Kala ducked down, dodging another javelin. This one, like the ones that came before it, shattered into countless fragments upon impact. As far as she could tell, the monster’s stone was far more brittle than the earth it was created from; some part of its abilities morphed its characteristics, the transition from solid to near-liquid to solid again transforming hard stone into something closer to brittle clay.

In some ways, that made it even more dangerous.

The floor around her was coated in a multitude of jagged shards, a carpet of caltrops that would have pierced through less sturdy boots. Fortunately, Kala’s boots were hardened by Earth Core mana; it would take more than shards to cut through the reinforced material.

Others, however, wouldn’t be so lucky - thus, she worked to hold it off alone. Besides, she thought as another scream sounded out from the Guildhall’s entrance, nobody else could be spared.

Far below her, a growing crowd of enemies laid siege to the Guildhall. The fliers had long ceased their roosting, throwing themselves at the cracks and crannies where lookouts had posted, blocking sightlines with broken bodies and countless wings. The Hexablades stabbed and slashed at the Guildhall’s siding, only the sturdiness of the building’s construction keeping them from breaking through. The quadrupeds, sleek and panther-like, slunk around at the edges of the crowd, waiting for an opening to be made.

So far, the Guildhall’s doors had held, barred by solid blocks of stone that had taken many men to carry. Still, the monsters were relentless and suicidal; she was sure that they would throw themselves into the jaws of death if it meant their kin would break through.

That was quickly proven a reality; they dashed themselves against the barred doors over and over, using their bodies like battering rams. Stupid as it sounded, eventually that was enough.

They broke through the doors, and the battle began in truth - and the first of the deaths began soon after, fear-laden screams laced with pained cries.

Kala could only listen, trusting in Rowan to keep things together. The fortifications placed inside the Guildhall should slow them down, though she knew more than anyone else that they wouldn’t be enough. Not against this many.

And not against that thing creeping its way through the streets, only slowed by Kala’s efforts to hold it back.

Kala stood again, her bow already halfway drawn, and let loose another arrow. The enchanted metal gleamed with power, crashing into the monster before it could react. It hit dead center, smashing into the glow that split through the creature’s cracks.

It fell apart, the monster’s claylike body losing cohesiveness as its Core was knocked away. The glowing sphere flew backwards, bouncing and skipping along the street until it came to a stop. And then, just like every time before, it started to reform itself - as if the loss of its form was little more than an inconvenience. The stone underneath it started to warp and melt, reshaped and solidified into a new body.

Kala waited, knowing that every second the Skies-damned thing took to reform itself was another second bought for those fighting below. As soon as the monster made it to the Guildhall, it would be over. As far as she could tell, the thing was almost invincible as long as there was stone nearby to remake itself; it had some abominable mixture of a slime’s shapeless form without the core weakness that they usually held - their heart. A literal Core had taken its place, the mark of an Ascended monster integrated into the being’s baseline structure.

And Cores were nigh-indestructible.

Just like the slime from which it seemed to be derived, the monster started to form a multitude of grasping tendrils out of the stolen earth. The wriggling limbs pulled more and more bits of stone to create its new body. It seemed to be experimenting, changing its shape with every new iteration - or maybe it just wasn’t very attached to a particular one, seeing its true body as its Core and everything else as interchangeable pieces. Whatever the case, it seemed that the newest form took a more aggressive approach; limbs thickened, growing spikes and artificial muscles made of stone, while the body itself seemed purely designed to create as much leverage to use those arms as possible.

It would have been hilariously imbalanced if the thing actually functioned by normal rules; it didn’t, and so it wasn’t.

It was just terrifying; a being fashioned from transmuted clay, formless and unrelenting.

The Golem.

Another arrow whistled through the air, this time deflected from its course by a well-placed javelin. Kala ducked again, knowing what was coming next. A second javelin shattered itself above her, raining shrapnel overhead.

She winced as tiny pieces found their way to exposed skin, velocity and sheer sharpness combining to form dangerous blades out of the miniscule slivers. Some stuck at an angle, digging deep. Others were through-and-through, only glancing past the edges of her skin; in through one and out the other, with only a bleeding wound as sign of their passage. Those were the easier ones, the ones that the Guardian Statue could immediately set to healing.

Kala grimaced, using one hand to pluck out the shards that had buried themselves more deeply. She had made the mistake of not pulling them out quickly before; that choice had displayed an uncomfortable interaction with the Guardian Statue’s healing, healing skin trying to seal shut over the sliver. The interminable itching that it caused had been a huge distraction, not to mention the pain of cutting the wound open again to pry the damn thing out.

Still, she wasn’t willing to remove her [Little Guardian’s Totem] to avoid that. Without it, she - and many others - would already be dead. Some already were, judging by the horrible wailing that was coming from below. Kala grit her teeth, trying to avoid attaching a face to the sound - to use that knowledge as a way to guess who might have died. In the end, it didn’t matter.

There would be more, and mourning them now would only be a distraction. She couldn’t be Elara, turning off her emotions at the drop of a hat. She could only do the next best thing.

She shoved the grief aside as best she could, burying it under the need to be useful. Drowning it under a deluge of hatred, because it was better to be angry than hopeless; better to be filled with wrath than despair.

Because how dare you take this from them.

They had been so close to bringing the survivors back from disaster, closer than she had thought possible. Hope - and some faint semblance of what might have been happiness, muted though it was - had started to emerge. And now, with one disaster almost defeated, a second came sweeping in. Another cry came out, a warbling wail that cut through the walls and passageways of the Guildhall - a child, this time, screaming in the way that only children could. Horrified. Confused. Desperate.

It filled Kala with rage, and she stood again with bow drawn taut - because even if it amounted to nothing, she couldn’t do nothing.

The arrow flew, smashing the Golem apart again.

Another cry came from below, a frustrating mockery of Kala’s efforts.

The Golem began to choose a new shape.

My jaws yawned open one more time in a futile attempt to combat the truth. Unfortunately, reality didn’t bend to my whims quite yet. The Lesser Core was still too big to swallow.

Another wave of [FEAR] reached out to me, a multitude of thought-hisses that called for my attention. I ignored them as best I could, focusing instead on the problem before me - one that could help solve their problem as well. With this life secured, I would be free to act without losing unnecessary lives; even more, I would have more power with which to do it.

I looked towards the black-water again, my mind instinctively recoiling from it. The liquid was as ominous as always, instincts screaming at me that its touch was near-certain death. Yet, in this moment, it might mean life for the Great Core’s followers.

I steadied myself, thankful that the spore-roots controlling me would give my movements razor-sharp precision. There would be no room for mistakes. Not here. Not now.

My spore-roots forced me to move, winding myself securely against the carvings that held the Core in place. Still wary of a potential attack by the darkwood’s roots, I made sure to keep the black-water in between myself and any attempts at an ambush. Hopefully, the instinctive desire to avoid black-water would affect the darkwood - clearly more driven by instincts and less by thought than I was - enough to keep it away.

Then came the hard part; forcing the Core and the black-water to come into contact. My spore-roots flexed, pressing my tail against the Core. [Clinging Grasp] activated, inexorably attaching the two for a few brief moments. Vigor shot into my body, strengthening my flesh.

My spore-roots twitched, pulling the Core towards the waiting black-water.

Its light began to slowly fade.

Kala’s breath came in harsh gasps, her body starting to ache. Even with the constant healing of the Guardian Statue, holding the Golem back was taking its toll - in every way imaginable. Her emotions were a wreck, flitting between rage and despair and sheer spite. Her body was crying out for relief, flesh torn and healed and torn again, phantom wounds plaguing its entire surface. Her mind was in a frenzy, desperately hoping for some sort of miracle.

The Golem was closer now; while she wouldn’t have called it smart, it was innovative. Having never been bound by a true form, it didn’t hesitate to try new things - sometimes they made little sense, more harmful to its approach than anything else, but other times it got lucky.

Those times were the only ones that truly mattered, forcing arrow after arrow to be wasted.

And Kala was nearly out.

Her fingers fumbled around the next shaft, shaking furiously. They bumped and bounced around her quiver - finding only the one.

Her heart sank.

Another cry came from below, the Guildhall’s defenders still working to keep everyone safe. Untrained as they were, they still mostly held. Every wound taken had the chance to be healed, given enough time. Only death was permanent. Some died, but more were saved. The fight raged on, the Guardian Statue turning even the weakest of defenders into something more.

It was enough of an advantage that the survivors might have thought they had a fighting chance.

Kala knew otherwise; everything else was just fodder, weaklings accompanying the true enemy.

She drew the last arrow, her heart beginning to sink.

It flew true, striking the Golem’s Core, forcing it to bounce backwards again and lose some of the ground that it had gained.

Then the Golem began to choose a new shape, and there was nothing that Kala could do anymore - nothing but watch, hoping for a miracle, yet knowing that one would never come.

Death, however, surely would.

My jaws yawned open, stretching as wide as possible.

The Lesser Core was far lesser than before, great swaths of its mana devoured by the greedy black-water - the majority of its size lost with it. A spurt of flames, heat accumulated from the environment and stored within [Illusion Spark]’s reservoirs, dried off what remained.

With no more time to waste, I devoured the Core. It slipped down my throat, filling my length with its scent-taste - and then it happened.

The Core started to transform, shifting into an object of pure mana.

The thought-light flickered.

Integrating Dungeon Core (Aspect: Nature)…

It traveled from my stomach, a vast river of energy reaching out towards where the Great Core rested on my head-scales.

The Great Core devoured it, subsuming the Lesser Core entirely.

The thought-light flickered again.

Dungeon Core (Aspect: Nature) Integrated.

Core Skill Created: [Verdure Parasite].

The ground started to shake, the tremors different than what had come before, the darkwood above me trembling as if in an overwhelming rage. It must have realized what had happened, somehow sensing the death of its creator.

A root-tip speared out from the Lair’s floor over and over, blindly searching for me. The black-water kept me safe, the stupid bad-thing too obedient to its own instinctive need to avoid it.

The thought-light flickered one last time.

Condition Met.

Core Skill - [The Endless Cycle] Renewed.

Beginning New Cycle.

My scale-flesh tightened; I sent out a single thought-hiss before leaving it behind. A promise to Tiamat, and one that I was now sure I could deliver.

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A follower for a follower.