“Mark?” Alverost sounded groggy, as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. It was an odd thing, considering neither Mark nor Alverost slept. Not needing sleep was great for having hobbies though, and Mark had found lots and lots of hobbies since he stopped needing to sleep. Most of them were productive, but some… not so much.

Mark pivoted his perception to the new edge, which had stopped expanding some minutes ago, their perception reaching the end of Tinyfinger territory against the Hallow’s walls, their rot city pressed up against it. Slowly, fences of stone pillars were rising from the floor, separating the core areas of the territory from the contested territories of the other Kobolds. The fence rising on the border of clan Blighteye— in the same direction as clan Longtail— had much more progress.

Mark pivoted back to the room Alverost had talked to him in.

“Alverost! You’re awake!” Mark said, his tone jovial. It had been two days since Alverost began integrating the dungeoncore and Valleria had returned from her first mission.

“Mark? What the fuck is going on?” Alverost asked.

“Oh? Well. I was working on the problem with the second iteration of Splotch. I think it was like, a hormone thing, or brain thing, maybe, but after trying a few random changes I’ve fixed the issue with the ferocity. It definitely wasn’t the meridians— the ones I gave Zeek are huge, and he is fine! So this is Splotch 2!”

Splotch was sitting cross legged on the ground of the conference room. A Centipede curled around him. He was meditating in calm silence, popping an eye open towards where Mark and Alverost were talking— floating and invisible ghosts in midair.

“Greetings, Alverost. I have heard much of you from the other Kobolds. It is good to meet you at last.” Splotch spoke, before closing his eyes again.

“No, I don’t mean Splotch, I mean the Kobolds pressed against the gate.” Alverost spoke.

“Oh, you mean the Wartskin Kobolds? Yeah, I’ve been waiting for you to wake up to deal with those!” Mark was cheery. The clan Tinyfinger Kobolds had departed, returning to their territory.

“What do you mean deal with them? Dropping the boulder trap isn’t that hard, Mark—”

“No no, not like that! They’re uh, refugees.”

“Refugees? Like for labor? We don’t really need any extra labor.”

“Labor? No. Like they’ve run away from their territory because their clan lords are eating people. Listen, you should just talk to them. Also, I was thinking more like soldiers than laborers.”

“We will need more soldiers…” Alverost spoke like he had a pounding headache, his voice trailing off as his perspective shifted.

The leader of the band of Kobold refugees chose that moment to speak up, pressing against the gate. “Please… more food!” She spoke through the bars.

“Your group has already eaten more than the rest of us combined!” An unnamed Kobold shouted back at her.

“And how did the trip to clan Longtail go?” Alverost asked.

Mark mentally grimaced. “Not well. Our clan was ambushed on the way out. We lost half of the party we sent out.”

“Who would dare ambush us?” Alverost spoke with a voice full of fury. “Where is Axel? Is he alright?” Before Mark could reply, he felt Alverost’s perspective pivot away, rushing up and down their dungeon before locating Axel in his room. The barracks had been greatly expanded, the range of buildings now extending out far into the original area of the Clan Below. Kobolds of both Tinyfinger and Clan Below wandered outside, dragging sleighs of mushrooms or cutting and harvesting them.

Alverost returned, panic free.

“Yeah. He’s fine. It was clan Longtail themselves. It sounds like they invited our Kobolds in purely to gank them on the way out and had no intent to actually trade.”

“When do we attack?”

“We don’t, Alverost. Even with all of clan Tinyfinger they have us outnumbered.”

“Ah… you’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself.” Mark felt Alverost’s perspective shift away, and he followed him as he moved, observing the stairs and the Kobolds therein. He stopped here and there, observing some of the Kobolds more carefully than others. “A dungeoncore had already started changing them. They ate the chairs? And where did the table go?”

“Yeah…” Mark sighed, exasperated. “They ate the chairs. Twice. I think they have an increased metabolism from their dungeoncore changing them.”

“What was their dungeoncore like? The situation at their city? Have we seen movement from Longtail or Bighorn? How about the assimilation of Tinyfingers?”

“Tinyfinger’s assimilation has begun. Over the last two days, I’ve set genetic changes in motion for at least half of the Tinyfinger Kobolds, and will work on another fourth of them tomorrow. I directly changed Zeek in front of his core group. They were very impressed, you would be proud. It was flashy. Bighorn has been completely silent, but Longtail scouts have been seen at the borders of several clans. As for the Wartskin Kobolds… just talk to them yourself.”

An unlucky Kobold chose that exact moment to enter the conference room, dragging a sleigh loaded with mushrooms. Alverost hijacked its mind without so much as a shred of hesitation. The dark purple, possessed Kobold shivered and wobbled precariously as Mark and Alverost tried to find their balance in it.

“You could warn me before you do that.” Mark hissed through the Kobolds mouth.

Without replying, Alverost threw a leg forward, stepping towards the bars of the gate. Mark stumbled, the right side of their body trailing behind as he was dragged forward.

The Kobold on the other side perked up, looking up at Mark And Alverost. Their hands were through the gate and they were leaning against it, pressed and bent over even after standing to attention.

“Please. More food. Please.” Alverost looked the Kobold up and down before stepping away. Mark followed grudgingly, allowing his body to be lead back to the sleigh the Kobold had dragged in. Mark reached onto it and grabbed a piece of mushroom before spinning back again.

“I’ll give you more food.” Alverost said, dungeonroots rising through the floor and into the wall where they fountained out, ready to change the next Kobold to touch it. “If you touch the dungeonroots.”

There was a quick, visceral reaction to the dungeonroots as the previously placid Kobolds shot up, backing away. All except the one who was originally asking about food. He looked at the other Kobolds inside before reaching out and slamming his hand into the roots like a man dying of thirst in the desert diving into an oasis. Well, like a Kobold dying of thirst at least.

Mark and Alverost’s creation panes opened— and merged.