Finding a good spot to establish a dungeon was a tricky endeavor. Such a place had to be saturated with magical energy and hidden away so that random monsters didn’t disturb it. The latter was especially difficult to come by at the bottom of the ocean. Dungeon cores tended to glow while active, and many deep sea creatures were attracted to light sources. The same held true of Xera’s blazing scalp, but she could suppress it at will with her shapeshifting. The crystal sphere didn’t have an ‘off’ switch, however. Anchoring it somewhere in the open was just asking for something like a leviathan to drop by and dislodge it.

Boxxy’s demonic minions weren’t all that picky, though. They just needed to set the dungeon core up so that they could teleport back to civilization and couldn’t care less about what would happen to it afterwards. As such, they would’ve settled for a half-decent, not-great, or even bad spot for a dungeon. Geographical features such as mountains, volcanoes, craters, and the like typically had enough ambient mana flowing through them to meet the trio’s low standards. It was only a matter of finding them.

Unfortunately locating such a landmark was proving difficult. The ocean floor where they had been summoned was rather barren and empty. Dull, flat, and featureless sand stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see. Granted, the dark waters at that depths were so impenetrable that even Drea’s magic-sensitive sight struggled to see further than about fifty meters. However, she saw nothing but a sunken desert no matter how hard she tried to peer into the distance.

“Are you sure we’re not going in circles?” the arachnid looked back to Xera.

“Of course, I am,” the djinn insisted.

The two of them were experienced enough with roaming the mortal realm to know the dangers of traversing such a bland and featureless terrain. Bipedal creatures typically had one leg that was ever-so-slightly shorter than the other, a trait that most humanoid demons shared. This quirk made them walk at an imperceptible curve even though they were trying to go straight. Because of that, it was easy for such a creature to unwittingly travel in a huge circle should they lack the ability to confirm their heading via landmarks or tools. And since the former was in short supply in that region, Xera had made a point of taking one of her master’s tentacle-crafted compasses from its disgorged Storage contents. The cylindrical device in her hand insisted they had been heading south every time she checked it, and she saw no reason to doubt it.

“Alright,” Drea turned her gaze forward. “It’s just that we’ve been moving along for hours without even the slightest change of scenery.”

“I dunno, Thunder-Tits. I think I’m with Bug-Cheeks on that one,” Kora chimed in from the rear. “I swear, we’ve walked past that rock over there at least twice before.”

“Yeah, right. Since when do you remember what random rocks look like?” Xera asked mockingly.

“That’s fair, but I’m just saying, there can only be so many of them that look vaguely like a cock and balls.”

“Everything looks like a cock and balls if you put your mind to it.”

“You would know,” the hoarder rolled her eyes. “You’re the one constantly dreaming about getting your backyard ploughed.”

“You’re not wrong.”

The two went quiet after that exchange and continued onwards while maintaining formation. Drea, as the most perceptive of the bunch, was swimming ahead by about ten meters. Kora was walking along the seafloor at the back while dragging Boxxy’s massive, limp body along. Xera, as the spellcaster and self-appointed navigator, stood in the middle to make sure the group maintained their course. As for the direction they were headed in, it had been picked on a whim. They had no idea where they were going, and it didn’t matter. Everything would work out so long as they found a place that could sufficiently power the core.

After about twenty more minutes, Drea spotted a looming shadow at the edge of her vision.

“I see something big up ahead and to the left,” she informed the others. “Not sure what it is, but let’s check it out.”

The group followed her lead for several steps before the stalker suddenly stopped.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” the spider-girl groaned. “We’re right back where we started!”

Indeed, the large thing she’d spotted earlier had been the same elder dragon bone thay had left behind about six hours ago. After some frustrated groaning, a good deal of cursing, and a few accusations of gross incompetence, it became clear that Xera had been at fault. Though she knew that a compass relied on a magnetized needle to point northward, she hadn’t considered that magnets were attracted to other things as well. In this case, it had been captivated by Kora’s armor. And since the hoarder was always at the rear of the group, the compass would claim that their heading was always south even though they had, in fact, been going around in circles.

Once the truth became apparent, the three familiars reached a unanimous decision to never again speak of the embarrassing situation and set out once more. They headed east instead of ‘south’ and were more careful about the compass getting confused. The second trip wasn’t any less boring, but they were definitely making progress. Over the course of twelve hours the sunken dunes gradually gave way to rocky formations covered with bizarre corals and weird crustaceans. These were encouraging signs, as life tended to flourish wherever the ambient mana was plentiful.

Except that it wasn’t ‘life’ that suffused the flora and fauna around them. Upon closer inspection, everything was either gray, brown, or a mix of the two. There was also the faint but distinct taste of rot in the water. The demonic trio had somehow stumbled onto the outskirts of an undead reef, complete with zombified fish and reanimated sea monster skeletons. Those lowly creatures were no match for three Ranker demons and were easily dealt with, but the situation demanded that the trio reconsidered their options.

After a brief mental conference, they decided to keep going rather than backtracking. It was neither the wisest nor the safest option, but demons hated boredom most of all. Fighting rotten fish just seemed to be a more entertaining prospect than turning back. Plus, there was a chance that whatever caused this patch of aquatic Blight could also serve as a power source for their dungeon core. They continued searching the area for a few more hours without much luck. The only noteworthy thing that happened during that time was that they encountered and dispatched a swarm of undead krymer.

Eventually, Drea’s eyes spotted a magical aura in the distance and guided the group towards it. Investigating the promising phenomenon’s source revealed something quite peculiar. The remains of what looked to be an ancient and absolutely massive warship were scattered around the rocky ocean floor. The vessel looked to have been split into six huge chunks and dozens of smaller bits by some terrible force, presumably an explosion from within. There was an underwater geyser of some sort in the middle of it that may or may not have been related to the ship’s sinking. It spewed boiling hot water in short bursts once every few minutes, hinting at some kind of thermal activity in the area. It was also the likely reason why that area was clear of the mindless dead. Zombies and such were vulnerable to heat, so they naturally avoided high-temperature environments.

Most important of all, however, was that the hot water pumped out by the geyser had a magical charge that was sufficient for the trio’s needs.

The demons briefly split up to investigate the area further. Kora ventured into the various bits of wreckage in search of sunken treasure. Meanwhile Xera went to investigate the geyser, wary that it might be hiding a nasty surprise. Something had sunk that ship, after all, and the djinn wasn’t about to let some glorified blow-hole get the better of her. Seeing as the scalding heat didn’t bother her, she swam down the opening and had a look around. Long story short, the only thing she found down there was a barely-active volcano before she was violently ejected by its mini-eruption.

Drea, on the other hand, took on the simplest but also most important task - creating a new dungeon. She found a secluded spot that was both inside the wreckage and close to the geyser, where the mana was concentrated. She set the dungeon core up and the crystalline sphere instantly lit up with a blue-green glow as it began processing the magical energy into MP. Drea was her master’s familiar, which meant that Boxxy was technically the dungeon’s owner, thereby allowing the core to connect to the rest of the shapeshifter’s network. That entire process had taken all of three minutes, though the core would need a few hours before it had gathered enough energy to transport the group to the Dryad’s Domain.

“I just thought of something. Shouldn’t we tell Ambrosia we’re on our way?” the stalker suggested. “She could prepare a welcome-home feast for the master.”

“I don’t think that’ll do anything. I doubt her ‘cuisine’ will succeed where an elder dragon’s leftovers had failed,” Xera said somewhat disparagingly.

“Oh, the dragon gravy is tastier, no doubt there. However, Ambrosia’s cooking is more familiar. Boxxy might find it comforting. Also, if that fails, she might be able to do something with these samples I brought.”

Drea patted the twenty or so web sacks that were strapped to various parts of her body, each filled with a portion of elder dragon bone marrow. She had collected thirty of those initially, but she couldn’t keep herself from indulging in the tasty treats to stave off the dull travel.

“Uhm… Are you sure those are still good?” Xera pointed out. “We’ve been dealing with undead for a while now.”

Undead meant Blight, and Blight had the nasty property of befouling food and water no matter no matter what container they were stored in. The stalker groaned in frustration as she was subtly reminded of that fact. Inspecting the contents of her silk-bags revealed that the once vibrant red bone-sauce had turned a most unappetizing shade of light brown. It was extremely disappointing, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least Boxxy would have the option to come back to the newly-anchored dungeon core and hunt down that bone whenever it got better.

“If we’re talking about comfort, then have Tree-Tits tell Glitter-Butt to get her shiny metal ass ready,” Kora weighed in. “You know how much the boss likes to drool over that booty.”

“Ugh. Sure, let’s get the bird-brain and that bimbo of a bush involved while we’re at it,” the djinn rolled her eyes. “Maybe we can even have Stain drop by and offer her words of wisdom.”

Xera’s spiteful words were born from her jealousy towards the dryad and the golem. She constantly felt as if she was competing against those two for her beloved master’s attention and favor, but usually had enough self-confidence to not let those thoughts bother her too much. However, she was powerless to help Boxxy in its time of need whereas her love-rivals were not. That realization brought forth an ugly and venomous side of her that she normally kept a lid on.

“Do you think Stain has it all figured out?”

All three familiars froze at Boxxy’s telepathically transmitted words. It was the first time it had directly spoken to any of them since the Dragon Festival, but its tone was so unsettlingly flat and lifeless.

“Has she figured out what, Master?” Xera asked after a few seconds.

“Life. Purpose. The universe. All of it.”

“I doubt it, Master. She doesn’t strike me as a font of wisdom and insight.”

“Oh… Yeah… I guess not…”

That crushingly disappointed response filled the djinn with regret. She immediately realized she should’ve been supportive rather than dismissive, even if she had to enhance the truth a little.

“However, one of her victims might know something,” she quickly added. “Stain has been around for a long time and has absorbed hundreds, possibly thousands of minds. That’s an awful lot of mortal life experience condensed into one gooey lump. Even if she doesn’t have the answers, she might know someone who does.”

“Good point,” the abomination replied. “I’ll think about paying her a visit.”

“As you say, Master.”

Drea gave Xera two thumbs-up while mouthing the words ‘nice save.’ Though neither of the familiars knew what to do with Boxxy, they silently agreed that it was probably for the best if they kept it talking. The silent treatment certainly wasn’t going to help anyone.

“What about you, Snack? Do you know why you exist?”

The djinn and the stalker exchanged worried glances. Xera had been asked a question that both of them knew she hadn’t given any serious thought to. Thankfully, the former succubus was quite proficient in the fine art of bullshitting her masters.

“I do not,” she said calmly.

“And? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“It does not concern me. As Master is surely aware, I am immortal.”

“You’ll still end someday!” the shapeshifter started getting angry.

“You misunderstand, Master. What I meant was that I do not dwell on it because I, as an immortal, see time differently. My kind does not concern itself with the far future, nor does it care about the past. We all live in the present, in the here and now. It is the only thing that matters to us, and as such we strive to enjoy it. It is why we’re all so desperate to avoid boredom, even if it means submitting ourselves to familiar contracts. We would gladly suffer through decades of misery just to feel a few precious moments of wonder and excitement. Well, most of the time, anyway.”

Xera was quite satisfied with that improvised speech. She had no idea where she was going with that thought but it had come together quite nicely. In fact, now that she thought back on her words, she felt as if she had given a surprisingly genuine answer even though her intention had been to dodge the question entirely. That was irrelevant, though. The only thing that mattered was that Boxxy found her words acceptable.

“Hmpf. Useless,” it grumbled. “Carl said basically the same thing.”

It would seem that ‘acceptable’ was too strong of a word, but at least it kept talking instead of retreating inside its own thoughts.

“What about you, Arms? What’s your take on the purpose of existence.”

One could practically hear the hoarder shrug through the mind-link.

“Fucked if I know, Boss. Can I just go with what Cum-Breath said? It’s pretty relatable.”

Xera was starting to question where all those degradory nicknames were coming from. Kora had been throwing out a new one every few minutes, and she definitely wasn’t clever enough to have come up with all of those on the spot. It was almost as if that blockhead had spent her recent stint in the Beyond doing nothing but inventing and memorizing insults. Actually, that sounded exactly like the sort of thing Kora would do.

“Same here,” Drea chimed in, anticipating her master’s next question.

“Whatever,” Boxxy said dismissively. “Just get me back home. I’m sick of eating fish. They’re nasty.”

The abomination went dead silent after that. At least it had given its familiars something that resembled an order, which was probably a good sign. Said order wasn’t all that exciting, though. Getting Boxxy back to its lair was something the demons were already mostly done with. The only thing left to do was to kill time while the dungeon core charged up. Xera spent those few hours drifting around the abomination’s limp body with a mix of concern and frustration whereas Drea carried out her usual sentry duties. The stalker’s vigilance would eventually turn out to have been for nought, as no creatures - living or otherwise - would approach the wreckage.

Oddly enough, Kora was the one who wound up as the most productive familiar. She was quite successful in her search for sunken treasure, having found a respectable hoard of shinies scattered throughout the ship. There were two distinct types of loot - coins and relics. The money had been stored in a number of enchanted metal coffers that had protected the gold inside from the surrounding saltwater. Those lockboxes were no match for Kora’s brute strength and were ripped open as if they were made of paper. A few had explosive wards on them as anti-theft measures, but they accomplished little beyond startling the six-armed demon.

The rest of the spoils consisted of a generous assortment of staves, statuettes, trinkets, and accessories that were either gilded, jewelled, or both. These valuables had been scattered throughout the wreckage at random, with no traces of their original owners. At a glance, the items themselves seemed to hold some kind of religious significance. They all had the sort of look to them that made one think of temples, altars, and ceremonies.

However, the hoarder couldn’t care less about such trivia. She sometimes stopped to closely inspect whatever trinket stood out as especially fancy, but other than that she just shoved them into her Vault without a second thought. Kora had gotten a rare chance to raid a sunken ship of its valuables without Boxxy breathing down her neck. She was going to make the most of it, which meant not fussing about the details or history of the shiny objects she found. All that mattered was that they were clearly valuable and had to be pocketed before the shapeshifter caught wind of them.

On the surface it seemed as though Kora didn’t care about her master’s troubles, but that wasn’t quite right. Its well-being concerned her just as much as it did Xera and Drea, but unlike those two she just wasn’t worried. Throughout its entire life, that creature had cheated death about thrice a month on average. Compared to the usual dangers it ran into, its bout with depression seemed laughable. The hoarder was completely sure it would just bounce back as if nothing had ever happened. The other familiars were more or less aware of her simplistic mindset and envied her for it. Ignorance was bliss, after all.

“‘Tis good to see thee return safely, milord. I hath prepared thee a sumptuous meal to celebrate thy return, as per thy servants’ request.”

It became apparent upon the group’s eventual return to the Dryad’s Domain that Ambrosia was equally unphased by Boxxy’s condition. She wore the same old smile and spoke in her usual soft tone. She was politely pointing towards a nearby table that had been loaded to the brim with all manner of gruesome dishes. The dryad didn’t even seem bothered that the shapeshifter ignored her completely as it lay motionless on the ground. In fact, she broke neither her posture nor her smile as an awkward silence ensued.

“Uh… did Fruit-Jugs break?” Kora whispered to Xera.

“I think she’s waiting for master’s reply,” she whispered back.

“She gonna be waiting a while then, eh?”

“Yeah…”

The familiars then silently excused themselves as they got busy. Xera threw on a disguise and went to find out how Azurvale’s citizens dealt with depression. Drea also went to visit the city, though her intentions were to find a juicy-looking human as a replacement for her botched attempt at bringing back those gravy samples. Last but not least, Kora went into the sewers to find a good spot to stash all of her recent acquisitions before Boxxy returned to normal and claimed all of the loot in her Vault as its own.

Meanwhile Ambrosia stood perfectly still while waiting for Boxxy to start eating. She had been informed by the demon trio of the shapeshifter’s condition. However, concepts such as ‘depression’ and ‘existential dread’ were quite foreign to her. The only parts she understood were that the shapeshifter had developed a chronic lack of motivation and that it was difficult to get a response from it. Like Kora, she just assumed Boxxy would get better on its own if given enough time. Ambrosia just had to exercise patience until it did, and she had plenty of that. She was a millenia-old tree, after all. If anyone had completely mastered the art of standing completely still for unreasonable amounts of time, it was the dryad.

That said, there was little opportunity for her to demonstrate said skills as Boxxy spoke to her barely a minute later.

“Hey, Ambrosia?”

“Yes, milord?” she responded calmly.

“Do you know what the meaning of life is?”

“I do indeed, milord,” she claimed, much to the shapeshifter’s surprise.

“What is it?!” it shouted impatiently.

The dryad looked puzzled for a moment before her smile returned, accompanied by a light chuckle.

“Tell me!” Boxxy demanded.

“Apologies, milord. I just assumed one as clever as thou would have figured it out. ‘Tis truly quite simple. Life exists to grow, spread, and procreate.”

“… That’s it?”

“Quite so. There exists no greater purpose than ensuring that each generation grows larger and stronger than the previous.”

“Come on, there has to be more to it,” the shapeshifter pressed. “Isn’t there some kind of ultimate goal or endgame beyond that?”

“Does milord not find mine motivations relatable?”

“Not really, no,” its tone grew more frustrated.

“Then I know not what else to tell thee. ‘Tis apparent thine point of view differs from mine quite severely on such matters.”

“Yeah, yeah,” it grumbled dejectedly.

In retrospect, Boxxy should’ve known better than to ask Ambrosia. She was, after all, an extremely prolific ‘breeder.’ It was only natural that her solution to the big question would revolve around her biological drive to spread her seeds and produce offspring. There was absolutely no chance that procreation was the goal of Boxxy’s existence when it couldn’t do that even if it wanted to.

Actually… could it?

The abomination was fairly certain that its kind were a dead-end species that only increased in number through Rank Up, but ‘fairly certain’ wasn’t the same as ‘completely certain.’ Perhaps it could draw upon its ‘heritage’ to hijack a developing fetus and sire a doppelganger, much like how enlightened Rankers could have children that came out as their base species. Boxxy lacked firsthand experience with the reproduction cycle of doppelgangers, so it didn’t know the limitations of the process. For that matter, it hadn’t attempted to breed as an abomination, either. Perhaps it was capable of conceiving progeny all along and never knew because-

“There you are, you stupid box!”

Fizzy tackle-hugged the introspective shapeshifter at full speed and with no warning. Well, in actuality it was more like a mithril cannonball sinking into a small hill made of muscle, but it was a hug in the golem’s mind.

“I was so worried!” she squealed while burying her face into it. “You were gone for so long I didn’t know what to think… But now you’re back. And you’re in one piece! My core feels like it might overload with joy!”

That wasn’t the only thing being overloaded, though. Fizzy was so ecstatic to see Boxxy again that she neglected to moderate the output of her Static Field, causing an electrical current to flow into the other monster. The combination of the impact, the electrical jolts, and her being impossibly shiny had, for better or for worse, caused the shapeshifter’s train of thought to crash and burn with no survivors.

“Milady Fizzy?” Ambrosia interjected. “I do believe thou art hurting milord.”

“Oh, crap!”

The golem instantly let go and backed away from Boxxy, leaving a person-shaped electrical burn on its flesh.

“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

The golem knew full well that it would take a lot more to seriously injure the big lug, but she still felt bad about hurting it. She could clearly see the scorch mark rapidly disappearing as the flesh regenerated, but her concern only deepened when she realized Boxxy wasn’t answering her. Or moving, for that matter. The untouched feast nearby didn’t exactly inspire confidence, either.

“What… What’s wrong, Boxxy?” she approached more cautiously. “Are you not feeling okay? Are you exhausted from the trip or something?”

“Milord is merely depressed,” the dryad spoke up again.

“… I’m sorry, it’s WHAT?!” the golem shrieked in disbelief.

“Depressed,” Ambrosia graciously repeated herself.

“How in Garfunkel’s left spatula can Boxxy be depressed? That makes no sense.”

“It does, actually,” Null’s voice echoed in Fizzy’s head.

I… wait, really? the Paladin asked inwardly. How?

“Theory: When confronted with the infinite expanse of the universe, Boxxy T. Morningwood was forced to analyze its own existence and has accurately deduced its pointlessness. It has therefore decided to follow the most logical course of action and is in the process of self-terminating.”

Fizzy could understand and somewhat agree with the first part of that statement, but the second one seemed a bit… iffy.

“Wow,” Minus exclaimed. “That’s a bit too blunt, even for you, girl.”

“Yeah, there’s no way Boxxy would ever do that to us,” Plus also joined in. “Who’s going to polish our frame and tell us we’re shiny and radiant and wonderful if it’s gone?”

“I dunno, sis. It’s not entirely impossible,” Minus argued. “Technically speaking, it has tried to kill itself before. Sort of.”

“It did?”

“Yeah. Remember the time it tried to murder Keira?”

“I don’t think that… counts? It doesn’t count, right Null?”

“Though the incident in question is difficult to categorize as self-termination, it is a clear sign of mental degradation and instability.”

Alright, alright, let’s settle down, Fizzy tried to reign them in. I’ll get to the bottom of this.

“Ambrosia, where are those three demonic dumbasses?”

The golem had been tinkering in her workshop on the dungeon’s lower levels. Ambrosia had told her of Boxxy’s impending return hours ago, but she hadn’t been informed of its arrival. She only found out it was back because Kora had swung by to call her ‘Chrome-Cunt’ before leaving the dungeon. As such, Fizzy had been left completely out of the loop.

“They departed here not long before thy arrival.”

“I know that. I’m asking where they were headed.”

“T’was my understanding they were running errands.”

“Oh. Well, do me a favor and call them back. I have questions for them.”

Fizzy didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye with those three all the time, but she figured they could fill her in on what exactly had happened to Boxxy.

“I shall summon them at once, milady,” the dryad bowed her head.

“Great. As for you,” the golem turned to the flesh-heap. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

The shapeshifter would’ve answered, but it didn’t see the point in doing so. That wasn’t just the depression talking, either. It had already had this conversation with five separate immortal entities and had come out with zero answers. The odds of Fizzy knowing something they didn’t were minute, and even that was a generous estimate.

“Hey? Are you even paying attention to me?”

The golem clearly did not appreciate being ignored and poked at the abomination’s central bulk. It did not react.

“Helloooo? Is anyone home?”

*Thwap*

The second time she gave it a full on slap, which was just as ineffective.

“Alright. We’ll do it the hard way.”

*Bdzt*

Her next attempt was similar to the first, but with a few thousand volts added on for good measure. The current that time around was significantly more intense than the accidental burn. It did succeed in eliciting a response from the unresponsive flesh-heap, but it was little more than an involuntary muscle spasm caused by the electricity.

“I’m not gonna stop until you answer me, Boxxy.”

*Bdzt*

“Hey!”

*Bdzt*

“I’m talking to you, you lazy bum!”

*Bdzt*

“Pay attention to me!”

*Bdzt*

*Thwap*

The wet sound of metal and flesh colliding rang out once more, only this time it was Boxxy doing the slapping. Or rather, the tentacle Fizzy had been electrocuting had moved on its own. Whether it was a muscle spasm or some kind of autonomous self-defense mechanism, the rebellious appendage had struck the golem with enough force to stagger her. Taking that as a sign that she was making progress, Fizzy redoubled her efforts.

Kora showed up to find the Paladin continuously electro-poking the sulking abomination while occasionally dodging its reflexive retaliations. The hoarder quietly stared at the scene for barely ten seconds before she decided that she wanted to try that. She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her from having a bit of fun. Kora stepped up to her master and gave it a few quick prods with her finger. Then, as if somehow competing with Fizzy, she began rapidly poking it with all six arms. Null, who at the time had literally nothing better to do, determined that the hoarder was pulling an impressive 1,650 ppm (pokes per minute). Her zeal earned her a few autonomous slaps, but she was so sturdy and heavy that she barely even felt them.

Xera was the next one to return, and she was far less amused by what was going on than the red-skinned block-head. Thankfully Ambrosia was still there and was able to provide the djinn with some much-needed context. It seemed as though Fizzy was trying to get through to Boxxy by annoying it into submission while Kora was, well, being Kora. In any event, Xera thought the idea had merit since that was precisely what Carl had done, so she joined in. Rather than electricity or prodding, she decided to do something that Boxxy found uniquely annoying. The djinn sat herself atop the unmoving shapeshifter, found the bumpiest tentacle she could find, and started grinding her crotch against it. She was almost instantly swatted away by another appendage, but that didn’t dissuade her from immediately doing it again.

The dryad then switched her focus to the untouched meals. It seemed to her as if Boxxy was too tired to move closer to its food, yet energetic enough to play around with its pets. Ambrosia therefore concluded that the best course of action for her was to feed the shapeshifter herself. She grabbed a skull-bowl of her signature eyeball-and-nectar pudding and knelt besides Boxxy. She took a large spoonful of the dessert and presented it to one of the creature’s vacant eyes. A few moments later said eye split open like a mouth. A frog-like tongue whipped out of it the opening and slurped up the tasty treat from the spoon. Ambrosia was rather overjoyed at that enthusiastic reaction and continued feeding the creature. She also wasn’t in the least bit bothered when a random serpentine tentacle slithered into her leaf-bra, latched onto her nipple, and began greedily sucking the nectar out of her.

As for Drea, she decided she wanted no part in whatever was taking place by the time she returned and left to resume her hunt just as quietly as she had arrived. It was probably a good thing that Jen wasn’t around for that, either. There was no telling how the strength-obsessed Monk would react upon seeing her leader in such a pitiful state, especially since she apparently had her brain scrambled by that adult dragon. Speaking of which, the stalker realized she had no idea where Jen was.

Thankfully there was an easy way to find that out without having to go back to ask.

Dreaheath: Hey, Lavender, any idea where Jen is?

Lavender: Hi, Drea! Who’s Jen?

Dreaheath: You know, the punchy bird-lady.

Lavender: Oh, right! Uhm…

Xerababadubuth: Been wondering that myself, actually.

Lavender: I think she went on a date with some guy.

Xerababadubuth: WHAT? There’s no way!

Lavender: That’s what it looked like to me.

Dreaheath: Care to elaborate?

Lavender: She kept, like, murmuring how she was bored and wanted to see him.

Lavender: She even put on some fancy clothes before she left.

Lavender: Think his name was, like, Emporio, or something.

Koralenteprix: Three hundred gold says she rips his dick off just by clenching her vag.

Dreaheath: When did Jen leave?

Lavender: Oh, it was, like, a while ago. At least two weeks.

Xerababadubuth: She’s been chasing that guy for that long? I am genuinely surprised.

Koralenteprix: Hi, Genuinely Surprised. I’m Koralenteprix.

Xerababadubuth: … I will end you.

Koralenteprix: More like, gonna end up on my dick, amirite?

Koralenteprix: By the way, we should bang.

Drea groaned as those two flooded the message stream with their increasingly vulgar commentary. Still, at least that line of communication was easier to ignore than hearing them shout at each other over the shared mind-link. Which, incidentally, was exactly what she did. Her intention had been to find out where Jen had gone, and she had a feeling that was as close as she was going to get. She seriously doubted that the Monk was romantically involved with some random guy called Emporio. He was most likely either a powerful combatant that the griffin-harpy wanted to test her mettle against or someone from her past that she had a personal score to settle with. Or potentially both. Whichever the case, there was no way of telling how long Jen would be gone, so Drea put the matter out of her mind and focused on her search for man-flesh.

Meanwhile the group back at the lair were forced to admit defeat. As fun as it had been at first, their attempts to annoy Boxxy into action had gotten both dull and awkward quite rapidly. Xera briefed Fizzy on her master’s condition and their oceanic adventure, then went off to resume her research into clinical depression. Kora went down to finish hiding her stash, after which she would go play in one of the treasure rooms while she had the chance. Ambrosia finished hand-feeding Boxxy and went off to personally tend to her tree.

Fizzy was the only one that refused to go move from Boxxy’s side. She could have resumed tinkering with her various projects to kill time until something happened, but she had been doing that for nearly a month. She found that sitting on the floor next to Boxxy and leaning against its bulk was a far more appealing prospect than miscellaneous busywork. She had missed her favorite shapeshifter terribly, and the only thing she wanted was its thorough and undivided attention.

Actually, there was one other thing.

“Hey, Boxxy? I know you’re having a situation and everything, but you wouldn’t happen to know what happened to my hand, do you?”

She lifted the skeletal-looking prosthetic she had made in her spare time and wiggled its digits around for emphasis.

“I thought about making a flawless replica of the original, but it didn’t feel right. I would know it wasn’t the real deal, and that idea bothers me more than it probably should. So, I was hoping that the real one ended up alongside you and that you had picked it up.”

The golem leaned into the abomination’s flesh and smiled innocently at one of its nearby eyes.

“I’d be really happy if you remembered to do that.”

The chamber fell silent. Neither Boxxy nor Fizzy moved for minutes on end, the former stubbornly refusing to and the latter patiently waiting. The stand-off ended ten minutes later when the shapeshifter finally gave in. It had a high tolerance for ignoring annoyances and things of the tasty or shiny variety no longer excited it as they once had. However, Fizzy was special. Being subjected to her blindingly bright smile for so long without actively worshipping it was painful. The tiny oil stain on her cheek had been especially bothersome. It was impossible to unsee the blemish once noticed, and it begged to be wiped off of the immaculate frame it was defiling.

And so Boxxy finally got over itself enough to give Fizzy what she wanted. It shuffled its flesh around just enough to evict the mithril hand that had been lodged in it the whole time. The metal limb clattered to the floor next to the Paladin, its surface a bit slimy but otherwise completely spotless. A tendril also reached out and licked that heretical stain from her cheek, then moved on to a few other sullied spots. Once done with those, several flexible appendages drifted towards parts of Fizzy’s body that had nothing on them except a thin layer of dust and grime.

The golem hummed joyfully at the slowly intensifying shine-job. She picked up her wayward hand and, after making sure nothing weird had happened to it in transit, set about putting it back in its place. Since she had used the Assimilate Skill to attach its replacement, she had the option to detach it just by willing it. With the prosthetic out of the way she was free to stick the original back in its place. Fizzy let out a breathless sigh of satisfaction at the feeling of being made whole once more, then sat back down so Boxxy could finish polishing her up. However, there was still a slight issue in regards to her hand. The body part was attached via Assimilate, which meant that there was a tiny seam between it and the rest of her forearm.

Thankfully, Fizzy had something in store that could resolve that minor flaw.

“Thanks a lot for holding onto it all this time,” she patted her abominable cushion, then stood up. “Also, I have some good news. I unlocked my Rank Up while you were gone.”

Boxxy froze for a few moments at the unexpected revelation.

“Weren’t you three Levels short of that?” it asked after that brief pause.

Fizzy’s railgun shot had been her biggest contribution during the showdown with the adult dragon. Since it had been remotely fired via Animated Armor, almost all of the XP earned for the kill had gone towards her War Golem Job. Combined with all of the fighting she’d done both leading up to and following Azzyth’s death, the construct’s main Job had ended up at about a quarter past Level 47. Getting that to 50 in just a few weeks seemed extremely unlikely, especially when considering the advanced nature of the Job. The amount of XP required to obtain those three Levels was similar to what an adventurer would need to get their own Job from 97 to 100.

“Yeah, about that. See, Jen and I were a bit lost after escaping the Isles. Without you we really had no idea where we were going. So, we flew in circles for a bit until we spotted some ships and, well… remember that golem egg you sold to Orrin? Turns out he’s been a busy little Hero since we last saw him.”

As Fizzy explained further, Orrin’s plans to launch a Steel Crusade to retake his people’s homeland had advanced tremendously during the Dragon Festival. About fifty of the giant’s followers had undergone the transformation into war golems and all of them had been stationed near the Shattered Isles. Apparently there were some high-profile attendees that had pledged their support to the Steel Crusade, but had insisted on attending the Dragon Festival before joining up. Several of those individuals had failed to show up because they had run into Boxxy’s group, but that was besides the point.

Long story short, Fizzy and Jen had decided to join the Steel Crusade’s initial assault on the Blighted Lands after consulting the Goddess of Mishaps via coin flip. The two of them had spent six consecutive days doing nothing but purifying the Boneshaper’s endless hordes of undead. The whole thing had been, in the Paladin’s own words, ‘a whole lot of fun.’ The giants had even rewarded their efforts with some raw materials and miscellaneous treasure.

The Monk-Paladin pair had left for Azurvale on day seven because they had assumed Boxxy would have returned by the time they made it back. When they found out the shapeshifter was still missing, the two followers of Margamel sought ways to keep themselves busy. In Jen’s case that meant flying out to the Empire in search of new prey, something she had wanted to do ever since her monsterfication. Boxxy had forbidden her from doing that prior to the Dragon Festival because of the various risks involved, but there was nothing stopping her now that the event was over.

“As for me, I just focused on my tinkering like usual,” the golem concluded her story. “I thought about going with her, but there was no point. The undead in the Blighted Lands aren’t worth a lot of XP individually, but there’s just so many of them. Null counted 4,708 confirmed kills in the short time I was there, which was just enough to get me to Level 50. I would have Ranked Up already, but I didn’t want a fake right hand permanently fused to me. That, and, well…”

Fizzy’s smile widened as she snuggled against the mass of tentacles around her.

“I wanted you to be the first one to see the new-and-improved me.”

“… Okay. Let’s see it then.”

The shapeshifter hadn’t said anything during the Paladin’s tale other than a few grunts and single-word sentences. It really didn’t care too much about those details - or anything, really - but even in its disturbed and pessimistic state of mind it couldn’t help but feel curious as to what this Rank Up was going to be like. Fizzy, for her part, wasted no more time and slowly disentangled herself from the monster’s tentacles. She stood before it as a fashion model in front of a crowd and initiated the Rank Up without further ado.

Her body froze in place completely. Several seconds of nothing passed by. A single hair-thin crack then appeared across the golem’s chestplate with a barely audible pop. A second and third ran down each arm, a fourth snaked up her back, and six more spread out from her eyes, each taking no more than a fraction of a second to appear. The cracks multiplied rapidly from there, quickly covering the golem’s mithril frame in a perfectly symmetrical web of incredibly thin lines. A soft yellow glow oozed out from these diminutive flaws, steadily intensifying in brightness and vibrancy with each passing moment. At its peak, the blinding light made it seem as if a miniature sun was getting ready to burst out from within Fizzy.

And something bright did indeed burst, though it was no ball of fire. A palpable wave of magic and a loud gong-like sound filled the core chamber. When it subsided, Fizzy’s frame had been restored to its immaculate state, though it was no longer mithril. It had been replaced by blessed orichalcum, an exceedingly rare metal whose luster was best described as ‘aggressively golden.’ Blessed orichalcum was so unearthly brilliant that even mithril looked looked like little more than polished tin in comparison. The golem’s new frame did not merely reflect and amplify ambient light, but emitted a solid gold-like glow of its own.

The material upgrade took precisely three minutes and twenty seconds. Once it was complete, Fizzy was able to regain control of her otherwise unaltered form. She did a little twirl and a bow towards the stupefied shapeshifter. The dazzling radiance that came off of her orichalcum limbs left behind a beautiful trail of light that lingered in place for a fraction of a second. Her appearance no longer demanded or captivated one’s attention. It was the sort of impossible beauty that held its observers hostage.

Or at least that was how Boxxy felt at that moment in time. The shininess on display was so extreme that it sent the monster into a form of sensory overload. For a few blissful minutes, it seemed as if everything except Fizzy’s dancing form had ceased to exist. The room could have been filled with hundreds of naked clowns killing each other with fiery crossbows while they recited recipes for rhubarb cake and Boxxy would have been none the wiser.

“So, what do you think of my new look?” the Paladin chirped joyfully.

That question failed to snap the shapeshifter out of its shiny-struck stupor. It didn’t need to say anything, though. The way it stared at Fizzy with dozens of wide eyes each on the brink of tears told her all she needed to know. However, the narcissistic golem demanded more than silent reverence. She liked it best when she was appreciated loudly and proudly, so she tried to get the momentarily introverted box-monster to open up.

“I think I might need to hire some linguists to invent a new word to describe me,” she said coyly. “Adjectives like incredible, perfect, sublime, spectacular, and marvelous are a good start, but I think they fail to fully capture my radiance.”

She was, of course, greatly overstating the impact of her appearance, but Boxxy agreed with her nonetheless. More than that, it felt a specific set of syllables rise up from the depths of its subconsciousness, which then floated out of its mouth.

“Breathtaking,” it uttered.

“Oh? That’s actually pretty good,” Fizzy’s eyes sparkled. “It sounds uniquely fitting.”

In fact, the already excited golem liked it so much that it caused a spike in her power output, which in turn produced a few arcs of bright yellow electricity between her fingers. Seeing that made the golem’s eyes go wide. She clapped her palms together and slowly pulled them apart, marvelling at the ‘golden lightning’ that jumped between them. It would appear that the blessed orichalcum was reacting with her innate magic, turning it appropriately shiny and flashy for her new look.

“That’s so damn cool!” the golem exclaimed. “I need to see what my Ultimate looks like now!”

“… Ultimate?” Boxxy finally blinked.

“Uhm, yeah?” Fizzy looked at it with bemused confusion. “I have a hundred Levels between my War Golem and Metal Golem Jobs.”

“Oh, right.”

The shapeshifter meant to ask Fizzy about that, but completely forgot about it because of the spectacular Rank Up. It still couldn’t care less about it at that moment in time, but it would eventually learn that her Ultimate Skill was something called Annihilation Protocol. Upon activation, the golem would launch a swarm of precisely one hundred and twenty eight tiny, magically-guided darts. These needle-like projectiles would spread out in every direction, flying through openings, over cover, and around corners as they struck at all hostile targets within sixty meters of Fizzy. She would then release a burst of electricity that would arc between all of the projectiles simultaneously, instantly frying whatever unfortunate meatbags had been pierced by the darts.

Annihilation Protocol was unquestionably powerful, but it had a significant caveat to it. In order for it to function, the darts it used as ammunition had to be manufactured and loaded into Fizzy. The obvious downside to that was that the Ultimate would be rendered useless once the golem ran out of those minute munitions. This issue was further exacerbated by the fact that it was impossible for the golem to resupply in the field. Creating those needles was not difficult for her, but it required time, tools, and materials. She couldn’t even reuse the darts since the lightning surge would instantly melt the superconductive silver-mithril alloy they were made from.

On the upside, Annihilation Protocol had a recharge period of only twenty seconds, allowing Fizzy to use it more or less as often as she pleased so long as her ammunition and MP lasted.

“Did you seriously forget about that just because you were looking at me?” the golem smirked smugly. “I mean, you were the one that told me how us monsters got our Ultimates in the first place.”

“In my defense, I almost started suffocating just now,” it replied jovially. “When I called you ‘breathtaking,’ I meant that literally.”

“So you’re saying people could die just by looking at me?”

“I would not be surprised if that happened.”

“Do you think I’ll get XP from that?”

The two of them shared a light chuckle at the golem’s bad joke as they gradually calmed down from the post-Rank-Up high.

“Still, I’m glad this worked out,” Fizzy smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t know what else to do if this new me wasn’t enough to snap you out of your sulky mood.”

Indeed, Boxxy had all but forgotten about its existential torment. Unfortunately, those careless words served to refresh its memory and caused its depression to take hold of it once more. The abomination instantly deflated to how it had been when Fizzy first saw it. It’s many-eyed gaze was still locked onto her, but it now oozed with sorrow at the thought that even this unfathomably beautiful shiny would one day turn to scrap and dust.

“Oh, come on! Really?” she protested. “Are you seriously so depressed that not even I can take your mind off of it?”

The golem felt slightly insulted at first. However, the shapeshifter’s lack of a response told her that the issue was much more severe than she had originally anticipated.

“Well, can you at least tell me what’s bothering you?” she asked, her tone much softer.

“Nothing. And everything.”

Boxxy then once more reiterated the nature of its existential crisis and the soul-crushing nihilism that plagued its thoughts and sapped its will to live. It hadn’t intended to repeat all of that stuff since it had already determined that sharing its troubles with others was, much like existence itself, an exercise in futility. It didn’t even bother asking Fizzy what her take on the big question was.

“Oh… I see,” she said thoughtfully. “Sounds a lot like what my meatbag self went through when she was sixteen.”

“… What?” the abomination asked dumbly.

“Yeah, I know,” she rolled her eyes. “It seems really early for a mid-life crisis, but gnomish brains develop much faster than others. Then again, you’re not even four, so… nevermind.”

Boxxy’s mass rose ever so slightly as it prepared to ask the big question, but Fizzy stopped it with a raised palm and a shake of her head.

“Sorry, I’ve got no answers for you,” she said sternly. “Even after all those years and everything that’s happened between us, the inevitability of it all still scares the scrap out of me if I stop to think about it.”

“But then how do you go on, knowing it’s all meaningless?”

“By not thinking about it. Those thoughts still creep up on me, but I keep myself busy with all my studies and projects or go find something dumb to distract myself with.”

“That’s it?” Boxxy asked. “You’re just ignoring the fact that eventually we’ll all be dead and forgotten?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Fizzy shrugged.

Now this was an idea the shapeshifter could get behind. It didn’t need to know what sort of purpose - if any - its existence served. It didn’t need to comprehend some deep, intrinsic truth about life itself. Much like it had accidentally done so earlier, all it had to do was to somehow forget all of those disturbing, unanswerable questions that kept swirling inside its mind.

“Can… Can you teach me to do that?”

“I don’t know… Your brain works in weird ways. I don’t think you’ll be able to move past it that easily, if at all.”

“Yeah.”

Both of them knew full well just how stubbornly curious Boxxy was. It had the habit of sinking its teeth into whatever issue or problem was bothering it, then refusing to let go until the matter was resolved. It was a trait that had served the monster well, but had also put it in mortal danger numerous times. If its mind had latched onto the big questions regarding the meaning of life itself, then it would not stop obsessing over them until it had reached a satisfying conclusion. However, the only answer it could come up with was the dreadful and depressing notion that nothing it had ever done or accomplished mattered.

“You could try making up your own reason for being,” Fizzy suggested.

“How do you mean?”

“Like, you know how I keep going on about becoming the best Artificer in the world? Do something like that, give yourself a purpose of some kind. Winston teaches us that the benefit of free will is that we are who we choose to be, even if it’s not who we wish to be.”

The God of Gambling also pointed out that most individuals would eventually run into a choice where ‘being alive’ wasn’t one of the options, but Fizzy wisely kept silent about that part.

“Does that actually work?” Boxxy was sceptical. “The ‘pick your own purpose’ thing?”

“For me? Yeah, most of the time. Plenty of meatbags do it, too. They convince themselves to live and die for all sorts of reasons. Things like religions, nations, family, fame, fortune - whatever helps them sleep at night. So unless you can somehow do that, I don’t think there’s anything more I can do except sit here and be shiny for you.”

That method certainly wasn’t appealing to Boxxy. Being the colossal hypocrite that it was, it hated being lied to or deceived by anyone, even itself. At the same time it recognized that its lack of a goal to focus on had been a contributing factor to its current situation. Its entire life it had acted towards one overarching objective or another. Initially it had chased basic things like food, gold, shelter, and Levels. It then gradually moved onto bigger schemes like achieving a Rank Up, taking down the Gilded Hand, or uncovering the lost treasure of Kur-Kik. However, it hadn’t made any plans for itself beyond those involving the Dragon Festival. If it had, then it might have spent its time adrift in space scheming rather than contemplating the nature of the universe.

Having identified that issue, the monster began to ponder all of the input it had received thus far. It once more considered Carl’s ‘nothing matters, so do whatever’ philosophy. It revisited its familiars’ stance that one just needed to live in the moment and damn the consequences. It even entertained Ambrosia’s lineage-focused ideals for all of ten seconds before discarding them as ridiculous. Lastly, its thoughts turned back to Fizzy’s suggestions and how it might somehow trick itself into implementing them.

A plan was thus gradually formed. Boxxy couldn’t figure out or give itself a purpose to its existence, but the world was full of beings and entities that had their own takes on the matter. The issue with those was that they all had drastically different points of view from the shapeshifter and, to a lesser extent, from each other. In other words, there were as many answers to Boxxy’s questions as there were individuals, and all of them were ‘correct.’ Ergo, the shapeshifter’s existence must have had a meaning or purpose, a solution that made sense only to its own mind. The abomination simply hadn’t figured out what said solution was yet, but it had a hunch that the ‘wrong’ answers it had gotten thus far all held a little bit of a hint.

And so, after a great deal of deep thinking, questionable rationalizations, and a bit of circular logic, the shapeshifter finally figured it out.

Boxxy decided that the purpose of its existence would be to discover the purpose of its existence.

It was a flimsy, nonsensical, and paradoxical goal to be sure, but it was nevertheless enough to make the creature finally get off of its generously proportioned underside.