Having decided on something that vaguely resembled a purpose, Boxxy set about chasing its new goal with its usual fervor and determination. Or at least that had been its intention, but the shapeshifter found it difficult to move around after almost an entire month of doing nothing. The best it could manage were bursts of activity that lasted for several minutes each until it ‘crashed’ for about half an hour afterwards. There wasn’t anything wrong with it in terms of its physical health, it just kept getting overwhelmed by its own depressing thoughts.

Still, at least it was up and about. That was a good sign as far as its entourage was concerned, though none of them were quite sure how - or even if - they could assist Boxxy. Even Fizzy’s new hyper-golden frame wasn’t all that helpful. Though the shapeshifter could easily forget its troubles and lose itself in the orichalcum golem’s hypnotic radiance, it was incapable of being productive in that state. This was a problem since maintaining a certain level of productivity had been the creature’s immediate goal.

Boxxy had taken Fizzy’s advice to ‘keep busy’ to heart. It forced itself to perform whatever tasks it could think of. It didn’t matter how menial or tedious it seemed, it endeavored to put in work wherever it could. Thankfully there were plenty of opportunities for that. Even if Boxxy had set itself the lofty goal of discovering what purpose its existence served, it couldn’t just go out and do that. There were certain steps that needed to be completed before it dove into that particular deep end. These mostly involved setting its house in order. The world hadn’t waited for the shapeshifter to get over itself, so the monster had a few problems to take care of.

First and foremost, it forced Kora to return all of the things she had ‘borrowed’ from Boxxy’s Storage. The hoarder didn’t complain and handed over every last trinket and coin without any fuss. Normally she hated parting with things she’d already put in her Vault, but this time around she was content to have her secret sewer-stash of sunken treasure. For the briefest of moments she felt as if she had outsmarted Boxxy. After all, the monster didn’t know about her looting that wreckage and she had already hidden the evidence. Then the shapeshifter ordered her to reveal where she had stashed those goods, giving Kora a slightly better understanding of depression in the process.

With that out of the way, the abomination set about sorting all of the loot it had pilfered since leaving for the Shattered Isles. While doing so it also had the bright idea to rearrange the contents of its treasuries into a new system. There was no actual need to do so and it amounted to a whole lot of pointless busywork, but the monster found those menial tasks somewhat therapeutic. It was also a good opportunity to reacquaint itself with the contents of its colossal collection. Even Boxxy’s four digit INT Attribute couldn’t keep up with the ridiculous amount of stuff it had hoarded over the years. For instance, it had completely forgotten about that fish-girl golem it had collected just before hitting Level 50 Doppelganger. Rediscovering nostalgic bits and pieces like that was enjoyable, even if it couldn’t quite remember where some of them had come from.

Monetary matters momentarily dealt with, the shapeshifter checked in with its dungeon master. Lavender had been diligently practicing her Laborer Job in Boxxy’s two-month absence and had succeeded in raising it to Level 50. She would have kept going but the shapeshifter had neglected to inform her of its full intentions before leaving. The idea behind giving her that Job with the Universal Instructor Artifact was that she could advance from a simple Laborer into a Tailor. This would eventually allow her to turn Boxxy’s considerable stockpiles of Demon Silk into various goods and items that would bring it a ridiculous amount of profit. It was a plan that, in light of everything that had happened, seemed incredibly small and petty. Still, the shapeshifter had never been one to leave things half-finished without good reason, so it instructed Lavender on her new sewing duties and moved onto its next chore.

Well, it was less of a chore and more of an inquiry. Thinking back to its voyage through the void, Boxxy couldn’t help but notice that some things did not line up with what it knew about astronomy, orbits, or how gravity worked on a planetary scale. Admittedly it had only a layman’s understanding on those subjects, but it was aware that its solar system involved a whole lot of spinning going on at once. Every celestial body revolved around its axis while also orbiting something else, like a delicately balanced cosmic dance. And yet Boxxy had been able to return to Terrania just by flinging itself directly at the planet and then drifting towards it in a straight line. It should not have been able to hit a target in motion by aiming at where it was rather than where it was going to be.

There could have been any number of explanations for that paradox, but it wasn’t the sort of issue that Boxxy usually dealt with. It was a purely theoretical problem that was impossible to solve through experimentation and observation. Furthermore, the abomination lacked the necessary knowledge and expertise to tackle it. Thankfully, it knew who to delegate the matter to. Astronomy and gravity might not have been Fizzy’s areas of expertise, but the Artificer nevertheless had a firm grasp of scientific and natural laws that went beyond what her Skills told her. Well, she knew more about such things than Boxxy did, at least. The shapeshifter shared its quandary with the golem and she agreed that things didn’t add up. She collected as much information from the abomination as she could and went off to do a bit of research and a whole lot of math.

While the golem flexed her computing prowess, Boxxy turned its attention towards its final and most laborious routine task - performing maintenance for every core in its dungeon network. None of them had dungeon masters aside from the Dryad’s Domain, so it was normal for some minor problems to arise here and there. Well, except for the core hidden in the Pearly Dunes. Not only had it been dislodged from its spatial anchor, but it was reporting a drastic reduction in ambient mana density. Remotely investigating the core’s security logs revealed that a massive sand worm had passed through the dungeon, demolishing parts of it and flooding the rest with sand. The ‘invasion’ had happened in the midst of the Dragon Festival, so the relevant alerts hadn’t been able to reach Boxxy. Rebuilding the place was going to be a massive time-consuming chore. The shapeshifter did it anyway, though. After all, that sort of busywork was exactly what it needed to keep itself occupied.

On the whole it had taken about three days for Boxxy to finish double-checking the properties, security, resources, and management of its monstrous enterprise. By the time it was done it had more or less gotten back into the swing of things. Its depressing thoughts still loomed heavily in its mind, but at least it was no longer a blob of meat and teeth that could only function in short bursts. It hadn’t yet ventured back into the outside world, though that was mostly because there hadn’t been a need to go someplace else. Not yet, at least. The abomination had every intention of going on a little trip, but first it had to tackle one last issue.

“So. You’re back,” it spoke in a tired voice.

“As are you,” Jen replied flatly.

“Where were you?”

“Out,” she said evasively.

The Monk had clearly been in a huge battle. Her body was covered almost head-to-talon in scars from at least six different weapons. Magical injuries were also present. The skin and feathers on her back and wings were thoroughly burned while one of her legs had signs of a nasty case of frostbite. The Monk had dressed all of her injuries in bandages and had treated them with potions and magic, but it would be some time before the scars fully faded. From what Boxxy could tell, a few of those wounds looked nearly fatal.

“Did you settle things with Emporio?” the shapeshifter asked.

“Who?”

“Lavender said she overheard you planning to meet someone named Emporio before you left.”

“Oh…”

“It was the Emperor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Boxxy somewhat expected this. The alraune had either misheard or misremembered Jen mumbling about her intentions for Emperor Joseph Frederick von Einhart the Third. Said intentions had been quite simple - she wanted to kick him in the groin so hard that it would make his head explode. There was no deep meaning, grand gesture, or bitter vendetta involved. It was just something the Monk had always wanted to do because of an old, petty grudge over something the man had said to her when he was still a child. She hadn’t acted on that impulse because it would either reflect poorly on her employer or it would interfere with her other duties.

However, that hadn’t been the case upon her return from the Isles. There was no Edward to hold her leash, no Boxxy to boss her around, and no Dragon Festival to prepare for. Jen had literally nothing better to do for the first time in decades, so she flew over to the royal palace and violently rearranged the Emperor’s royal jewels. Joseph somehow survived the ‘assassination attempt,’ though it was highly doubtful he’d sire any heirs without copious magical healing. The Monk also had a grand old time decimating the palace’s royal guards and whatever adventurers attempted to stand in her way. She even got to tussle with some of the big names in the Inquisition before she was forced to retreat.

“So, how was it?” Boxxy inquired.

“Surprisingly thrilling.”

“That’s nice. What do you intend to do now?”

“I need to lay low for a while. The Inquisition is actively hunting me.”

Jen knew better than to underestimate the organization. Though none of them stood a chance against her individually, an organized strike force stood a fair chance at defeating her. Sigmund Law’s Hero Skill was also quite fearsome. Judgement From Above was significantly more effective when used on targets that Teresa’s chosen perceived as evil, and Jen imagined she was pretty high on that scale after everything she’d done.

“That’s not what I meant,” Boxxy said. “With the Dragon Festival done and over with, I no longer have a need for you. I’m not going to kick you out or anything, but you need to think about what you want to do with yourself.”

The Monk blinked rapidly as she considered what the shapeshifter was getting at. Its plans for her ended with the conclusion of the Festival and Jen’s oath of servitude was technically no longer valid since Boxxy no longer held the title of Hero. The abomination didn’t seem too bothered by the prospect of her leaving and striking out on her own, either. If it was going to dispose of her in order to ensure the security and secrecy of its lair and assets, then the two of them wouldn’t be having a discussion in the first place.

In short, the harpy had been told she was free to do whatever she wanted, so she decided to do just that.

“Then I will continue following your lead for the time being,” she bowed graciously.

“That so?”

“It is.”

Her decision was a no-brainer. Ever since she was old enough to swing a stick, Jen’s singular purpose in life had been to get stronger. There was no grand design, ultimate goal, or stopping point to the path she had set out on - just a never-ending road soaked in blood and sweat. The Monk cared only for the journey, and the detour she had been treading ever since taking Boxxy’s hand in Velos was nothing short of incredible. In just about half a year she had greatly improved her physical prowess, mental fortitude, and spiritual focus. More importantly, she had been presented with plenty of powerful foes to test herself against. Following Boxxy had given her everything she wanted and more, so she saw no reason to break things off.

Incidentally, the harpy was so simple and transparent in her motivations that the abomination didn’t even bother asking her about them and skipped straight to giving her a new assignment.

“Alright. In that case, you’re going to Hell.”

“… Huh?” Jen blurted out. “I apologize, I think I misheard.”

“I said, you’re going to Hell,” Boxxy repeated itself. “I need you to figure out exactly where Hadros makes his lair and report back.”

Those orders made the Monk rapidly reconsider her employment options. Though she had never been averse to dangerous assignments, going to that volcanic region to search for the elder dragon that lorded over it was borderline suicidal. Hadros wasn’t known as the ‘Dread Firelord’ without good reason. His flames were rumored to be so powerful that not even ash was left in their wake. Furthermore, unless Jen was getting her history wrong, Hell hadn’t been a volcanic region until Hadros settled there. The elder dragon’s very presence had warped the landscape and twisted the environment to match his incendiary disposition. Anyone who actively sought such a being was either tired of life or lacking in common sense.

Once the initial shock of those words had worn off, Jen realized that Boxxy must have had a very good reason to take an active interest in Hell’s lord.

“For what purpose do you seek Hadros?” she asked after a brief pause.

“I want to have a friendly little chat with him,” it replied simply.

“You’re going to… fight an elder dragon?” she scarcely believed her ears.

“What? No. What gave you that idea?”

“… Nevermind.”

Jen wanted to bury her face out of embarrassment. She had momentarily forgotten that, unlike Edward, Boxxy did not deal with euphemisms and metaphors whenever it talked about its intentions. If it said it wanted to ‘chat with an elder dragon,’ then that was precisely what it meant.

“Actually, doesn’t have to be Hadros,” it clarified. “Any of the elder dragons will do. I just imagine he’s the easiest to find.”

Miphelyr the Ruinous Serpent dwelled in the vast uncharted depths of the Shimmering Ocean. Vizul the White Death was reportedly last seen in the southernmost regions of the Pearly Dunes. Thratakur the Void Bringer inhabited the deepest jungles of the continent of Velos. Compared to those three reclusive calamities, Hadros might as well have had a publicly available address.

“Understood. I will return once I have fulfilled my mission.”

The griffin-harpy gave Boxxy another respectful bow and immediately departed for the formerly dwarven region of Hell. With all of the other preparations settled, the shapeshifter felt ready to embark on its journey of self-discovery.

Boxxy’s first stop was the Bitterhold prison complex and its twisted warden, Stain. It hadn’t heard anything from the hive-minded queen slime ever since she broke off their arrangement just before the Dragon Festival. The two of them weren’t on bad terms or anything, they just hadn’t had any business with each other ever since that shaperades game at Arisha’s place. Speaking of which, the eternally bored nosferatu bloodlord was also one of the ancient beings Boxxy intended to question about the nature of existence. The Sage of the Desert, the owners of the Phantom Auction, the exiled king of Horkensaft, and Terrania’s four elder dragons were the others on that list. Some of those would be much trickier to track down than others, but one thing the shapeshifter had plenty of was time.

Its patience, however, was a far more limited resource. Boxxy hadn’t tasked itself with figuring out its place in the universe because it actually cared about it. It was motivated entirely by its desire to stop feeling insignificant and miserable, something it wanted to accomplish as soon as reasonably possible. Thus, the shapeshifter emerged from the dungeon closest to Bitterhold and made a beeline straight towards the mithril mines. It tore through the countryside without the tiniest bit of subtlety or caution with its three familiars in tow. A small group of adventurers spotted the chest-shaped eldritch abomination trample its way through the forest from afar, but none of them could truly comprehend what, exactly, they had seen.

All things considered, it was not surprising that Stain noticed Boxxy approach her place of residence. When Boxxy arrived at the canyon wall Bitterhold was built into, it found that the facility’s security force had taken up defensive positions along the main entrance. It looked as if they were getting ready for a siege, especially with those automated magical turrets following the shapeshifter’s every move. Boxxy showed no signs of stopping, however, and charged through the front gate.

“Stain! It’s us! We just want to talk!”

Things almost escalated into full on warfare until Xera called attention to herself. Seeing her and the other two familiars, Stain’s forces quickly stood aside and allowed Boxxy to barge into Bitterhold unhindered. The main cavern’s periphery was lined with hundreds of puppets, each of them standing ready to react in case the shapeshifter tried anything. Sensings its urgency, though not the reason for it, the queen slime herself emerged from her office. Her considerable pink mass looked strangely petite and tiny compared to the walking flesh heap that had walked into her domain.

“Well, I can already tell this isn’t going to be a social call,” she said sternly. “Why are you here?”

“What is the purpose of your existence?”

“Hrraaaaah!”

All at once, Stain and her army of mind-slaves let out a combined shriek of pain as they visibly recoiled.

“Holy shit, boss,” Kora looked around wide-eyed. “What in Teresa’s tits did you do?”

“Nothing?” it responded, just as confused. “I just asked a question.”

The slime-infested congregation reeled back once more, all of them clutching their ears.

“It seems the force of your voice is having an adverse effect, Master,” Xera noted.

“What’s wrong with my voice?”

Another chorus of screams rose up around it, prompting the djinn to nod and gesture towards the circle of bodies around them.

“That,” she said pointedly.

“Shol katuh delm kitur!” Stain cursed in an unknown language. “What’s the meaning of this hostility, Boxxy T. Morningwood?”

Xera and her master rapidly exchanged a few mental words, after which the demoness turned to the irate ooze.

“Forgive my master’s intrusion. It is still learning the effects of its new species on other creatures. For the time being, I shall serve as Master’s proxy.”

“Oh, so it only accidentally assaulted me?” Stain was not amused.

“Come now, warden. We both know that if my master intended to harm you, we would not be talking right now.”

Though the shapeshifter hadn’t really noticed it, every syllable it uttered was laced with dread and malice. It wasn’t something done consciously or governed by a Skill, but an inherent trait intermingled with the inherent insanity-inducing nature of an eldritch abomination. It wasn’t usually enough to cause any pain, just varying degrees of discomfort. Boxxy’s entourage had already gotten used to those effects, but it was the first time Stain had experienced such a thing. The worst part was that she felt that wave of oppression through each mind under her control, which overloaded her collective consciousness. The slime’s situation was similar to that of an adventurer whose absurdly high Perception (PER) made them more vulnerable to blinding lights and deafening noises.

“I don’t care what your intentions are,” Stain declared angrily. “State your master’s business and be on your way. I have a schedule to keep.”

“Master already did so,” Xera stated, acting as a proxy. “It demands to know the purpose of your existence.”

“… What? Is that supposed to be a threat?” the slime was confused.

“Not at all. Master’s interest in your perspective on the matter is genuine.”

Stain glared at the shapeshifter in silence for a few moments before cracking a sneer.

“I think I see what’s going on here. The Dragon Festival left you with a parting gift, didn’t it?”

The slimy queen had worked with Boxxy long enough to understand its motivations and methods, and that particular line of questioning was not like it at all. She didn’t know any of the specifics or details, but the insightful ooze could tell something had happened that had shaken the shapeshifter to its core. Given the timing, it was safe to assume the Shattered Isles were to blame. After all, most of the first-time attendees that survived the event returned with some form of mental trauma - a participation trophy, of sorts. It was just one more reason why the slime had adamantly refused to take part in the Festival.

“Answer my question!”

Stain hurriedly rendered all of herselves except the main body unconscious before Boxxy’s angry demands caused another round of wincing and screaming. She didn’t like the idea of neutering her own fighting force, especially considering the disturbed nature of her visitor. However, she had serious doubts whether any of those throwaway bodies would accomplish anything if things turned violent. In any event, she figured it would be in her best interest to entertain the abomination’s demands.

“I would’ve thought the purpose of my being to be rather obvious, but fine. I guess I’ll spell it out for you,” Stain rolled her eyes. “I exist to control others and to multiply myself.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean,” Boxxy pressed. “Isn’t there anything grander you’re trying to achieve beyond that? Something that truly matters?”

“Conquest through propagation matters plenty enough to me. But, if we’re talking about grand designs, I often dream of what worldwide domination would be like.”

“Do you seriously want to take over the world?” the abomination was doubtful.

“Of course, I do. Surely even you have one or two unrealistic dreams.”

“But what would you even do if you achieve it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said sternly, “because it’s never going to happen.”

“… I see.”

Boxxy’s disappointment was palpable. It had high hopes for Stain, but it would appear that she too was little more than a breeder - a creature enslaved by its biological instincts. Admittedly the shapeshifter had been the same until relatively recently, but at least it was trying to look past that.

“If that’s everything, then how about you shove off?” Stain insisted. “I have more important matters to attend to than entertaining your random whims.”

There was something about the tone of her voice that Boxxy found rather irritating. It was as if Stain had grown fed up entertaining a cheeky brat. She was usually more tactful than that, but the abomination’s accidental psychic avalanche had strained her patience thin. Whatever her excuses or intentions, the slime’s condescending words had bitten deeper than she meant them to.

Is she seriously trying to boss me around? Boxxy scoffed inwardly. Me? Me?! I took down an adult dragon while she cowered in her corner, pretending the outside world didn't exist! I don’t need to take this from some lowly sentient puddle!

It was the coin that broke the box’s bottom. The swirling cocktail of negative emotions welling up within the shapeshifter for the better part of a month reached their boiling point. And like any true monster, Boxxy’s outlet of choice was unprovoked, unfettered, unrelenting aggression. It reached a tentacle up in the air and plucked its Phantasmal wand out of nothing, then pointed its onyx dragon-headed tip at Stain. The slime recognized the act of hostility and tried to react accordingly, but she barely even got the chance to move.

Bitterhold’s central chamber was filled with a series of rapid, bizarre, and sharp noises that sounded like twenty six hellhounds were simultaneously hacking up hairballs. Boxxy’s fully-charged Eldritch Barrage ripped into the slime’s amorphous form. The blasts of destructive energy instantly obliterated about three quarters of her mass and all but five of her spherical cores. Taking that as their cue, the familiars spread out and began pulverizing, incinerating, and decapitating all of the humanoid hosts as they were waking up. Reinforcements appeared from deeper within the mines, but their Levels were so low that the demons slaughtered them completely and effortlessly.

As for Boxxy, it just stood in the middle of the surrounding carnage and patiently waited for what was left of Stain to reconstitute herself. It took the slime several seconds to recover from the mental and physical shock of the overwhelming attack before she attempted to piece herself together. She had just barely managed to coalesce into a small, cat-sized blob when a basic Shadowbolt struck her. The volatile mass of darkness exploded and turned the ooze into a small shower of pink mist, along with gouging out a watermelon-sized hole in the stone floor. Nothing was left of Stain’s slimy self aside from a few inert droplets of goo.

She wasn’t dead, though. The psychic-powered slime’s survival was guaranteed so long as a large enough piece of her remained, and she had plenty of those that were far from her home. The host body called ‘Hookenstein’ was still out there somewhere, as were a number of victims that she had ‘seeded’ throughout the continent. True to her name, Stain was incredibly difficult to fully ‘rub out.’ Losing Bitterhold was a significant setback that she might never truly recover from, but it was far from the end.

Boxxy was aware of that, but it didn’t care. Flaunting its power in such an unnecessarily destructive fashion was quite cathartic. It also held a certain quiet contempt for Stain because of the way she chose to remain shackled to the Republic instead of striving for true independence. Even after the Foundation fell, she stubbornly clung to Bitterhold without making any real effort to expand or relocate.

For better or for worse, Stain could no longer avoid exploring those options. Even if what was left of her made it back to her subterranean domain, she would find it in ruins. Boxxy didn’t stand to gain anything from Bitterhold’s complete destruction, yet it went out of its way to reduce the place to a pile of cursed rubble. The shapeshifter didn’t have a practical reason for its actions. It had demolished the mithril mines simply because it felt like it.

However, the ones who would suffer most from this act of whimsical violence were those who had nothing to do with it - the Republic and its people. The loss of the Bitterhold correctional facility would cost the government upwards of five million GP in damages and lost revenue over the next four years. The loss of the mine’s mithril would also render the Ishigar Republic incapable of upholding several of its foreign trade agreements. Last but not least, suspicions over who might have been responsible for Bitterhold’s destruction would strain international relations even further.

These factors and more would see the elven nation plunge into economic crisis and civil unrest, all because one slimy woman said something mean to an impulsive box.

Well, not really, but looking at things that way made Michelangelo’s job way more fun.