the power to fully clear the dungeon and slay the boss, then focus on disabling these entities, Warpers as they're known in our trade, because that alone will take out half the dungeon's threat.

Then, you check for-,' The daemon stopped, nodding to herself. 'That…that is all I read before Thorian took the book from me. He told me I had no place reading about adventurers and getting odd ideas in my head.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles. "That is sufficient information.

Tell me, do you understand the means by which to identify these lairs known as 'dungeons' and their mechanism? The entities within them designated as a 'boss'?"

'I…I can tell when there's a dungeon, I think, but…but everything else, no. The dungeons, well, if you read the leylines, they appear like, ah, something will be wrong with them.

I…I can show you if we get near one.' The daemon perked up, her eyes alight with the emotion of wonder that so vexed the Collector.

Why…are we…are we going to go into one?' she asked, her words breaking apart not because of nervousness this time, but because of curiosity.

"I sense eagerness in approaching this lair classified a 'dungeon'. Does this area not pose a significant threat?" noted the Collector.

The female daemon shook her head several times. 'They do, I think, well, I read that they are very dangerous, but…but…the feeling of clearing a dungeon and seeing it, I have always wanted it. I…once, I think, I wanted to be an adventurer.'

"This 'wonder' that you feel, I sense it within you in thought of this 'dungeon'. Yet, I sense that this emotion is most appropriate when witnessing the all-encompassing presence of the Collective.

Soon, within the Collective, you will learn to detach this 'wonder' from the phenomena of this world that amounts to little more than slightly special drivel," said the Collector. "And I now head to this 'dungeon'. You are to inform me when you sense the necessary environmental anomalies that indicate its presence."

The Collector clicked its mandibles, approximating where the main goblin encampment was and heading to that direction.

It theorized that this encampment was a 'dungeon' through contextual clues.

First, there was the appearance of many goblin variants all adapted to different biomes.

Then there was the fact that the goblins were amassing their numbers for some kind of war effort, and that would require both an expansion of territory and additional troops all entailed within the 'unbound dungeon' with a 'warper' that the female daemon spoke of.

Perhaps more evidently, the Collector could feel the thrall's core and sense that there were remnants of psionic energy within it.

The stench of dealing with warp-based travel, though of a different kind than that which the Collector was familiar with spacefaring tinkerers.

Thus, the Collector reasoned that the thrall had been a 'warper' for a dungeon with the goblin lord as its boss.

Good.

The Collector clicked its mandibles, potentially seeing the end of its mission in near sight.

If this dungeon possessed a channel for warping adequately powerful enough, the Collector could utilize it to send out its psionic charge to the Collective, regaining connection with the Hivemind and signaling its coordinates for a full-scale takeover.

It would not have to force its way through heavily guarded population centers that housed 'Warp Temples'.

If the Collector did not move now, there was a chance that these humans, these 'adventurers' would get to the dungeon first and slay its 'boss', causing, as the female specimen recited, the destruction of the warp gate.

The Collector could not allow that. It took the corpse of the fleeing specimen under its tail and devoured it.

*Biomass gained (12)*

Biomass Level: 67/100

*Spirit roots gained (30)*

Root Consumption Limit: 100/100

*Genetic material gained*

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Deer

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

-Frostborn Hobgoblin Thrall [Core]

-Vineswinger Goblin Champion [Core]

Mana Level: 50%100%

It fully embraced the desire brimming in its heart, rushing into the forest before the daemon specimen could respond to it, rag-dolling her behind it while she tried to adjust to the sudden burst of speed.

One final battle.

One final, good battle.

This, the Collector desired before the dawn of the Collective.

Though the Collector knew this was heretical, it wished to savor this feeling a last time, this desire of the battle to the strong before the Hivemind could reset the Collector and eliminate the anomalies growing within it.

Report chapter

The Collector slithered its way through the Darkwoods.

Wide tree trunks came into its vision, then blurred behind it as it rushed through the forest.

At first, the female daemon specimen tethered behind it had exhibited an elevated heart rate and tensed muscles indicative of fear, likely at the speed with which the Collector moved, but soon, she had adjusted herself.

With some skill, the Collector noted.

The daemon had oriented herself using minor applications of Sapian force to keep herself more stably tethered to the Collector, and this required not only a good approximation of the Collector's speed, but also when it would make twists and turns.

With the Collector's calculations, it would take forty minutes to reach the main goblin encampment if the memories of its approximate coordinates were correct.

Margin of error within eight minutes.

Its approximate speed: four hundred kilometers per hour.

And with every passing day, its speed and strength would increase to no end, unbound as it was now by mana enriching its physical properties.

Yet, the Collector would not reach those heights of power, that zenith of strength that lay beyond its limitations, even perhaps by the metamorphosis level limits set upon it by the Collective, once it signaled to the Collective.

No. Such thinking was flawed. The Collective was strength incarnate already.

Assimilating within it once more was the zenith of purpose and power the Collector strived for, respected and desired.

For in the end, that was the Collector's designated life cycle.

To be born with strength, to fight enemies, to gain their biomass and samples, and then in turn, when it became defective or outdated, to become consumed by the Collective itself, enriching the greater whole with new samples for the great purpose.

And the Collector knew that its life cycle would draw to an end once the Collective dawned.

The Collector was defective, and the Collective would either consume it for its unique new samples or restart the shard within it.

Either way, the Collector as it was now would no longer come to be in time.

And all for the better. The Collector would serve its glorious purpose. Become whole once more.

After some time traveling unimpeded, the Collector sensed the daemon speaking to it.

'I…I never asked. Where…where are you from?' asked the daemon.

'I do not herald from any one place. No fixed geographical point bound by the arbitrary limitations of borders and other such divisions. I am born of the Collective,' said the Collector.

'You…you've mentioned it, the Collective. And, forgive me for asking, but I-I'm curious: what…what is it?'

'You turn your curiosity, this 'wonder', to the Collective. Agreeable,' said the Collector, projecting its thoughts for ease of communication at its current speed of travel. 'The Collective is no mere thing. It is being itself.

Evolution progressed and honed into a singularity that will never falter.

It is the absorbed will of countless species that have all lost the discord and differences that once demarcated them as 'individuals'.

Inducted into the Collective, they become one, and as one, they attain a utopic perfection that no tinkering civilization can ever hope to match or even conceptualize.'

'I…I can feel what you are saying a little bit, even if your words are hard for me, and…and I can sense that this…this Collective is something big,' said the daemon. 'Something you really, really believe in.

The Collective…you said there are so many people in there, but…but none of them hate each other?'

'Emotions such as hate are outdated and vestigial remnants of tinkering imperfection,' said the Collector. 'Even within myself that is afforded limited emotion, I may hold measured judgements against you tinkerers, but hate?

I do not 'hate' your kind.

I simply see all of you as life that has strayed afar from the path of evolution, marking yourselves with discord even among your own kind.

In need of absolution from yourselves.

For it is known that you tinkerers are inherently self-destructive. Even without an external threat, you tend towards warring amongst yourselves regardless of the form you take and the biomes you originally adapted to.

Without the advent of warp-based technology, there is no doubt that you tinkerers would have hit a wall in development and expansion caused by conflict among yourselves and other self-destructive tendencies.

Thus, tinkering is a disease. A plague that feasts upon itself and others while leaving nothing of value to the universe.

It is inherently self-destructive.

A heresy against the fundamental principle of evolution: the propagation of one's own.

Within the short timeframes of your tinkering lives, you may believe your methods best to propagate, but in greater scales of time, it is faulty to the highest degree.'

'Hm,' said the daemon with wonder. She gazed at the Collector's slithering form, at the back of its horned head. 'That was…was one thing I noticed from you.

No hate. Just…just calm. And you say that the Collective, everyone in it, feels this calm.'

'That is precisely so,' said the Collector.

The daemon hung her head down. 'I…I never wanted to hate. It was hard for me to. Even when I hurt so much, it was hard. Thorian never told me to hate. Mother never told me to hate.

But…but I don't know. When the hurt kept going on and on and it felt like it would never end, I…I just had nothing left.

Nothing left but hate.

It makes me feel bad inside, a little, I know it's wrong, imperfect, like you say, but…but I still want to see this world break down just as much as I did.

That's why…that's why I trusted you so much from the start, because you were going to hurt people,' She paused, taking a long look at the Collector. 'But…but if you are going to change everything, bring calm to everyone, make everyone one, stop the hate completely, then…then I don't feel bad about trusting you.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles. 'When my mission is complete and this world has entered the greater ranks of the Collective, it will become whole. There will be no aberrant defections that lead to unnecessary divisions among your kind.

And in the end, the unique, anomalous strength and lives of this world will fuel the great purpose to ensure that life remains infinite,' said the Collector. It continued:

'Tinkering species build monuments to themselves, spread themselves across planets and star systems to replicate themselves, but in the end, they will never be infinite.

They will exhaust their resources and the energy. The cold of entropy will take them, and in all their warring and discord among each other, they will never manage to stand against the inevitable darkness.

But the Collective will be beyond this.

The fundamental principle beyond all evolution is the propagation of one's species. In the scale of the Collective, this is the continuation of life, and for this purpose, it will evolve, absorb, and grow to no end.

Once the Collective has inducted enough life across the stars within its being at a sufficiently grand scale, it will fulfill the Great Purpose.

The processing power of life united as one will surely stand against the darkness. Break the inevitable approach of heat death that otherwise comes for us all, tinkerer or hive-unit alike.'

'Wow,' said the daemon. 'I…I don't understand all of what you're saying, but the feeling I get…I get the feeling of being a part of something big and important. Being special.

Will I…will I be a part of this too? Even if I'm broken like I am now?'

'There is no doubt,' declared the Collector. 'The information you have provided me so far has been of great worth, contributing significantly to my survival and further planning.

For this, you shall be immortalized within the ranks of the Collective with as much honor as the true warriors I have devoured.'

'I'm…I'm worth something…and I won't be broken anymore…,' The female specimen nodded to herself, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though in an awkward, stilted fashion, the muscles for smiling having never been used in years.

She blinked as she tensed up, and the Collector stopped its movement in an efficient instant, a rush of wind blowing past it as it halted from high speeds.

'I…I can sense something off. The leylines,' said the daemon as she hovered in front of the Collector. 'They are warped. The mana swirling through them, through the land, is circling, spiraling int one point.'

"The dungeon," said the Collector as it clicked its mandibles and unsheathed its monomolecular edge claws. They clinked out from its fingertips, growing now to twenty-centimeter lengths.

It sensed there were insects around it, and, as the daemon noted as it focused mana into its eyes to make them more sensitive to the flow of magic, it could see what she was talking about.

Its vision became tinted in light blue as it inspected the area around it.

Lines of mana circulated throughout the land, 'leylines' as they were called, and these bright blue streaks poured out from the earth and danced over the grass and twirled around the trees.

Yet, the Collector had not been able to discern any significance from these flows, merely that they supported life in some way.

However, when prompted by the daemon, it now knew what to look for. It could see that in the seemingly random mass of flowing lines, there was now a pattern.

A slight swirl, more a tendency of the lines to break and move away and into a central point a sizable distance away from them.

And as its eyes sensed magic, its auditory systems sensed physical sounds. The clashing of hardened alloys breaking upon each other. Flesh rending. Bones breaking.

The sounds of battle.

The Collector assessed itself and the environment around it.

First, a check of its status before it engaged in what was perhaps its final battle:

Metamorphosis Level 6

Biomass Level: 67/100

Stored Genetic Material:

-Black Ant

-Deer

-Black Hobgoblin

-Human

-Lesser Oni

-Frostborn Hobgoblin

-Horse

-Lesser Greatcentipede

-Lesser Greatbeetle

-Spitting Greatbeetle

-Leafblade Insect

-Frostborn Hobgoblin Thrall

-Vineswinger Goblin Champion [Core]

Adaptations:

Internal Systems

-Ultrafiber Muscles Rank 6.4

--Coilboosters

-Autonomic Neuro-Bodily Matrix

--Metalloglottic Ossifier

--Lightstone

--Runewood

External Systems

-Sensitive Hairs Rank 5.2

--Quill Spray

-Organic Hyperalloy Carapace Rank 5.4

--Longchain Chitinous Sublayer

Weapons Systems

-Monomolecular Claws Rank 4.4

-Pyrocatalytic Glands Rank 3

Current Form:

Assassin Bugbrute/Daemon/Dullscale Rohu/Jumping Arakka

[?Magic¿] Status

Mana Level: 100%

Active Cores [3/3:

-Prime Core

--Trigger: Desire

-Daemon Core

--Trigger: Wonder

-Frostborn Thrall Core

--Trigger: Greed

Inhera:

-Sapia [Daemon Core]

Ethera:

-Devourer [Prime Core]

Primal Magic:

-Bone Binding [Frostborn Thrall Core]

Blessings:

-Blessing of Mount Oe

Primal Density: 5%

Root Consumption Limit: 100%

The Collector had slotted in the Frostborn Hobgoblin Thrall's core into its third slot on the way here, for if the Collector was to interface with the potential warp gate in the dungeon, then it would require the thrall's energy signatures.

Slotting in a core was possible without a full metamorphosis but modifying cores and replacing them would requite the processing power of the evolutionary cocoon.

The process of assuming the thrall's core was akin to regeneration.

When it occurred, the Collector had felt another heart growing within itself, this time located in its stomach area.

This meant there were now three hearts pumping within the Collector, and all of them linked to separate cores and operating a portion of its spirit roots.

Its prime core was responsible for the functions of sixty percent of its roots, and the remaining forty percent split among the daemon and thrall cores.

Must take care to shield the prime core at all costs, noted the Collector, for though it would survive having its main heart destroyed, it would severely compromise its magical abilities and deactivate powers from its secondary cores as well.

If the Collector had wanted to maximize its strength, it would have slotted in the Vineswinger Goblin Champion's core, for it possessed an Inhera called Wind-Up that allowed a limb to charge up power after undergoing full rotations, but the thrall's core was crucial to tap into the warp and could be useful in its own way.

The Collector had noticed for some time now that insects from the Deadwood were anomalously quiet, refraining from their usual indiscriminate feasting of each other on the forest floor.

Instead, as the Collector now neared the site of battle, the dungeon, it analyzed that the insectoids in the vicinity of the dungeon were all moving out.

Towards the center of battle. A whole swarm of them from every direction. Insectoids of all kinds and sizes.

An unending wave of chittering, many-legged creatures that shambled forwards, utterly ignoring the Collector and the daemon specimen behind it.

Only the Arakka were absent from this writhing mass unified in forward moving purpose.

The Collector noticed the lanky, dark green form of a Leafblade Insect scamper beside the Collector, its long antennae twitching as its oversized, scythe like front legs flared out in front of it.

It was larger than the smaller masses beneath it, the same kind the Collector had taken enough note of to consume before.

The Collector backhanded the insect's head, blowing it away with the strike. Now headless, the insect twitched as it still stood upright, the last remnants of its neural functioning fading away.

The Collector activated the trigger of the thrall's core.

Greed.

This, the Collector could approximate. It was similar in nature to its own trigger of Desire, simply a little less focused in its scope and more brutish at its base.

A pulse of faint blue energy spread throughout the Collector's ashen body from its stomach. It punched into the leafblade insect's stomach, cracking through the carapace and into the mushy innards within.

Bone binding. The primal magic of the thrall.

By binding the essence of a creature down to a remnant of it- the bones – the Collector could theoretically utilize the bones to manifest physical phenomena related to the creature itself.

The Collector activated the magic knowing that the insect possessed no biological structure like the bones that the thrall utilized. The closest analogous structure would be the carapace.

Yet, the Collector still tried in experimentation, wishing to scope out the limits of this ability.

A pale blue light flickered from within the insect, generating outwards from the Collector's fist still stuck inside of it, but nothing more happened.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. Combat data for bone binding updated. It would seem that without a bone structure at least somewhat compatible with mammalian forms, bone binding would not work.

It instead made final use of the corpse by feasting upon it.

*Biomass gained (2)*

Biomass Level: 69/100

'So many…so many monsters,' said the female as she hovered above the Collector, eyeing down at the endless march of insectoids below.

The Collector infused magical energy into its eyes and observed the insects. It beheld faint tethers of mana from all of them joining in the larger swirls of blue leading into the dungeon.

'This 'dungeon' possesses the means to call upon specimen living in the biome surrounding it,' noted the Collector. 'A principle similar in fashion to the Hivemind's mass control of units, and yet drastically more primitive and unrefined in its processing.'

Good.

The mass movement of insectoids would provide adequate cover. And likely, the Arakka resisted this call to action for they formed their own rudimentary hivemind with each other.

Thus, only the weakest of the insects in the forest mobilized.

And judging from their lack of aggression to the Collector and the daemon specimen, they were called to engage in battle with other targets.

The Collector heard further sounds of battle.

The sound of a fire roaring.

This one was loud enough for the Collector to utilize its auditory systems to approximate a location.

One hundred and fifteen meters ahead. Margin of error ten meters.

Judging from the sounds emanating from that location, particularly the clang of metal against carapace and other hard surfaces, it was highly likely there were tinkering humanoid presences ahead.

The cover of the forest extended only a dozen meters ahead as evidenced by the glow of lightstone torches visible ahead, demarcating the perimeter of the main goblin encampment.

But this was range enough for the Collector make visual confirmation of the battle, the humanoids, and assess a combat plan.

'Prepare yourself for battle,' said the Collector to the daemon. 'If you truly wish to serve the Collective, to play a part in its dawning, then you will fight as the predator you are meant to be and are becoming.'

The daemon took in several deep breaths – a method of easing rising mental anxiety. She nodded, her eyes flashing purple. 'Got it.'

In the center of a sea of clicking, wriggling, writhing shelled bodies, three adventurers stood.

A man on the taller side with conventionally handsome and rugged features. Squared jaw, a head of full, slicked back black hair and surprisingly soft brown eyes. A scar ran from one eye to the chin that conveniently missed the lips, adding to his looks rather than disfiguring them.

Solid build, but not overly muscled. A body meant more for functional fitness, and the man exhibited just that as he backflipped with a grace like flowing water.

Where he had been but a moment ago, a club head of ice crashed, gouging out a small crater in the forest floor.

"Stop running!" shouted a musclebound, pale-skinned frostborn hobgoblin as he picked his everfrost club up.

To any ordinary human or even any one- or two-star adventurer, a trained hobgoblin with a weapon was quite the foe.

But to Furio, newly anointed four-star adventurer and a rising talent in the Adventuring community, this was nothing.

Furio gripped his Ethera construct, a wrench almost two meters long, in both hands like a spear.

A longsword gleaming with an orange tint lay stuck with invisible force to the head of the wrench, turning the whole thing into a makeshift spear of sorts.

"And why don't you stop talking?" said Furio.

He smiled as he parried the hobgoblin's second attack, angling his wrench above his head precisely so that the club's impact diffused away to the side, sending the hobgoblin off balance as his club crashed into the ground beside Furio.

As the hobgoblin faltered, Furio took a step back to get into striking range, and then in one swift motion that left an arc of gleaming orange light in the air, sliced forwards with his wrench-spear.

The hobgoblin stilled before he fell to the ground, a massive, burning gash almost bisecting him from the stomach.

Report chapter

"That's the last of the goblins!" said Furio as he twirled the wrench between his hands.

The enchanted sword stuck to its head glowed fiercely, sending out arcs of fire that torched and blew back the various insect monsters that tried to swarm him.

A few unlucky insects caught in the blade's path split apart before burning up rapidly, disintegrating into nothing but piles of ashes.

"Bug duty, Emi, please!" complained Furio.

"Is that any way to talk to your precious little sister?" said Emi. She was much shorter than her brother, but no less lacking in fierce battle will.

She stuck her staff of steely metal into the ground, the sharp, glaive-like head crashing into a beetle. She twisted the staff, crunching the glaive through the beetle and ending its wriggling.

"She's right, you know," said Vera, third member of the party. Light and athletic build wrapped in form-fitting, layered leather armor.

On the breast of her sleeveless leather vest was an emblem with three stars stitched within it.

Her face was covered in a hood and veil that glowed a slight shade of iridescent rainbow from the magical light emanating from her arms.

Rainbow circuits ran from her fingers all the way up to her shoulders.

"[Withdraw," said Vera. She reached a hand into empty space, and it sunk into a ripple in the air. From there, she withdrew a lengthy pipe of shingled bronze metal. "Judican artifacts make my skin crawl, made by heartless zealots as they are, but I really cannot deny they can be useful."

She swayed her head from side to side, seeing the bugs approaching her and Emi, flicked her veil to the side, and breathed into the pipe.

Her magical energy infused into the artifact, and a moment later, gouts of flame burst out from the other end of the pipe, washing over the bugs and burning them alive.

She rotated her head, circling the flame around her and creating a ring of flame that kept the rest of the insects out for now.

Furio, however, being physically the strongest and at the head of the party, did not enjoy this flaming barrier, and instead used his enchanted blade to cleave out space for himself.

Though the orange blade had a fire-type monster's core enchanted in it, the flame was meant more to enhance its cutting edge, not to create large fires.

More and more bugs started to near him, and though they were of zero threat to him, they still slowed him down and stopped him from seeing what was ahead.

"I never get to voice an opinion in this party," said Furio. "But that's what I get for having a party made up of my little sister and girlfriend. Everyone told me it was going to be a disaster."

"Oh, stop complaining," said Emilia. "Here, I'll help you out."

With a grunt, Emilia took her glaive-staff and slammed it into the dirt.

A faint blue mana crystal glowed from within the glaive, focusing her magic as grey circuits emerged from her hands and ran up to her forearms.

"[Blade Storm]!" she chanted.

Arcs of grey magical energy crackled around her, forming into six blades of metal that whirled around her at rapid speeds.

She waved her staff towards Furio, and the rotating blades ejected towards him, pushing past the ring of fire and swerved around Furio, grinding up the insects clamoring at him into showers of innards and carapace.

"Ugh," she said, her nose crinkling at the scent of insect innards. She looked down at the guts-soaked grey mantle covering her enchanted leather armor.

On her mantle was an emblem with two stars upon it. "I hear there are public steam baths in Sunda. What I would give now to soak in one of them."

"Hm, I do like the sound of a public bath. Get clean and watch something nice, what's not to like?" Furio leered in front of him as insects began to amass in front of him again in a thick wall of carapaced bodies, but Emilia had cleared enough space for him to work with.

"Here, I will activate Flambe fully to clear a path," said Furio as he aimed his wrench forwards and then ejected the blade attached to the head at high speeds.

The blade began to turn and spiral, unleashing the heat condensed at its edge and expanding it into large wreaths of fire that curled around it.

The enchanted blade roared as flames surged up through its flight, toasting a mass of insects and clearing a straight path ahead. After traveling fifty meters, the blade stopped to a sudden halt, hovering in the air - the end of Furio's magnetic tether.

Furio ran forwards in the clearing he had burned out, keeping his pace slower than usual to make sure Emilia and Vera could keep up.

"Brother, you know you do have a lover, right?" said Emilia as she ran behind Furio.

"What? I just look at other women and admire, you know, the artistry of their bodies. Like admiring a wonderful painting. Don't love them or anything. You know, Vera?" said Furio.

"Falling in love with you has been simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to me. Some days, I don't know which part wins out," said Vera.

"You won't be thinking so hard once we clear this contract!" said Furio as he peered ahead.

Maybe a good sprint away was a yawning pit in the earth. Spikes of blackened wood arose around the hole, and from it, a faint blue light emanated.

A dungeon.

An Unbound one, it seemed, and it had not had the time to grow and strengthen itself just yet with multiple territories.

In other words, this dungeon was at its weakest state right now.

Perfect to clear, and the weak level of monsters in this area meant that in all likelihood, this dungeon would not be too difficult for Furio, a four-star adventurer, to deal with.

Clearing a dungeon with just one party would net a huge bonus of coin for Furio, enough for him to buy his own place in Tallo.

A nice place, too, not like those rusted out hovels packed together on the lower rings of the city.

Hovels he had spent years in with Emilia.

Now, he finally had the strength to give her a life she was deserving of. A life that their parents, wherever they were in the afterlife, could smile upon.

And a place worthy for Vera too, after all she had done, turning away even from her noble family to adventure with him.

"Don't get too hasty," said Vera as she put in short breaths into the Judiccan flamebringer, shooting out balls of flame around Furio that discouraged any more insects from encroaching. "We were supposed to merely investigate a surge of mana.

This whole thing, an entire dungeon, this is beyond our expectations.

We don't have a proper sorcerer of the Order with us either to examine anything.

We have no idea what we are getting into. Northern goblins and types from Xin and Foraoise mean that there's a Warper in the dungeon, and who knows what kind of monster that can bring in?"

"Obviously, nothing too exciting. We have far gone past dealing with goblins, love. I could beat four champions at once, let alone the lot we have dealt with so far," said Furio. "And besides, if we leave this unbound dungeon, things will just get worse.

More and more monsters will come to it. There were already enough goblins here going on about invading before we took them out.

We could portal back to the safe zone and wait for League reinforcements, but this dungeon is unbound: what if it moves?

Or if the monsters decide to keep attacking?

The village south of here has no protectors to it. Might take hours to get to it by foot, but if there's a Warper, then maybe they can port there.

The Sundan soldiers there have already been wiped out, and they would never be able to deal with something like this to begin with.

We as adventurers have a duty to hold the line here. Or clear the dungeon too if we can."

He reached the end of the fifty meters Flambe's activation had cleared out. The blade had lost its orange glow from activating, and he tapped it with his wrench, causing it to float above the wrench head.

"Switching to Fulmi," said Furio. He reached behind his back to where five sheaths lay strapped and withdrew one of the blades, this one inside a pale blue sheath.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the segmented blade in front of his wrench and then tapped it, causing the sword to slot into the wrench head with a click.

The sword was smaller than Flambe, and its ornamental design made up of spiked segments meant it was not great for face to face combat.

But it was quite useful for this.

Furio thrust out his wrench as the insects started to swarm again, and from the various spiked segments making up Fulmi, arcs of lightning emerged, coursing into the wall of bugs and using their bodies further as conduits.

Electricity screamed as powerful currents of magical lightning seized up the wall of insects for a few seconds, causing their carapaces to crack and steam up before all of them exploded simultaneously in a sea of showering guts and shell.

Furio twirled his wrench in front of him, blocking out most of the debris.

"Agh." Emilia spat out a piece of semi-charred insect flesh from her mouth. "At least give us a warning!"

"I did, Emi, you just need to get faster. If you want to catch up to me, this is how fast you'll have to be," said Furio.

"You know-," Emilia began before she yelped, a rock pelting the side of her head, passing through the flames Vera blew out.

Immediately, Vera rushed to her side. "Are you okay, dear? I can bring out something to stem the hurt."

"Yes, I'm-I'm fine," said Emilia as she shook her head. "Just a small bruise, maybe. But where-,"

"There," said Furio. He had turned around the moment he heard his little sister cry out, and with focused senses, he spotted the culprit.

A green skinned goblin. A small one. It pranced up and down the heads of larger insects as ran away, a sling in its hands.

Furio's expression darkened. He had thought he had dealt with all the goblins here. But he had been careless and left the smaller goblins around because he was in a rush to get into the dungeon.

He cursed his carelessness and aimed the wrench at the tiny goblin's rapidly fading form.

Fulmi ejected from the wrench at high speeds, shooting out and skewering the goblin. Furio span the wrench in his hands, and the sword still magnetically tethered to the wrench mirrored the movements, spinning around and tearing the goblin apart into pieces.

"Sorry, Emi. Sorry. That won't happen again," said Furio. "I promise."

"You promise me way too much, brother. Just focus on yourself," said Emilia. She smiled as she started to run again, towards Furio before something tore the legs from her body.

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"Emi!" Furio screamed as he immediately forgot about the gleaming entrance of the dungeon in front of him, at all the gold and glory it promised.

He ran towards her, and his whole world became only his sister, at the blood starting to arc from her severed legs, but even this was not enough to fully dull his instincts.

Almost automatically, he registered several things, the world almost slowing down as his mind raced.

No enemies in near sight capable of doing this damage. A sudden blur of movement and the sound of solid physical impact. And, as he saw Emi's legless body start to fall, an expression of surprise still on her face before it could register the pain, he saw shards of shattered rock behind her.

A projectile attack. Someone or something was throwing rocks.

We are what we train ourselves daily to be. We are our habits.

Furio knew these words well from his master, and without a secondary thought, he projected his magical energy out in a sense field around him, all the while still running to Emi's side.

Something registered in his field.

Projectiles.

Large rocks headed towards himself and Vera with another one following close behind to finish off Emi.

Not even a second had passed since Emi first got hit.

Whatever had thrown these objects could do so in mass volleys at pinpoint accuracies far beyond any vineswinger goblin, and those monsters were known for their throwing arm.

Furio reacted.

He whirled around, reducing the range of his sense to move mana flow accelerating through his body, strengthening it. He had memorized the trajectory of the incoming projectiles, and in a quick motion, batted the air in front of him with his wrench.

As predicted, a rock the size of a man's head crashed into the wrench, and Furio shaped the mana flowing through his wrench- his ethera and therefore extension of his body- into a spin that countered the ball's own and deflected it.

With a pinging crack of impact, the deflected rock sailed backwards and crashed into the second stone meant for Emi. Both rocks exploded out into a shower of pulverized rock pieces, such was the speed they had flown at.

The rock meant for Vera smashed against her head, but it simply broke upon it like it was an indestructible surface.

A flicker of rainbow light shimmered throughout Vera's body as her [Refraction] spell, a spell cast on the body to negate the blow of one strong strike, faded.

"Behind me!" said Furio as he stood in front of Vera and Emi. He heard Emi's body hit the floor, and expected to hear her cries, but instead, she just breathed heavy, holding in her pain, trying to not make Furio worry.

She could not speak, only gasp, and though she did not scream, every single heavy breath she took felt just like a scream to Furio.

Furio gritted his teeth as he tried to figure out where the rocks had come from, his grey eyes darting from side to side as they saw only the endless expanse of bugs and shadowy forest trees.

"Emi, just hold on, okay? Big brother will make sure you get through this fine like I always do." He kept his hands tight on his wrench, eyes alight with mana as he projected his sense field again, ready to bat down any projectile.

"It's okay dear, it's okay," said Vera in a soothing voice as she used [Withdraw] to pull out a vial of green liquid from a ripple in space. She popped open the cork with her thumb and held Emi's shaking, paling face firm, opening her mouth and pouring in the liquid.

Within moments, Emi stopped her gasping, her breathing growing even as she fell asleep to prevent shock and reduce blood loss.

"Vera, withdraw something to stop her bleeding," said Furio. An edge of anger sharpened his normally smooth voice. "And portal yourselves back to the safe zone. I am going to deal with this."

"No-," began Vera.

"Yes." Furio's voice was firm. "You can channel to port us out one at a time, and you have to leave yourself for last. What do you think happens once I get ported out? You'll die. Vera, please, my love."

He turned around to her to give her a smile. "I'll come back, I-,"

In that moment, Furio swerved around, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he sensed another projectile speeding into the range of his sense aura. He shaped mana into his wrench again, predicted where the rock would be, and batted it away as well.

With the correct amount of spinning mana wreathed on his wrench, he could prevent the rock from splintering and hitting Vera and Emi behind him, instead knocking it high into the sky.

"Just go!" Furio batted away another rock.

Imperfectly this time.

It bounced off his wrench and curved behind him, dangerously reaching close to Vera and Emi before just missing them and slamming into the earth with a cracking impact.

Whatever was throwing these could also fine tune and adjust the spin on the projectiles with incredible accuracy.

Throwing skill beyond even any vineswinger champion. This was a monster among monsters that an experienced four-star adventurer should be dealing with, not Furio who had been four stars for three days now.

Furio took in a breath, calming himself.

Breathe. Flow your mana.

Thirty seconds per port channel. One minute to hold out.

He nodded to himself.

Manageable.

The Collector clicked its mandibles as it held a rock between its hands, purple mana infusing into its two daemon eyes and four compound eyes as it extended its range of vision.

It stayed behind the cover of several darkwood trees and thick undergrowth, using spin on its projectiles to swerve them past the trees to make their trajectory both unpredictable and to hide its location.

The female daemon specimen next to him plopped down three more rocks by his side, levitating them with her Sapia. Whenever the Collector threw a projectile, she had also assisted by infusing some of her own Sapian force into it.

With both their powers empowering the projectiles, the Collector had expected to easily punch through these humanoids with thrown rocks, and indeed, it had made direct contact with two of them, fatally injuring one while the other seemingly possessed a means to mitigate the damage almost entirely even when struck at the head.

The other one was troublesome. The male specimen.

He possessed the speed, coordination, and grasp of spin to negate the Collector's throws, though his grasp of spin was not so advanced that he could completely reverse-engineer the throw and send it right back at the Collector.

A fortunate thing, in all likelihood, for if the male specimen had done so, the Collector would have reflected the rock back again until one of them made a miscalculation, and in exceedingly high probability, it would not have been the Collector.

From observational analysis, the Collector determined that the male specimen's eyes did not track the projectiles coming towards it.

Instead, it seemed to be able to predict the trajectory of the projectile and strike at where it was to be.

In that case-

"Bring me another stone," said the Collector as it opened a palm.

'Okay.' The female daemon floated a rock into its palm. 'Do you want me to boost it?'

"No. This will be beyond your computational capacity for now," the Collector wrapped the rock in its hands and applied crushing force, breaking the stone into many smaller pieces.

It infused mana into them, drew its arm back, and then unleashed a concussive volley of spin-infused stone shards.

The intent was to overwhelm the male specimen's capacity to react with a mass amount of projectiles.

The male specimen reacted accordingly.

This time, sensing a mass amount of smaller projectiles, he did not focus on batting them away but instead caused the sharpened chunk of metal, this 'sword' atop what the Collector recognized from other tinkerers as a wrench, to emit bolts of electrical output.

The electricity arced into a field that destroyed the vast majority of the projectiles, for smaller as they were now, the electricity could immediately disintegrate them.

Yet, not sufficient.

One of the stone shards bypassed the male and struck true into the leg of the veiled female specimen. This time, she did not resist the projectile, and reacted in signs of physiological distress, clutching at her bloodying leg.

The Collector had another rock ready in its hands, seeing if the male specimen would distract itself to attend to the female, but the male still faced forwards.

Highly trained. The Collector clicked its mandibles. Strong. If this male specimen were to fight the Collector directly, the fight would be a desirable challenge.

The Collector felt desire tugging at its heart to face the specimen in direct combat.

Yet, its prime directive to bring upon the dawn of the Collective tugged back against its desire.

'Are you okay?' said the daemon.

"A momentary error in processing," said the Collector as it realized it had paused for a second. A second of wasted time. It clicked its mandibles, breaking apart another rock into small shards.

It put in one half of each pile into both its hands and drew the pile of stone back, ready to throw it, and this time, it infused within the two volleys a strong spin aiming to create a trajectory consisting of an extreme curve meant to bypass the male entirely, striking the female specimens behind it from the sides.

The spins were opposite, meaning that one half of the volley would break hard to the left, and the other hard to the right.

Unless the male specimen could be in two places at once, this would be fatal.

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Furio could feel something was off with this volley. There had been a delay between it and the others.

A small delay, one no more significant than a second, but in the realm of four-star adventurers and monsters of the same caliber, such a shift would not go unnoticed.

A stronger attack? A more varied one, perhaps?

Regardless, Furio prepared by extending his {Sense Aura} out even farther, the mana flowing from his body in a circular field around him stretching to twenty meters in radius.

As someone with a Flow origin, Furio was naturally gifted with the movement of mana within and outside his body at both the micro and macro scales.

Among four-star adventurers, his sense aura was among the largest and most sensitive, picking up even the drop of a single snowflake in a raging blizzard.

Furio registered movement at the edges of the field.

Both edges.

Countless small stone shards closing in from both the left and the right. He widened his eyes, but the surprise did not weigh him down.

In adventuring, the unexpected was always near. The difference between a dead and live adventurer lay in adapting to it.

Furio aimed his wrench towards one side of the volley and pushed out the electric dagger Fulmi from his wrench.

Then, he drove mana into his legs to use the common martial art {Dash}.

Green wrapped around his legs as he sprinted to the other volley, bolt-like arcs of magic screeching as steaming heat arose from the friction of his boots slamming into the dirt.

Meanwhile with a mental command, Furio activated Fulmi, and the six segments in the dagger opened up, revealing fleshy blue coils of muscle connecting the pale blue metal of the dagger.

From the muscle fibers, lightning roared, destroying the volley.

The other volley, though –

Furio stood right in front of Vera and Emi, facing his back towards the volley and hunching his form down to protect them as much as possible with his wider frame. He concentrated mana into his body with the martial art {Guard}, turning his flesh hard like adamantite.

Stone shards shattered on his back and pattered into the dirt in front of him, blowing up tiny craters and piles of dirt.

Furio grimaced.

The shards of rock had gouged out a patchwork of bloody, raw, and circular wounds all across his back, blasting through his durable metal-weave tunic completely.

No fatal hits, though.

Furio's {Guard} was not his strong suite.

With an origin of Flow, he specialized in the movement of mana, not in condensing it into single points. His {Dash} was not great either for that reason.

A fighter with a Root or Chaos origin was far better suited for those kinds of mana forms. Root with their stabler, more concentrated mana tendencies and Chaos with its more explosive flow that could be packed into shorter lived but stronger forms.

But no use crying over the talents he was born with. One could not be perfect at everything, after all.

"Are you alright!?" said Vera. She had light-wreathed hands on Emi's unconscious figure, and from the brightness of the light, the portal to move Emi out was basically done.

Furio held down nausea as he saw Emi's legs, severed at the knee, tied down with red-stained white cloth to stem blood loss. The pool of blood beneath her was already so big, so-

He cleared his head, righting his battle will. "Take Emi out."

Vera nodded, and with a final burst of light shining from her hands that enveloped Emi, sent her away. Little particles of shining rainbow floated all around the air.

Furio turned around, facing the direction of the projectiles, for by now, judging from the flow of the spin infused in them, he had gained a sense of their origin. "And you go too. I'll meet you at the safe zone."

Vera looked at Furio's bleeding back. "No, Furio, listen to me. If I portal you out to the safe zone, I can portal myself out without any channeling. That way, all three of us can survive."

"You think I'm going to lose?" Furio gripped his wrench tight. He tapped the wrench with one finger, willing Fulmi to magnetically latch back onto the wrench head.

So far, there were no additional projectiles.

Some breathing room. "No, Vera. You have portal yourself out. Fully, and to the safe zone.

If you channel me out but leave yourself with just a short-range portal, you'll be stranded just a few minutes from here, if even that.

Whatever this monster is, it's easily reaching a C-rank threat level, and we still have no idea what more it's capable of.

If it's sensitive to portal movement, it could track you, kill you before you could even do anything.

I have to be the last one here."

Furio's eyes gleamed alight with mana and fury as he pinpointed the thicket of trees and undergrowth where the rocks came from. "And I'm going to fight. I'm going to make this monster suffer."

"Furio, listen-," began Vera. She sighed, knowing that when Furio let his emotions flare up and set his mind on something, there was no changing his mind. "You…you're going to fight, no matter what. Then the least I can do is stop holding you back."

Vera knelt to the ground, hugging her arms around herself. The rainbow circuits running up her arms shone bright, enveloping her in an iridescent haze before it faded, and with it, her physical form.

A short range portal.

Probably, Vera would manually run back out of this forest. The remote Sundan village where the safe zone lay had no Outpost, no professional healers, but hopefully the village healer would treat Emi well enough to let her survive until adventuring reinforcements came.

"Thanks for understanding, Vera," said Furio as he took in a breath, readying himself to fight. At the end of the day, Vera and Emi both held him back. That was the simple truth of it.

Though they could offer him some utility and support, Furio was leagues beyond them in power, and he essentially just carried them with him because of his bond for them.

Even then, he sensed that it might not be enough here. Against this monster. "If I don't make it back, I hope you end up with someone better for you."

With that, Furio roared into the air, loosing out all the emotions he had pent up, the rage, the desire to hurt back what had hurt what was closest to him, and sprinted forwards.

Without having to pace himself to make sure he did not leave behind Vera and Emi, he was more than twice as fast as he was before.

He used flow {Accel} to boost his stats evenly, wrapping himself in a tight, full-body aura of green.

He whirled the wrench like a spinning blade in front of him, activating Fulmi at low charge to wreath the weapon in arcs of damaging electricity as he mowed his way through the insects.

Blue flashes of lightning decorated with flying insect legs, charred guts, broken carapace, and heads flew in the air behind him as he pressed forwards, always forwards, drenched completely in white and green blood and guts, only his bright, green-tinged eyes visible in the dark.

The Collector clicked its mandibles, gooey green juices dripping from its maw. It had prepared a pile of insectoid corpses beside it before unleashing its volleys for this throwing maneuver was extremely costly in terms of mana consumption.

The last twin volley had cost almost twice the amount of mana as a normal throw, leaving the Collector significantly below half its mana reserves. But devouring these corpses would recharge its mana reserves, theoretically allowing for an infinite ranged bombardment.

Yet, in the time the Collector took to regain its mana, one of the female specimen had managed to create a smaller, localized warp to move the other, crippled female specimen from the battlefield.

Then, she had removed herself in short order.

"Do most humanoids within the ranks of this organization known as the 'Adventurer's League' possess warp capabilities?" asked the Collector.

The female specimen behind it could not see as far as the Collector and had been busy so far gathering insect corpses for it to consume, but she picked up on its intent and answered. 'No. Hmm…portals are the domain of Niva, goddess of paths, and those connected to her.

The priestesses of the paths. They, ah, they wear veils and have rainbow colored circuits to symbolize the rainbow root that Niva waters and tends to.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles, understanding that one of the female specimens fit under this category.

However, with her gone, this male specimen was now left stranded.

Certainly, he was the most physically and magically adept among them, surging with such energy that the Collector's desire to feast upon his flesh and core only grew with every passing moment.

Yet, what would this specimen do? Would it now flee?

With its current physical and magical capabilities and the distance between himself and the Collector, it certainly could.

Such a choice would be prudent. Logical.

And if he did so, the Collector would simply move on to its initial goal of the dungeon.

But no, the male specimen charged forwards, loosing a battle cry that roused the Collector's desire to an even greater height.

The Collector clicked its mandibles, a red aura beginning to grow from around its white-plated body.

The female daemon sensed this burst of chaotic, powerful energy and shrank back instinctively, knowing a fight was to come.

"Excellent," remarked the Collector to itself. "You will provide me with an adequate final feast."

It unsheathed its claws and started to flow mana around itself in preparation for battle. But it did not meet the male specimen's charge.

"Yet, you must overcome one more hurdle to prove worthy of my time."

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As the thick of Darkwoods forest growth, all those accursed black trees and twisted grasses and vines home to everything filthy that crawled, drew close to Furio, he powered mana into his legs, and with a final push, blasted himself forwards, right into the darkness.

Insects all around him blew back from the force of the leap, some of the bugs directly beside his feet even blowing apart from the simple shockwave forced out from the movement.

In a battle, a real fight where he had nothing to hold him back, the monsters of this area, all these bugs and goblins, were absolutely nothing to Furio, dying simply from the collateral damage of his movements.

But as Furio sailed past two tree trunks and skidded down on dirt, he knew what he was about to face was something far, far beyond what this place was supposed to muster up.

Visibility here was near zero, and simply generating light with his mana was inefficient.

Furio focused his mana instead on maintaining a {Sense Aura} field around him, his senses adapting to the near complete darkness by honing his hearing and touch instead.

He did not overly engage the aura because there was so much interference here, so much random movement, instead only honing it enough to make up for his lost sight.

And he was no stranger to darkness.

Areas like this with no light were no stranger to adventurers, not to mention a four-star one like him.

Even as a relatively inexperienced four-star adventurer, Furio still knew what it was like to fight in absolute darkness where no normal human could ever have survived.

A week in an abandoned Tallon mine dealing with Morians – mutated, curse-ridden and flesh devouring humans – along with more overgrown bugs had taught him that much.

It was where he first met Vera, too. He pushed down rising memories of the time, how he had argued so much with her when they got lost in the mines, how as the days passed, they realized they were similar threads wound from different cloths; his woolen, hers silken.

Emi had not been there because she was sick, and he had to take the dangerous, multi-day mission to pay up enough coin for them and for a good healer. Vera was there adventuring to prove to her younger siblings that there was another life than the ones forced down their throats by her parents.

Distractions.

Furio gripped his wrench tight as he sensed movement. He tuned his senses so that it would ignore the chittering and crawling of the insects, and in doing so, he registered two unique auras and the physical bodies attached to them.

One of them, massive, powerful, and of a kind he had never felt before, started to power up a sizable amount of mana as its physical form wound up a stone at him from behind a tree trunk.

'That won't work on me, not at this range where I can sense all of your movements', thought Furio as he powered up mana into his legs, turning them glowing green as he used {Dash}, instantaneously rushing behind the tree trunk.

Furio's eyes widened as his senses painted up the image of a monstrosity unlike any he had encountered in front of him.

Almost three meters tall. Covered in what at first glance seemed like a full suit of white-plated armor lined with protruding spikes. A serpentine lower body.

Enormous coils of muscle lining a human-like upper body that promised nothing but overwhelming force, and, as he sensed an inhuman face with six eyes and enormous horns, a likeliness that this thing would not hold back on using that power.

Furio reacted on pure instinct, slashing his wrench horizontally across to gut the beast.

Fulmi was a short dagger with a coiled design unsuited for direct damage, but Flambe, a longsword far deadlier, still orbited the wrench, and with his swing, the heated blade also mirrored the movement and arced forwards.

The monster reacted with lightning quick reflexes, swerving backwards with its serpentine body to dodge the swing by a hair's breadth and then undulated its body forwards in the very same motion, abusing its huge frame and range to unleash an enormous, red mana infused punch.

The hairs on Furio's neck stood on end as he sensed massive threat from the punch. He held up his wrench as a shield, infusing it in a sheathe of mana to both absorb force and deflect the blow.

If he was desperate or caught by more surprise, he would have had to use {Guard}, and because his Flow origin was unsuited to that type of defense, he likely would have sustained a near fatal injury and gotten blown back.

But Furio deflected the punch without much issue, and in the thick of melee combat, he could sense even greater that this monster was, well, a monster through and through.

The armor plating it had on was not forged metal but pure carapace of a quality far, far higher than anything the Darkwood insects possessed.

Furio would need some serious firepower to punch through that much carapace.

"Gah!" Furio immediately pushed himself backwards as he felt pain stabbing from his side. He felt the warm rush of blood trickling down his ribs and he steadied his breathing.

The monster had stabbed him with a series of spider-like legs that unfolded from its back in a sudden instant, surprising him. Though with his sharp reflexes, he had managed to avoid his lungs from getting punctured.

Wounds deep enough to bleed, but not lethal.

Furio could deal with this, but this…this monster. He sized it up again, taking in the huge, fluxing waves of mana pouring out from the creature, forming into a malevolent, red-tinted aura.

A magical beast.

Good, Furio had ways to deal with them. The older they were, the more primal density they had, the better. He just had to switch out weapons to Stella, but even with the anti-monster flail, he would find it difficult to punch through that much armor.

Not to mention those spider legs. Six different additional angles of attack. Fast reflexes. Speed and power.

This monster was an absolute physical powerhouse.

Oddly, though, he could not sense any true intent from it. It seemed to radiate a sense of…calm?

Killing intent, yes, but no real hate, no real powerful emotion.

Then this thing must have been a familiar. A construct programmed for simple purposes.

It did not match the profile of any monster he had known, and he had studied and memorized almost all that the Adventurer's League had compiled information on down from the type of every single different variant of giant bug to the most unique and mighty draconids and millennial beasts.

That meant the likelihood was high that this monster was custom-made. It looked like an amalgamation of different parts too, part daemon, even, which explained the second aura nearby.

A daemonic one. Though Furio had never encountered one in person, he had trained to sense their presences.

That one must have been the master of this familiar.

Furio sensed the monster attacking again. Furio powered up Fulmi. The six segments of the coiled dagger opened up, and the blue flesh of the Shockstripe Eel embedded between the segments roared out a massive field of electricity.

Furio did not hold back. He fully activated Fulmi as he shot it out from the wrench to buy space and time.

The dagger whistled forwards, surrounded in an ever-growing field of arcing electricity that burnt up everything it touched, starting several fires.

The League would berate him for causing a fire, but they would understand if he had to go all out against a C-rank threat like this. No, maybe even higher. C, maybe.

And a C-rank threat was already enough to threaten the lives of several villages, even a smaller town.

The monster dodged to the side, and in that time, Furio slotted in Flambe to his wrench and turned to the second presence hiding behind another tree, about twenty meters away. It stepped out just a little from its cover, baring a shoulder, and he did not miss the chance.

Furio ejected Flambe from his wrench, and the blade blasted forwards like a shining orange missile in the dark.

With {Dash}, Furio followed quickly behind the blade's trajectory, and when he saw what he hit, his eyes widened for a moment.

Flambe stabbed into a young girl's shoulder, skewering right through and searing the wound around it. The force of the blade dragged the girl backwards several dozen meters until it pinned her to the thick trunk of another Darkwood tree.

Furio held down a pang of pity as he saw the daemon girl, no older than what must have been fourteen, twist her face in pain and try to touch at the heated blade. The way she did not scream, it reminded Furio of Emi.

"Dispel your familiar, now!" shouted Furio. "And turn yourself into the League!"

He knew he should have killed her right then and there, there was no real crime in killing daemons for it had been years since they had left the Common Body where the Common Laws laid down by the gods for all races applied.

But still, he could not muster the will up at the moment.

A severe mistake.

The daemon girl's right arm lit up in purple, and Furio felt several rocks and branches slam against his chest.

A surprising amount of force that he had not expected from someone as young as her, and he did not guard against it properly, spinning once in the air before he righted himself, landing on the forest floor ten meters back.

Furio turned around immediately, knowing he was close to the monster familiar again. He sensed it eleven meters ahead.

A sizable distance – it had intentionally created space between itself and him.

"Disappointing," came a voice.

Male in timbre. A smooth, well-enunciated voice that spoke Terran with perfect, conventional pronunciation bare of any accentation.

Almost too perfect.

A voice that did not belong to a monster, but more to an academic, though the deep, unnatural rattle underlining it foreshadowed an utterly inhuman side that would have made anyone's goosebumps stand at attention.

Furio held down surprise. The monster spoke to him. A flash of purple from its left arm.

If Furio remembered right, he knew this was Sapia. The Inhera of the Daemons, and yet, what were Daemon kind doing here?

They were almost extinct, their entire home realm of Zerul turned into an undead wasteland and the remainder of their people scattered throughout the realms as desperate refugees or, in worst cases, as prisoners.

The complete absurdity of the situation slowed Furio's reactions.

Something from above came down.

"Fuck," said Furio as he found himself completely wrapped up in a web of silk.

The monster had spun up a web somehow, lining it across the branches of the forest canopy, and lured Furio in deeper and deeper, abusing his emotional volatility to get him into this location to entrap him.

The webbing was strong. Arakka-grade silk, maybe even better.

If he had just one arm free, he could have mustered up enough strength or willed another weapon out of his back to cut through. But he was completely immobilized, the webbing holding him in suspended animation from every limb.

Furio grimaced, taking in a deep breath to make sure all his muscles were relaxed. There was only one way out.

"Like the others, you consider me an anomaly beyond your reason, and thus, you relegate my presence to that of subordination. A 'familiar' as you would so call it. In essence, the creation of a tinkerer," said the monster as it drew near, all its many claws readied to butcher.

"You wished to challenge me directly, and yet, when you surmised there was a path of least resistance available to disable me, you discarded the opportunity to engage in glorious combat.

You are as pathetic as the vast majority of your kind, degenerated human, and you will find far better purpose within the Collective."

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