With nothing to do but wait, Mark relaxed. As much as a dungeoncore could. It took serious focus to focus on nothing, for a dungeoncore, with that constant itch at the back of his mind that drove him forward. He felt more and more hectic the longer he spent here, jumping from one action to another, and not for the first time wondered how much dungeoncore physiology impacted his psyche.

He focused on breathing in the way that only a dungeoncore could, recycling the heavy mana, pushing out new mana, and expanding his domain. It was moving a breakneck pace, tearing through the air, upward and outward, and with every exhalation he was able to see more and more of the Hallow, though their domain still didn’t cover any buildings.

Not to mention they had filled most of the Pit, save the tunnels leading up.

Then he felt his domain lurch. He felt almost like he could vomit, like there was a hammer being slammed into the side of his skull, like he had been thrown from the front seat of a car and slammed into a paste. His perspective shifted to the part of his domain in question.

Normally, beyond the pale of his domain was nothing but a yawning void, an endless stretch of black where nothing could be seen. This was almost no exception, as he couldn’t see anything beyond his domain limits. But he could feel something. Something like an alien mind, a gigantic presence leering back at him, as if he was staring into a mirror. It hovered in midair tauntingly, pushing back against his domain— and it rippled. His entire vision blurred, the pounding intensifying. Almost instinctively, Mark pushed back.

The thing staring back at him in the void lurched, pulling away from him with immense speed. Whereas what it had pushed Mark with was a ripple in a tide, Mark had unleashed a veritable tsunami of domain, ripping and tearing at the domain along his border, and it bounced, withdrawing.

“What the fuck was that?” Mark asked. He would be panting if he had lungs.

“Another dungeons domain,” Came the unexpected reply from Alverost. “It would appear we are not alone. I anticipated it, but it is still unfortunate.”

“Not alone? You mean that thing was another dungeoncore?”

“Whenever the Goddess Aurie summons a dungeon, she summons them by the dozen. Although, by the time any human finds them, only one remains.”

“What is that bullshit? Fucking… Dungeon Darwinism?”

“Darwinism?” Alverost asked.

“Darwin was like this guy… okay, its really not important right now. Do we need to do something about that?”

“I’d say… yes.” Alverost pushed forward again, causing their domains to touch. Mark felt the presence on the other side much more solidly now, much more intentionally. It was jumping around wildly like a caged animal.

“Is that such a good idea?”

“Whats the worst that could happen?”

Splotch reached lazily into the pile of mushrooms Mark had spawned. He was with the expedition group, staring out over the dimming horizon of the Hallow.

There was a soft breeze here, blowing against his scales, and he didn’t quite know how to feel about it. It was new to him. Then again, most of this was… standing up right, having plenty of food, and being able to see were all new to him.

So were the more complex feelings and thoughts he had, had since his ascension. Feelings and responses to sensory stimuli he had never experienced before.

Like this itch that was coming from inside of his head. It was light at first, barely enough to bother him, but it was intensifying more and more as he stared at the gathering group of Kobolds.

They were diffused at first, spread about the border of a town of ramshackle huts. But they rapidly gathered, Kobolds hovering at the edge of his vision conspiratorially.

He gripped his spear. It was a source of comfort. He had spent the last several days been drilled by Alverost, and the thoughts of the instructions that had been beaten into him echoed in his mind.

Hold. Thrust. Hold. Thrust.

They were moving now— the group of Kobolds. Closer. They were just a blur of moving figures before, now they were walking with coordinated effort towards them. Splotch was the first to notice, to feel this new tinge of anxiety, but the other Kobolds had noticed the change in the air, the way the damp cave air now having a charge to it, not of mana that tingled the skin, but an electric charge of tension.

The Kobolds moving towards them numbered a few dozen. Walking. Jogging. They broke onto all fours.

They didn’t look like the Kobolds that Splotch knew. They were striped, with horns that grew out of the top of their head, and they were jogging now, their movement raising from a rustle to a roar of movement and motion.

“Hold.” Splotch whispered to himself, standing with the other Kobolds in a press against the wall, staring over as hard as they could.

“Whats going on?” Mark asked, unable to see what was unfolding outside of his domain.

“Horned Kobolds come. Dozens.” Splotch replied.

“Great. Valleria said that they were aggressive.”

As if to prove Alverost’s point, they roared, breaking into a full charge towards the castle.

They were some fifty meters away now, breaking into Mark and Alverost’s domain.

“Jesus — to think we couldn’t even see them until they got that close! Theres so many!”

“It will be fine. Its not like they can tear down our walls.” Alverost replied.

Each of the six Kobolds atop the wall sat patiently, twitching in agitation at the wall of Kobolds sprinting towards them.

Then the horned Kobolds fell upon the wall, splashing around it like a wave. Near half a dozen slammed into the door, a metal portcullis, growling and snarling and throwing themselves against it.

“Whats wrong with them?” Mark asked. “They’re acting… feral.”

“It must be the work of an enemy dungeon… they’re a full two heads taller than our Kobolds, too. And those stripes—”

“They look like dinosaurs.”

The stone gate rattled, the winch mechanism inside loudly bouncing as the half dozen Kobolds tried in vain to rip the door off. Spit leaked from their mouths as they stared up at the Kobolds on the wall with a ravenous gleam of hunger in their eyes.

A purple Kobold to Splotch’s left raised its spear, stabbing downward into the throng of madly clawing Kobolds.

There was a wet splotch as the metal tip separated flesh, piercing into a Kobolds eye. Its body fell limp. Two of the Kobolds around it began biting into the corpse, tearing it apart.

The purple Kobold tried to raise the spear— and failed as a dozen hands grabbed onto it.

It fell into the throng of Kobolds. Splotch watched for a second, frozen, as the screaming started, as huge, serrated teeth tore apart scaled skin like cloth and bone crunched and cracked. Then the screaming stopped, and Splotch felt a feeling that was all too familiar, one that he had felt over and over, huddled together with his Kobold brothers and sisters in the dark, a feeling brought on by the sound of chitin rubbing against chitin, of a hundred legs in the dark.

Fear.

His fear gave way to anger as he gripped his spear. He stepped forward, ready to stab down into the Kobolds below, but he didn’t have to. They had climbed on top of each other, a living ladder of scaled flesh, clawing and screaming and biting to topple the castles wall. They flung themselves over each other, over the stone wall, into the courtyard.

One pushed itself off from the wave of Kobolds, turning and sniffing. It was animalistic, slow and unthinking. It sniffed at the air, then it locked eyes with Splotch.

He stared at it.

Its sclera were bright red, its eyes showing an intelligence in spite of its feral action.

Splotch made the first move.

He charged.

With three steps forward, he turned, leaning his momentum into the spear he carried, the force of his movement carrying it forward as he slammed into the feral Kobold. There was a scream as the metal split flesh, and Splotch placed his foot on the Kobold, pulling the spear free with a victorious roar.

In the air around the corpse, a pink light shone, mana streaming off the body and coalescing into several floating, metal coins, before they fell to the ground in a clatter.

The Kobolds around him broke from their shock then, charging forward with him.

Four more feral Kobolds fell, impaled.

But a fifth inflicted a wound too shallow, and the few feral Kobolds that had pulled themselves over the wall fell onto the Kobold that had struck at him, beginning to tear her to pieces— literally.

Splotch roared in defiance, the Kobolds around him joining once again in charging forward, a swell of pointed blades pushing back into the feral Kobolds.

Four feral Kobolds fell, but two of them were cut shallow, grabbing onto the spears impaling them, pulling the defenders from the wall and into the chaos below.

Two defenders remained.

Splotch heard a growl behind him, turning in time to see a feral Kobold that had climbed the opposite side of the wall charging him, and met him with the butt of his spear. He heard a scream from behind him, sparing just a second to see the other defender impale another Kobold, before turning back to finish off his own.

He slashed, cutting the feral Kobolds throat open, feeling hot blood spray onto his hands, and turned again in time to see and feel a feral Kobold rush into his spear, impaling itself, biting into Splotch’s shoulder as they fell from the wall.

Splotch heard something break, and he screamed as the last of the Kobolds took the wall, tearing into him.

Then the little castle was silent, save for the sounds of teeth tearing into flesh.

“…fuck.” Mark said. “They tore them to pieces.”

“We should have made bows. And more minions.” Alverost replied.

“C’mon man. Can’t you have a moment to grieve? They’re all… dead.”

“Its no time for being emotional.”

As they spoke, a few of the Kobolds that had made it inside the courtyard explored the door that had held them out. The horned Kobolds stuck outside were still bashing against it.

“They’re in a fucking fury.”

“Probably because I’ve been consuming the dungeons domain. It lashed out like a wild animal, instructing all of its thralls to attack us at once. The soul in the core is probably some type of feral monster or animal.”

“Wait, the soul in the core? Its not just a dungeon soul?”

“All dungeon souls come from other species and retain their memories. Duh. How else would dungeons work? How do the dungeons on your world work? Whatever, its not important. Its likely that this is all of the forces that dungeon can muster. If we can kill them all here, they wont have any forces left.”

“Shit.” Mark replied, watching the Kobolds work at the winch mechanism that enabled the heavy stone grate.

One of the Kobolds had finally found and pulled on the rope, raising it an inch. All the feral Kobolds jumped away as it slammed back into the ground.

“Did you see that?” Mark asked.

“Yes… they’ve figured out how the door works. They’re not feral after all… still intelligent.”

“No, look!” Mark said as the one Kobold lifted the gate by itself, pulling on the rope.

“Its fine, we still have the second door.”

“Not the door… look how easily they opened it. It takes three of our Kobolds to do it. In fact—” Mark dove into the creation pane for one of the dead feral Kobold’s in the castles courtyard— “Yes, their muscle density is much higher. They’re like gorillas… how long has the dungeon been affecting them to change them to this extent…” Mark continued.

The Kobolds were streaming into the castle now, pounding on all fours down the stairs, sniffing at the air.

“Now’s not the time for improvements. Gather the Kobold’s and have them defend the gate.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mark said, exiting the creation pane and moving to gather the other Kobolds.

The ferals had reached the bottom of the stair case, and were bashing against the stone grate door. The winching mechanism, though, were on the other side. Some of the feral Kobolds tried to reach out, to grab at the rope that could lift the door, but their arms were too short.

Others gnawed on the stone grating.

“We really do need bows…” Mark said.