From the floor in front of said wall protruded three altars, one taller in the center that gripped her sword and two to the side, each bearing a basin with a hole in the bottom. The central pillar had a proximity activation glyph, at the center of which sat the nozzle of a Fog-writing device.

The blazing blade hungers,

like its prey.

Feed it till it’s sated,

or nurture it to strength.

The lifeblood of insects feeds,

the lifeblood of its master nurtures.

Choose one or both, but be warned:

Greater growth necessitates more time.

It would await in the chamber ahead.

When it mentioned the lifeblood of insects, the left basin’s glyph lit up. At the mention of her lifeblood, the right one did.

The Inquisitor wasn’t one to trust the Fog Logic of a dungeon, and so just returned to the nearest hive and hoisted one of the engorged drones over her shoulder. Bleeding it dry into the left basin seemed to have no effect at first, until she grabbed hold of her weapon and tried to pull it out. An inhuman force yanked it out of her grasp as her sword vanished into the altar, only to pop back up following a suspicious mechanical whirring.

She pulled it free, upon which all three altars vanished into the floor and she noticed what the altar had done. The fuel gem slot now held something unfamiliar, a gemstone of mixed blues and oranges that was encased in the dungeon’s black stone rather than brass. Whilst both her coat and her gloves were highly fire-resistant, she still held the weapon out with cautious suspicion as she willed it to ignite.

Tongues of blue-tipped fire that didn’t seem to radiate any heat at all danced across the edge, blazing brighter and more wildly than the flames produced by any ordinary fuel cell did. Despite her distrust of the dungeon core, it still rewarded her for choosing the easier path. A wry smile crossed her lips, though even if others were present it wouldn’t be noticeable in any way - she’d realized something. “The blood of insects feeds,” the dungeon said, and so it was. Though she had no way to know, something told the Inquisitor that this fuel gem would stick by her for a long, long time - that it wouldn’t just shatter into pieces after the third or fourth recharge and depletion cycle like standard fuel gems did.

She slid her blade into its sheath to put it out, and briskly made her way back to the main chamber. All that was left to do was clean up the survivors and retrieve her remaining property.

As Zelsys sat atop the hive, she and the Sister exchanged occasional glances. Behind the Locust Noble’s eyes roiled a volatile concoction of curiosity and battle-lust, restrained only by ironclad decorum - even down here. Thus, Zel took her sweet time browsing the Tablet - going through Fog Storage in search of anything that could be useful. There… Wasn’t much. She replenished her ammunition, switching out the odd shell so that the belt held a neat two grenades, two scattershot shells, and four slug shells, in the process also loading a fresh slug shell into her arm-cannon. If this wasn’t enough, nothing would be.

Besides ammunition, the only potentially useful objects were the remaining war-knives and bayonets, but they were all in such bad condition that she genuinely considered whether her empty hand would be better. Out of curiosity, she retrieved one of the war-knives. Its condition didn’t lie - it was tarnished, chipped, and dulled. It only had a workable cutting edge near the very tip, and even that was barely worthy of being called sharp, clearly scraped into a vague approximation of sharpness on a rock. Perhaps it would be of use as a throwaway.

Then came the new technique. A few short motions, and it was clear to see.

Unnamed Stormsurge Technique Name Technique

Without hesitation, Zelsys assigned it the first name that popped into her head and immediately opened up its details.

THUNDERCANNON Type: Essentia Manipulation, Weapon Enhancement Trigger: At-Will (Consumes Fog or Metabolized Essentia (Fulgur)) Effects: Fulgur Imbuement B+, Armor Ablation C Advancement: Produce a Thunderclap “There are warriors able to cut lightning, and there are those who rip it from the heavens so that they might turn it against the fools who stand before them.”

Once again did the Sister’s gaze meet hers, that haughty stare a more compelling challenge than anything she’d said. Zelsys just couldn’t help herself, stowing her Tablet away and rising to her feet, war-knife in hand. It was almost comical how light it felt in her hand compared to the Lightning Butcher.

Sliding down the hive’s curved shape to the ground served to reveal what the Sister’s body had obscured - it wasn’t an altar, but rather a pillar risen up to what looked like chest height. It bore a miniature door identical to those between chambers, elaborate glyph and all.

Step by step, moment by moment, Zel made strode towards the Sister. Each second felt like an eternity, their gazes locked in a wordless battle of the wills that neither was willing to concede.

Indeed, she swaggered through the rather long hallway step by step and moment by moment, her caution only equalled by the sheer sense of self-assured egoism that she exuded. She noticed uncharacteristically shaped door wings neatly set into cutouts in the wall, only made obvious by their glyphs.

Both the reason for these strange doors and the part of this chamber that would be their arena soon came into full view; it was an equilateral triangle, the hallway connected to one of its angles. The floor panels even changed from square to triangular within this sub-chamber’s confines, and the moment Zelsys crossed this precipice a violent gust of wind rushed by from behind. The doors had slammed shut without so much as a sound from the mechanism, closing the triangle with their nonstandard shape.

She stood still at the entrance of the arena, briefly tearing her gaze away from the Sister to properly take in the chamber.