Silver’s left eye glowed white, illuminating the dim meeting room around him, shining across the table. His right burned black, an endless void of dark mana. His body was straddled by three souls, crammed in tight, two of them tied together in inseparable knots that brought them riding the body together. Mark and Alverost were unable to possess a body without each other.

Mark and Alverost only just touched the threshold of beginning dungeon possession. It was a physiological limit, a task a juvenile dungeon could not complete. They had grown to quite the size— several inches in diameter.

Silver’s puppeteered body sat unnaturally still, lacking the typical, automatic correction that most organisms subconsciously employed. Even his breathing was off, being a forced, conscious thing, unlike the automated and subconscious process.

Their eyes trailed the oncoming procession. Kobolds slowly filled the room, coming down the staircase that led to the little fortress, entering through the open gate. Mark smiled a toothy, unnerving grin, causing Silver’s eyes to curl up into half moons. His ivory white teeth were the same color as his scales, making it look as if he glowed in the dark under the mushroom’s dim light.

Mark had only recently upgraded the gates to proper mechanisms, a winch and lock on this side of the gate that turned opening it from an affair that involved a half dozen Kobolds hefting open a metal frame— something that he was sure was an OSHA violation— into a one-kobold job. It had the added benefit of a tie-off, allowing the portcullis to remain open.

And they were made completely of metal, not brittle stone. The more the dungeon expanded, the more they had access to mana, and they could now create metal— sparingly, still. There were other expenses— the upkeep of the farm, the ongoing experiments, and their ever expanding architecture. The metal was just one of the defenses they had added since the attack. There were others, of course. Higher walls. More boulders. There was even enough silver for a flamethrower trap.

The procession cast nervous glances around the room— for most of them, this place below the surface was one of myths. Now the staircase lead down to the Clan Below. The eerie light, while better than the pitch black dark, also came with its own special kind of unnerving atmosphere. Mark-Silver waved at them.

“Bit old for a leader. And walking on a cane.” Alverost-Silver spoke, observing. Valleria wriggled uncomfortably.

“Isn’t that the normal here? The old lead the young or something. Wisdom of the elders?” Mark-Silver replied.

“The old and weak are overthrown by the strong.” Alverost-Silver replied.

“I don’t think so.” Mark-Silver replied, before talking to their guests. “Come come, sit!” Mark-Silver said across the room, excited to discuss with the head of clan Tiny-fingers.

The chairs themselves were made of mushroom, soft to the touch and edited to grow into tall, reclining chairs. Some of the clan Tiny-finger guards who had arrived in advance had picked pieces from the armrests, eating them while waiting. Mark would have to make them taste bitter later to fix that. They were too attractive to scavengers.

“Thank you.” Zeek replied nervously, eyeing the ceiling. Most of the mushrooms, save the ones providing light, had been cleared from the inner courtyard. In their place was a huge table for meeting. Far above it was a dome ceiling, from which could be seen images of centipedes. They spiraled around the dome, receding into the darkness. Mark had always loved images of ancient chapels that Renaissance painters would decorate, and so he copied the style, creating life like impressions of centipedes high above. Mark-Silver looked up, following Zeek’s gaze.

They were so realistic that if you looked close, they almost appeared to be moving. Legs shifting. Bodies adjusting. Pieces of them, stretching.

Then again, maybe they didn’t move at all.

They were mostly just impressions, anyway. Mark-Silver looked down, smiling to calm Zeek’s unease. He flinched.

“We’ve brought with us several baskets of offerings for Mark and Alvost.” Zeek leapt into proceedings without any more delay.

“Alverost.” Silver-Alverost spoke, correcting his error.

“Alverost.” Zeek corrected himself, before proceeding smoothly. “We’ve brought with us all of the clan’s metal. It is a horde we don’t part with easily, collected for generations through the dredge. We hope to negotiate with you.” Zeek paused, swallowing. “We were hoping that you might have more food for trade.”

“Present the metal.” Alverost-Silver spoke.

Zeek nodded to the guards behind him, who stepped forward with ten baskets, setting them on the table. They were the same baskets that food had been delivered in a few days previous. From the table they pulled mixed pieces of scrap— pieces that couldn’t be ground into blades or used as tools— and presented them. There was silver among them, too, though most of the pile was rusted and corroded iron.

They scattered their scraps across the table. Alverost shook his head disapprovingly.

“Bring the rest in, Valleria.” Mark-Silver spoke with a wave of his arm. On his right, Valleria pushed open a door, leading a group of Kobold’s to enter, this time with twenty baskets of food. Not all of the mushrooms were glowing ones this time, instead harvested from the ever growing mushrooms of the farm. Hundreds of years of mulch and ample amounts of mana lead to a near endless food source being pushed from Mark and Alverost’s farm.

On top of that… there were three Kobolds carrying bows in the group.

“We gladly accept. We will need the metal for whats to come. It makes producing armor and arms much easier. Though we can produce the metal, this is cheaper for us.” Mark-Alverost spoke, before waving his arm to the area behind him. Dungeonroots from the ground forced mana to coalesce, writhing through the quickly forming, circular, fungiwood targets of alternating white and green.

The visiting Kobolds gasped at this.

“We’ve prepared a new weapon—”

“Mark has prepared a new weapon.” Alverost-Silver interrupted Mark. “Whatever goes wrong is entirely on him. Don’t blame me if anyone explodes.”

Mark-Silver sighed. “I have prepared a new weapon, and wish to demonstrate it to you today. No one will be exploding though. Yet.” Mark Silver waved at the Kobold’s with bows. Working to control both his dungeon roots and Silver’s body at once was already a task that tested his mental limits— he didn’t dare try to stand for the demonstration.

“Showing off your power, and a weapons demonstration? Maybe you do know something about diplomacy after all, Mark.” Alverost-Silver spoke.

“You are quite powerful indeed.” Zeek replied to Alverost. “To create such valuable wood from nothing…”

“These are ranged weapons. My people used them for a long time to wear down prey. And later, in wars against each other. Draw.” Mark-Silver instructed, and three Kobold’s pulled back on taut strings of fungiwood bows. “They took me quite a while to make. At first when we made them, and pulled on the strings, the fungiwood was too soft, and gave. And then we had to make reinforced arrows too, since the soft ones could hardly pierce through flesh. I still don’t think they’ll be any good versus chitin, but still, they’ll serve excellently for long term fights, especially versus other Kobolds. The other dungeons are unlikely to bring similar ranged weaponry, so this should give us a huge advantage.”

The bow bearing Kobold’s arms were twitching from the exertion of holding the strings, arrows knocked. Mark seemed to take notice.

“Oh, right. Release!” Mark said.

There was a twang as arrows loosed from their bows. One of them even hit the target.

Mark had found himself monologuing more and more lately. Maybe it was the evil villain rubbing off on him? Evil villains did tend to monologue. Or he had just had no one to talk to besides Alverost for several weeks. Either way…

Zeek rubbed his chin. “At first they seem somewhat impractical. But if we had a few dozen, we could cut down the other clans from across the river. We could rain death on clan Bighorn in the next Swell-Tide. Tell me, Alverost, how many of these can you produce? Even for your prosperous clan, wood cannot be cheap, no?”

“We were only able to prepare a few.” Mark replied. “In the few days we’ve had, we’ve only managed to create forty.”

Zeek sucked in a breath of air. To a Kobold who viewed wood as a precious commodity, that was practically a treasure trove. “An entire forty… What do you want in exchange? How many can we buy? Our clan lacks metal, however, we still have some livestock.”

“Livestock?” Alverost-Silver asked. “What kind? Actually it doesn’t matter. We will take it. All of it.”

Zeek recoiled as if he had been slapped in the face. “All of it? We normally reserve it for special occasions. Our clan has little else in the way of food this late into the Tide.”

“We can provide you with food.” Mark-Silver said. “What else are allies for? And, after all, we don’t even have enough Kobolds to use these bows. We will probably be able to share the livestock as well.”

Zeek looked back towards Simon, who shared a grave look with him. “We can offer you some of our livestock. A few bats and carrion beetles. But not all of it. You must understand that in the end, we can only rely on ourselves.”

Mark-Silver tilted his head to the side. “Thats fine. How about you give us one of each of your livestock instead?”

“Just one…?” Zeek asked.

“All of them.” Alverost-Silver replied.

“Just one is fine.” Mark-Silver spoke after him, leaving Zeek confused. “Okay, how about a breeding pair of each?” Mark-Silver asked.

“It will have to do.” Alverost-Silver replied.

“I… we can do that.” Zeek replied.

“Excellent… onto the next topic. These bows take training to use. Select twenty of your own Kobolds to come and train in the use of the bows and send them by tomorrow.” Mark-Silver spoke. “We can rotate them with twenty Kobolds to be trained in the use of a spear. We hope to be able to employ Phalanx formations, especially against the feral Kobolds— clan Bighorn? And—”

“You intend to war with clan Bighorn?” Simon stood from the end of the table.

“Ah, thats our third bit of discussion, see. Our fortress has a ‘domain’ around it. Its like our own special… air. Like how you own territory. We need to expand our domain upward. But each of the clans seems to possess a domain of their own. We think that each clan may have a magical object. A glowing, crystalline stone. We need to shatter or subdue all of them. We were hoping you could help lead us into talks with the other clans. And, if talks fail…” Mark-Silver said.

“…We would need to shatter the clans by force.” Alverost-Silver said.

“I see. Whatever your motivations… war against clan Bighorn would be suicide. Our forces don’t even number half theirs, including all of yours.” Zeek said.

“Thats why we will ally with the other clans first. We will move to clan Wartskin in the south and seek out an alliance with them. Then we will move north and contact clan Blighteye.”

“I see.” Zeek nodded. “But… if I may… I don’t know if that is the best path. Clan Wartskin are quite numerous— enough even to match or exceed clan Bighorn. And they do have large access to the river… however, they have grown sickly over the generations. They won’t truly be useful in a fight. Unless… you intend to use them as fodder while you attack the enemy with these ‘bows’?” A spark of realization glowed in Zeek’s eyes. “Yes… yes… then there is a chance.”

“Good idea.” Alverost-Silver replied.

“What? No. We can heal them easily.” Mark-Silver replied. “In fact, we could make them worth two Kobolds each.”

“You possess healing abilities as well? No balm nor remedy we know works for their sickness, passed down by their parents. Even with healing powers, can you fix their cursed generations?”

“We are confident in our ability. You should have met the clan below before we arrived.” Zeek looked to Silver, then to Axel sitting next to him, who was busy picking pieces out of the chair he sat on. Axel looked around confused, having ignored the conversation at the table.