Running a mud-caked hand along the unexpectedly bare walls of the passage, and likewise leaving a grimy trail behind, Jangin turned to Finnikin and asked, “Well, shall we?”

Unamused, Finnikin said, “Must you even ask? This waterway is new, I know for certain it wasn’t here before. The Imposter does naught but grow while our forces tunnel.”

Turning his gaze back to the abnormally clean stone, entirely asynchronous with the overgrown surroundings, Jangin said, “But how can we be so sure this is the work of the Imposter and not someone else?”

“Well for starters, proximity. This brook is spatially near the cavern Hinds entered…and failed to return from. Furthermore, just look at the walls! Nowhere do I see any signs of tool marks or beast-use.”

Nodding his head to concede the points, Jangin responded, “True, true, but look how clearly artificial this is. Finn, it exhibits geometricized patterns in the corners as well as aesthetic triangles and lines along the ceiling! That’s inconsistent with normal Imposter behavior!”

Finn said, “Ah, but we already know this Imposter has a handler, indeed, it tried to worm its way into our minds when we were last here. It probably compelled its charge to carve such designs through Melk.”

“That shouldn’t matter, a handler has no jurisdiction over such minutiae. Even the Seed doesn’t act as such. You mean to say this being has surpassed the Seed?”

Defensive as always, Finn quickly elaborated, “I have faith that the Seed could choose to work in this manner if it so chooses, but naturally it has greater matters to see to than frivolous ornament such as this. Why, that this blasphemous handler compels its imposter to commune with such excesses is further proof of its low imitation.”

Jangin said, “Ok, calm down Finn, it was nothing. But back to my earlier question; why shouldn’t we take a look inside? Yeah, I know it’s probably near the threshold of the Imposter’s dominion, but aren’t we out here to scout anyway?”

Finn said, “We’re out here to monitor for signs of activity, not to get ourselves killed. Do you really think you could take on hordes of profane beasts without a mage’s training and tools?”

Exasperated, Jangin threw up his hands and said, “Finn, you’re being a coward! You know as well as I that no imposter will send its vanguard together from the onset. It just doesn’t work that way. I tell you; the outskirts of an imposter are as safe as this region of the first subterrane.”

“What, then, of Hinds?”

“That grumpy fop probably died of old age or abandoned us to go play with some humans! There’s no way an infant imposter did him in with his vast magics! We know this area well; it can’t be any older than a couple of years, from what the Resonance is telling me of the local tunnel layout!”

Finn said, “Jangin, no. You know you aren’t allowed to go alone, and I’m not budging. I don’t know about you, but I’m not some stupid character from one of Jik’s stories. This reek of danger and must be reported to the tunnelers. If you dare go in by yourself and don’t return, I’ll tell everyone you met your fate by stepping on a family of archer pods!” Pausing and then smiling, Finnikin continued, “Besides, they’ll see this as a sign to move the mission forward. The sooner we take the Imposter’s heart, the sooner we can return home!”

“I suppose you’re right, Finn. That seems pretty reasonable and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to tending my rope gardens again… Finn, I swear, you’re starting to rub off on me; I’ll wash my hands of this Feeder business as soon as they’ll allow it!”

With a shudder, Finn said, “I hear you, Jangin, I never want to see another siegeanax again. You know, I heard the Impellers took the Seed’s pestle worms out to breach one of their brood fields a couple of months ago. It was somewhat nearby, which is why the tunnelers were so easily relocated here to complete our mission.”

“I can’t fathom how they put up with that. Either way though, I’m thankful we have the worms here, it’ll make securing the Imposter’s heart all the easier.”

Finn said, “Sure will. Let’s head back to camp and reveal our discovery.”

“Ok. Hey Finn! Do you want to join me when we explore the Imposter’s territory over the next few days?”

“Hah! Certainly not! Honestly Jangin, I thought you’d finally come to your senses and denounced the dangers associated with Feeder work! Weren’t you just saying you wanted to retire from this branch?”

Jangin said, “My friend, you misunderstand me; I don’t dislike Feeder service, I’ve simply fostered an even greater appreciation for other activities. This is a chance to discover something new and contribute to the future of our community! Why, once we’ve acquired the Imposter’s heart, we’ll be ready for another Schism!”

Quieter, Jangin added, “Also, I’ve already been designated for this task…”

Nodding his head in understanding, Finn said, “Ah, well, that explains it then. Don’t take it personally when I say I’ve no interest in venturing into that wicked region, I only wish to stay alive as long as possible. In fact, I’ll be going a step further with my denial of your invitation; I’ll do my best to avoid getting drafted in the first place!”

“I don’t know why I even bother, you’re an incorrigible coward, Finnikin!”

“Bah! It’s just that my hobbies require me to be alive! Anyway, let’s go make our report.”

--------------------

Fool, fool, fool! I am a fool! What have I done? Have I learned nothing? This entire thing could have been avoided if only I’d made sure to erect a new barricade further up this lava tube!

If their words are to be believed, they were already planning on moving against me soon, but this blunder could accelerate their timeline.

I may be well prepared now, but I still would’ve appreciated more time to get my ducks in a row.

Curious that it’s taken them so long to act though.

Should I try to initiate mental contact with them? I don’t want to scare them off again so I probably shouldn’t…

Oh, wait, never mind; they’re leaving anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?

“Hello?”

And just like that, with little effort, they both immediately shove my mental link aside and break into a brisk pace down the natural tunnel, presumably headed back to their camp.

Which is just as well, I’m quite curious as to where that might be. I’ll be following their path with a hair-thin filament of my domain.

…

In short, nowhere close. Well, not yet at least. Does that make any sense? No, so let me explain.

I wouldn’t really call it a ‘camp,’ ‘outpost,’ or anything of that nature. This is best described as a ‘large scale civil engineering operation.’

While the humans have been largely conservative with their application of ‘things you’d expect to see in a fantasy world,’ this assemblage is not so reserved. Though I don’t see any signs of spell-slingers (I don’t doubt they are present.), it’s made up for with the menagerie of…animals? Machines? I’m not really sure yet.

I say ‘animals’ with trepidation, though there are certainly ‘normal’ looking reptilian beasts of burden carrying supplies under the strict guidance of their handlers, there is also a collection of more…ambiguous beings.

Oh, they’re certainly shaped like animals. They are shaped like a giant worm, with four hammers, resembling a mantis shrimp’s, concentrically arranged around a mouth. The mouth itself is a gaping circular maw which is almost entirely dominated by a thick ‘tongue’ covered with sharp teeth and odd plates at complex intervals. And by gigantic, I mean it, of the thirty or so specimens present, the largest is no shorter than thirty-five meters long and four meters wide at the mouth.

And the fact that I’m not obsessing over how preposterous it is for a ‘worm’ to breathe at such a scale should be very telling about just how alien it is.

It’s anterior is plated with mobile joints of what looks like a milky grey stone, complete with fissures and fragments. From what I can tell, this is not separate ‘armor,’ but is instead a fully integrated component of the organisms ‘biology.’ And those air quotes sum up my feelings nicely; I have my doubts that this creature is even ‘alive,’ by the definition I’m familiar with at least. You see, other than the head region, the rest of its body is entirely composed of reflective iridescent blue shards, interspersed with yellow-hued flakes.

This doesn’t just include the outer plates of their rigid, yet undulating, exoskeletons. No, clearly visible beneath chinks in their armor are yet more solid shards of material held together in a strange lattice of fragments that should, by all rights, crumble to pieces. Even peering down its throat, I see more solid, crystal-like material. With the difference here being that the internal material is transparent, thus displaying the vein-like distribution of liquid conduits that permeate every single shard.

I would taste it, but unfortunately, the creature is not my own, so such a thing is not possible. This lends credence to my theory that it isn’t a machine.

Long story short, this creature is, as far as I can tell, completely inorganic. Thus, does it qualify as an animal? Or even life? I suppose that would depend on if it is capable of reproducing and evolving, though I find both of those things unlikely for this…abstract construct.

Speaking of which, with a quick check with my mana sense, I’m perplexed to find that they don’t harbor as much mana as I’d have expected. Now, you would think that animating such a being would necessitate a lot of magic shenanigans, but that doesn’t appear to be the case here.

Sure, it has a fair bit more mana per unit volume of its body than most organisms I’m familiar with, but that’s generally concentrated in the head area. Especially so for the one currently surrounded by people that is cramming its head against the end of the tunnel it’s situated inside of.

Oh, what I would give to obtain a body to dissect and potentially reverse engineer.

For now, though, I have no choice but to listen and observe.

The strange creatures with their perplexing crystal-like features are unruly at times, which is odd because it shows individuality. Twenty-nine of them are tied down with ropes fed through loops on iron stakes planted deep into the verdant walls of the sizable chamber they’re currently occupying. One of the ‘pestle worms’ is nestled into a narrow tunnel, face-forward. Using my domain, I quickly map it out to try and make sense of this.

The tunnel ends in a dead-end, yet the face of the worm is crammed against the stone wall. Considering this arrangement and the conforming width of the passage, it doesn’t take a genius to conclude that the worm is somehow involved with tunnel boring.

Though the worm is not unassisted, crews of what can only be described as medieval engineers hammer and fasten wooden troughs in a line down the length of the tunnel. In these interlocking troughs, which form a temporary aqueduct of sorts, flows fresh water from some source above. At the lead of the excavation procession, the water is spilled onto the worm’s body. Some of it is visibly absorbed while the remainder flows out along a groove in the floor carved by the hard work of pick-bearers.

This is, by no means, a clean job. They are standing knee-deep in flowing sludge while they hack away at stone that gives way with an ease that is not at all realistic. Is there something in the water?

Signs point to yes, as they are each wearing what can only be called a leather hazmat suit, complete with glass goggles.

Interesting as all that may be, the worm steals the spotlight. At irregular intervals, it spews forth pressurized jets of what appears to be mana-charged water. After thoroughly blasted, it proceeds to bludgeon the leading edge of the passage with all four of its hammering mandibles simultaneously. This seems to have little effect, but then it reaches forward with its toothy tongue, or radula, I suppose, and with the telltale mana-flash of a rune in use, it begins to scrape away.

Like putty, ‘soggy’ rhyolite is displaced by the monstrous and magical crystalline appendage. Further crews of environmentally protected people then use rakes to push the waste into the floor channel where the water flows away. Down the entire length, rakers keep the slurry moving along until it reaches a cliff face at the far end of the outpost’s cavity, where everything spills away, out of sight.

Eventually, the worm stops cycling between jetting, hammering, and abrading the end of the tunnel and pauses. Seeing this, with practiced efficiency, the rakers, channel diggers, and aqueduct engineers exit as one and give space for a new group to enter the work tunnel.

The new arrivals wave otherwise unadorned green-painted metal batons at the worm, and in response, the perplexing titan extends hundreds of linearly arranged nubs running the full length of its body from recesses in its jagged exoskeleton. Without uttering a word, the coordinated men again begin to wave their green batons in a strange manner.

Like a rippling wave, bristles emerge from each of the nubs, one after the other. With more furious waving from the baton-bearers, the gargantuan worm begins to rhythmically undulate the bristled nubs, which in turn moves it back through the tunnel that it never could’ve turned around in.

When they’d exited, the laborers had taken the water-carrying troughs with them, leaving the passage clear for the creature to back out.

Leading the way, the baton men exit the tight tunnel with the worm following closely behind. Once free, they direct it over to the cavern face where the other ones are restrained.

Once tethered properly, they release another specimen and resume their indecipherable waving. Much as the first worm did, the new one extends its bristled nubs and uses them to walk like a millipede to the tunnel. This time moving head-first.

It’s worth noting, however, that they aren’t nearly as graceful as one of my prized myriapods; they just barely manage to move along the muddy floor without shearing off the, what I would assume to be, very brittle iridescent blue crystal-like plates they are covered with. It moves more like a polychaete worm, if anything.

Once the new worm is positioned at the end of the tunnel, the laborers return with their supplies, no doubt ready to reconstruct their mobile aqueduct, carve their slurry channel, and rake the tailings away. All as before.

Perhaps I’ve misjudged the ‘tribals.’ Nothing about this setup seems ‘primitive.’ Sure, their transportation is primarily handled by tamed animals, but that merely puts them on an even playing field with everyone else I know of on (or in this case, in) Melk. But I can clearly see laborers and planners directing the workflow with practiced efficiency. The division of roles is absolute; besides the aforementioned workmen, there are also dozens of people running around the tunnel site and surrounding natural passages hammering spots of bare stone with special instruments while they press their massive, nasty bat ears against the wall. Furthermore, the main camp houses a veritable army.

Some of the weapons are crude, yes, but interspersed among the stored spears and tower shields are crossbows and other strange devices baring runic features of excellent make.

Fantastic, they’ve brought mages.

I get that I should probably focus on some of the other goings-on here, but these stone-rending entities and their handler’s processes are just so strange, so unlikely, that I can’t tear my eyes away.

What are they doing? Why are they boring a tunnel, and how come they’re so good at it?

Well, I can at least answer the first; the heading is nearly in my exact direction, which should be telling. Likewise, I suspect the army’s purpose is equally apparent.