“We have deliberated on your offer.” Zeek spoke across the table to Axel, who was currently possessed by Mark and Alverost.

The mushrooms around the table were new variations of the white, glowing mushrooms, spiraling upwards like little corkscrew light bulbs. The table saw changes too, complex patterns engraved into it. Centipedes twisted and walked in circles on the domed ceiling above.

“And?” Alverost-Axel asked. They sat haphazardly, one leg thrown over the side of the mushroom chair. One of the Centipedes crawling down the side of the wall, bumping into Mark-Axel’s hand to demand petting. He obliged, running a hand over the chitin body.

A second Centipede curled around the chair beneath Mala, who stared boredly at the meeting. He was scratching it beneath its mandibles. This one was a new adolescent— only a few days old, made around the same time as Splotch.

“We accept. We have brought forward another gift— the last of our truly valuable possessions. We hope it will please you.”

Zeek looked between the centipede rubbing against Mark-Axel’s hand and back up at them. He waved to one of his subordinates, who brought forward a small, fungiwood box— clearly made of the same sleek, black fungiwood that had been given to them in their first meeting.

To the Kobold’s, it just appeared as normal. But to Mark and Alverost’s perception, there was a small shimmer in the air around it.

“What is that?” Alverost-Axel hissed.

“A gift. We found this gem in our territory some weeks ago. Not unlike the ones several of the other dungeons are thought to possess. It took some effort to remove it from the ground after it started growing.” With another wave from Zeek, a Kobold propped the box open— revealing a glowing dungeoncore within.

“A dungeoncore…” Mark-Axel whispered.

“Set it on the table.” Alverost-Axel commanded, their body shifting as he tilted his chin up, staring down domineeringly. It was the size of a Kobolds hand, but its roots were small and withered like a dying plant. Even while possessing Axel’s body, Mark and Alverost could feel the connection it had to the domain it absorbed.

They could feel the dungeoncore make small, stuttering attempts to absorb heavy mana, trying desperately to breath.

It was dying.

The very prospect filled Mark with worry. The idea that it took so little effort to nearly kill a dungeoncore— these Kobolds didn’t even know what it was, and yet they had nearly killed it. That said…

“Its unintelligent.” Alverost-Axel clicked his tongue. “The souls of dungeons are pulled from The River at random. This one was likely a plant or lesser life form.”

Axel-Alverost pushed the chair backwards, making to stand and walk around the table.

They immediately fell face first onto the ground.

“Ouch! Watch where you’re walking, idiot!”

“You’re the one that tripped over the centipede.”

“I didn’t see it! It wasn’t visible through my eye!”

Axel brushed himself off, and, very slowly, carefully, and intentionally walked around the table, reaching out to inspect the dungeoncore. Alverost paused, as if he had a thought. Dungeonroots reached through the ground, upwards, and through the table at his command, wrapping around the dungeoncore.

Alverost closed his eye.

“What are you doing?” Mark-Silver asked, ignoring the concerned look on Zeek’s face.

“Hold on. I’m focusing.” Alverost said. “It should be easy… just like swallowing…”

Mark’s perception flooded as he collapsed to the ground, gasping, before being violently ejected from Axel’s body. All of the Assimilated Kobold’s who had been changed by Mark and Alverost and were still within range of their domain flinched at once, grabbing at their heads.

Perception rushed into Mark and Alverost.

The world was upside down, a panoptic view of a kaleidoscope of shapes that refused to resolve into clean, euclidean lines unless you squinted in just the right way. It was like reality had been shattered for a brief second— and then it was gone.

Mark focused on breathing, and trying to figure out what was happening. He felt the domain— his domain— as it expanded. At the edge of the Castle’s territory, towards Clan Tinyfingers, the world was slowly revealing itself once more, in guttering, pulsing waves.

Their domain was a burning fire, crawling across the earth. It was still only moving feet at a time in each pulse, but going from expanding less than an inch to feet was a world of difference.

“Did you just… absorb that dungeon core?” Mark asked.

“Not… yet.” Alverost’s words came with obvious strain, as if he had to force them out. “This will… take all my concentration… for now. Goodbye.”

And like that, Alverost went quiet. The expansion of their domain was different this time. In that it hurt. A lot. Still, even moving a few feet every second left the domain expanding over dirt, and mud. And bodies. Not Kobold bodies. That was… that was an arm, but it was the size of a tree trunk. His domain expanded again.

A torso. Armor. Human bones— in its stomach. His domain expanded. It didn’t push upwards— only out.

A human spear through the other side of its chest, now nothing more than a spear sitting under mud, lying with a long dead corpse.

But Mark couldn’t focus on that, because— he gasped in pain.

Dungeons, sensing the moment of weakness, pushed on the other side of his domain. He focused on his domain, pushing back, when he noticed something— a group of Kobolds coming from the other direction.

They were barely clothed, what remained being ragged scraps of clothes. Their skin was warped, tumors growing along their flesh, and even at a glance mark could see that there was something wrong with their bodies.

They didn’t carry weapons.

Nor did they carry gifts for negotiation.

Mark’s domain expanded again, pushing beyond mud and dirt. He felt hostile presences against his domain, but they didn’t push.

The Kobold’s approached the gate.