Xalt looked toward Vitalmire and shivered. He hoped that these armies were marching toward another dungeon. The nightmares before him gave him pause as he watched the tide of monsters split and head in two separate directions.
The smaller group contained five Primeval Hydras. He had grown used to watching the one that played apex predator in the bay. But the other monster traveling with them was a new horror. His identification spell registered it as a Devourer Hydra. When he had used the spell, one of its many heads had turned toward him, even from this vast distance, to regard him. The look of hunger it leveled in his direction gave him pause.
The beast was three times the size of the Primeval Hydras accompanying it. There were two different kinds of heads, but both were made of a yellowed, bone-like substance. The less intimidating heads resembled those of brontosaurs. They had duller eyes and many flat teeth to crush the various plants they ate as the beast dragged itself forward. The other set of heads was modeled after tyrannosaurus skulls, but with far more teeth. These heads had three rows of fangs and drooled acid as they looked around voraciously for prey. Their eyes were illuminated by some kind of inner light that only seemed to amplify their hungry gaze.
Its feet were not like those of its kin. The other hydras had feet like elephants or brontosaurs. This hydra’s feet were more reptilian, with long claws meant for both grip and tearing. Its scales were a mix of matte greens, browns, and blacks. It also possessed two very long tails. One ended in spikes, and the other had a heavy growth that looked built for clubbing.
The other force was much more numerous and nearly, if not more, bizarre.
There were all manner of chimeric beasts, as though someone had tried to mix various creatures to fill every possible niche. There were scuttling horrors—spiders with bladed carapaces and fang-filled maws. Griffons. Chimeras with the head and front legs of a lion, the hind legs of a goat, and a massive snake for a tail. Black cats sprouting tentacles. Bears bristling with porcupine quills. Xalt even spotted a six-limbed badger with metal for fur.
“What is all this?” Xalt asked no one in particular as he watched the tide of horrors flow from Matthias’ territory.
“This is how he deals with parasites, apparently,” came Sylt’s voice.
“Oh?” Xalt asked, not even turning to look.
“The Leech Dungeon and the Clockwork Dungeon declared war,” Sylt informed him. “The Clockwork Dungeon sent their envoy to try to bully Matthias into submission. The Leech Dungeon seems to just be opportunistic.”
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Xalt nodded. “And you were sent to warn me?”
“No,” Sylt sighed. “I needed room. Matthias got hurt because of me.”
Xalt finally turned and raised a brow at Sylt.
“I was too slow,” Sylt admitted. “Matthias had to save me. The Clockwork envoy fired a laser, and Matthias pushed me out of the way.”
Xalt raised both brows.
“Responded to a laser attack?” Xalt asked to confirm. When Sylt nodded, Xalt continued, “That is no small feat. You should not be moping.”
“But he got hurt,” Sylt sighed. “His arm was blown off.”
“And?” Xalt asked.
“He did regrow it,” Sylt admitted.
“Then no permanent damage,” Xalt concluded.
“But I am supposed to be that layer between him and the outside world,” Sylt argued.
“And what would have happened if you died?” Xalt asked. “It sounds like he was being a good father and taking a hit for his child.”
Sylt winced at that.
“Sylt, I hardly know you,” Xalt admitted. “But maybe you should be talking this out with him—not a stranger.”
“But he seems to trust you,” Sylt rationalized.
“That is a privilege of the kind of power he wields,” Xalt confessed. “I am a monster. I have no trouble admitting that. I have done monstrous things to reach my level of power. He should not trust me. He is convinced he has a read on me—that he can make room for me in his plans without compromising anything.”
“So you are saying the respect does not go both ways?” Sylt asked.
“I respect his mind,” Xalt admitted. “His ability to stumble through. His ability to have what he needs—or be able to create it. But power tends to corrupt. No one is perfect. So I am just waiting to see what his flaws are.”
Xalt turned his attention back to the tide of fur, scales, and chitin flowing from Vitalmire. As a lord himself, he could not help but analyze what he was seeing through a colder, more technical lens. This was not a probing force. There was no cautious testing of borders, no gradual escalation meant to measure a rival’s responses. Matthias had not sent an emissary or a single apex to grind away at resistance over months or years. He had sent an ending.
Every creature in that tide carried redundancy, overlap, and brutal efficiency. Herbivores armored enough to ignore harassment. Carnivores designed to liquefy resistance. Scavengers that ensured nothing useful would be left behind—not bodies, not mana, not even memory. It was war conducted as ecology, annihilation disguised as balance.
Most dungeons feared overcommitting. To expose too much power at once invited counterplay, alliances, retaliation. Matthias seemed uninterested in such concerns. He moved as though every conflict was the last one that mattered, as though survival itself was assumed and only the manner of victory was up for debate. The thought made Xalt’s palms itch.
This was not domination for its own sake. It was inevitability being rehearsed. The slow, grinding certainty of life overwhelming all attempts to resist it—growth that did not ask permission, did not negotiate, and did not stop. Bios, cultivated into something merciless.
For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Xalt found himself hoping that Matthias never decided he was obsolete.
As Sylt vanished into his shadow, Xalt was left to contemplate just how deep Matthias’ power ran, wondering what limits—if any—the dungeon might have when he evolved even one more time.
