Now that it was close up to the Jotnar hand, the Collector could see that the Jotnar had indeed been a remarkable specimen when it had been alive.

The enormous length of the pale blue flesh towered high into the air, almost fifteen meters, with the base of the arm supported from under the water by a solidified pillar of ice.

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The arm was thoroughly muscled, the definition of the musculature clearly visible, each curve and indentation pushing against the skin.

Across the skin, crystalline structures of ice protruded, with particularly large collections clumping around the elbows and forearms to form rudimentary spikes and guards.

Waving patterns of deep blue were etched into the skin, mimicking the flow of water and winds, and within them, the Collector could sense remnant traces of the environment's mana.

Likely, these markings, much like the carved sigils that stored spells for tinkerers, functioned to manifest a certain magical phenomenon; in this case, the manifestation of a dungeon via absorption of environmental mana, though the nature of the dungeon, the Collector could no longer glean.

The energy signatures of the dungeon had largely dissipated.

No doubt, the draconid specimens had entered the dungeon projected by the hand and eliminated the energy source that sustained it. Glowing sigils of foreign script no longer manifested upon the arm when the Collector neared.

This left only the bare flesh of the arm unprotected by barriers of magical energy.

Flesh ready for consumption, perfectly preserved by the environmental mana that once condensed around it, marking it as a focal point for a dungeon.

The Collector placed its remaining hand on the pale blue, almost white skin of the hand, feeling a radiating cold permeate from it up through its hand. Its ocular systems traced the dark blue, nearly black patterns mimicking winds and waves running across the length of the arm.

At the very least, there was an entire dungeon's worth of magical energy in this arm.

And no small dungeon either, it seemed.

An overwhelming magnitude of mana emanated from the arm that far exceeded that emitted by the draconid specimen, though the Collector understood that the draconid was severely holding back the full reserves of its magical energy, facing the Collector solely with its sheer, latent physical stats unenhanced even by basic flow.

Regardless, the Collector understood that by consuming this arm, it truly would evolve into a status worthy of the term 'ascension'.

A range of strength that could access the upper echelons of might in this world.

The Collector had always known that had it possessed full access to the Collective, allowing its shard to gain adaptations from Infestor and Dominator Collector strains, it could have had half of this entire planet under disease and control by now.

Yet, at the same time, the Collector was thankful that it had been locked out.

Had it simply gone ahead with Infestor or Dominator traits without fully understanding the nature of magic in this world, it would have spread death and disease at a large scale and been immediately spotted by tinkerers with unfathomable abilities and firepower.

Or perhaps it would have succeeded, adapting magic to its diseases and mental manipulations and breaking this world down from within.

Yet, it would have been too easy.

Where would the battles have been? Where would the thrill of growing strong have been?

It would have simply burrowed underground, manifesting parasites and clouds of microbes or projections of psionic control.

There would have been no challengers, merely survivors of pathogens and parasitic influence.

The Collector would never have had the chance to become a challenger itself.

It would not have fought. It would simply have…functioned.

Regardless, the Collector understood that fundamentally, all the desires it sated for itself now would lead to growing its strength, and with more strength, it would achieve the Great Purpose with more ease, thus, it felt more comfortable with these emotions and desires it now began to cultivate, more willing to accept them as simply part of the journey to bring forth the Great Purpose.

"I shall create an incision within this limb and enter into its flesh," stated the Collector, projecting its voice to the goblin swarm. "Within, I will undergo what you term as an 'Ascension'. The process will take significant periods of time, and it is difficult to calculate the precise length.

Regardless I will state this: when I emerge, I will have the might to lead all of you truly to grand purpose. Beyond to the Rift, then, to the domain of the tinkerers."

"Yes, my king," said Thokk, the carrier unit. He thumped his chest. "We protect you with all our lives."

The elder on Thokk's shoulder looked up and side to side, his eyes blinded but his magical sensitivity still sharp.

"I can sense it," said the elder, almost in a whisper. "This is the power. The power of the Rift. The ancient power of the World before it was marred by the gods.

The power of dragons. The power of Titans. The power of giants.

The power of the World's will itself."

The elder put up his hands, bidding the kneeling champions to rise.

"Rise, my brethren, and bear witness," said the elder, shaking in excitement as he smiled, baring the few yellowed teeth he had. "Our king will soon possess the Old power.

A new age is upon us."

The swarm stood up, reverently gazing at the Collector, their bodies tense as they readied themselves to guard the Collector at all times.

The Collector clicked the mandibles of its main skull in appreciation that its units would stand vigil and neared the Jotnar hand.

By now, the Collector had regenerated its tail and one of the limbs holding its monomolecular claw. The skulls that had shattered during its fight were half-formed, but they were a testament to the Collector's survival: the draconid specimen had struck the Collector's decoy skulls.

That happening of chance had allowed the Collector to survive to this point. A fundamental point where the Collector sensed that it would possess enough strength to operate on a different scale.

Where it would shatter boulders with its strikes, it would now crack mountains.

With that strength, no, even further strength than even that, the Collector would challenge the draconid, then, it would bear down upon the tinkerers, welcoming any challenger in turn that they mustered up against it.

The Collector unsheathed its monomolecular blade and made a rectangular incision through the Jotnar arm. The arm began to shake unpredictability, not because of any movement on the Collector's part, but because the pillar of underwater ice that supported the hand was slowly starting to crack and break apart under the arm's weight.

The ice had been generated largely by the arm's own magic, and now that it was inactive, it would start to deteriorate.

Good. There were no life forms in the water. Once the Jotnar hand sunk, the Collector would be able to metamorphose within it with the least amount of visibility possible.

The Collector grasped the flesh it cut and pried it open like a door. Even with the full extent of its muscular, mana-enhanced might, it could barely pry open the thick, heavy flesh from the few connective tissues that attached it to the rest of the arm.

When the Collector had pried the chunk of flesh open enough to see dark blue blood pouring out, streaming in the waters below in large, inky clouds, it entered the cavity it had formed. It shrunk itself as much as possible, condensing its muscles and minimizing the output of its magical energy, fitting into the cavity in a snug ball.

From here, the Collector began the process of metamorphosis.

A metamorphosis unlike any other.

A metamorphosis that promised to change not only the Collector, but the fate of this world itself.

The evolutionary cocoon could itself consume and devour organic matter near it to fuel it, and in the case that the Collector could metamorphose within a rich sample like this, it could engage in an accelerated and enhanced evolution that could skip metamorphosis levels depending on how much biomass it consumed.

And in the case of this Jotnar arm, the Collector knew it had ample quantities of heavily magically charged flesh to evolve again and again and again, for it never had to exit the cocoon until all the flesh around it was consumed.

It did not know the full extent of strength it would gain, merely that its current state would be utterly incomparable to its new might.