Making of the Cubic Dungeon

Mechalon studied the bits and pieces scattered before it, bits of metal, fragments of old cube cores, and the occasional unrecognizable hunk of scrap. A part of it was relieved—the adventurers had left without spotting its activity—but a larger part of it was overwhelmed by the complexity of the task. The blueprints were detailed, yes, but they didn’t prepare it for the challenges of actually managing these new creations.

Before it, three freshly made Cubes skittered across the floor with a single directive: hunt down and kill roaches. Simple enough, or so it had thought. The reality was much messier. One of the Cubes had tried to weld a roach that had scurried onto another’s head, nearly turning its fellow Cube into molten slag in the process.

Mechalon had barely salvaged the poor thing, muttering complaints to the system the whole time. “Seriously? Did it really have to try welding its own kind?” it groaned, reconstructing the scorched edges of the Cube’s outer shell. It had been forced to include painfully specific commands in the system’s programming, spelling out every last detail. “Don’t weld roaches off each other’s cubes,” and, after another near disaster, “Don’t jump after the roaches down into the furnace.”

It sighed—or at least, the mechanical equivalent of a sigh, a low whirr escaping from its core. “Am I really this bad at giving orders?” It had never considered itself a master tactician, but managing these new Cubes was like trying to organize a group of blindfolded adventurers with no common sense.

There were so many problems it simply hadn’t anticipated. Every time it thought it had accounted for everything, something new would come up. One of the Cubes had tried to chase a roach straight off a ledge, while another had gotten stuck in a pile of scrap, confused as to why it couldn’t phase through solid matter. It was absurd.

“Herding roaches,” Mechalon muttered to itself, the phrase forming in its mind with a twinge of irritation. “This is what I’ve been reduced to… herding roaches.”

It groaned audibly at the thought, glancing at the three Cubes. They skittered about like mindless insects, bumping into walls, misjudging distances, and generally making a mess of the situation. How could it have been so naïve? It should have started with just one, not three. Three was too many, especially when each one seemed to lack basic survival instincts.

Despite the frustration, Mechalon couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction. Yes, they were idiotic, unpredictable, and prone to self-destructive tendencies, but they were his creations. He had made them from the scrap that had once been part of this very dungeon. They were imperfect, yes, but they were a step forward. And with time—and a lot of adjustments—they would get better.

Still, it couldn’t help but wonder how many more absurd commands it would have to add. “Don’t use roaches as projectiles.” “Don’t try to fight the furnace.” “Stay off the statue!” It felt like babysitting, and it was far more exhausting than it expected.

Mechalon’s mind whirred with frustration, but there was also a glimmer of hope. Once it got the hang of this, once it refined the process, it wouldn’t be herding roaches anymore. It would have an army—small, yes, but efficient. And with that army, it could finally rid the dungeon of the pesky vermin that had plagued it for so long.

For now, though, it sighed again as one of the Cubes knocked into another, their legs tangling together in an awkward mess of metal and gears. “I’m never making three again,” Mechalon muttered. “One at a time… one at a time.”

It wasn’t the grand, methodical work it had envisioned when it first started rebuilding these Cubes, but it was progress. And in this ever-changing dungeon, progress—even slow, frustrating progress—was still a win.

A system message blinked into existence before Mechalon, its cold, mechanical tone echoing its own mounting frustrations:

New Mission:

Herding Roaches: Gather all three cubes under your command to do a single task, where all three do separate parts to complete it.

Mechalon stared at the message, feeling a sense of disbelief. It almost seemed like the system was mocking it now. Herding roaches. Was this a joke? A punishment? It groaned internally, the absurdity of the situation hitting all at once. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” it muttered. “First, I have to herd roaches, and now I’m supposed to organize you three?”

Turning to the three skittering Cubes, Mechalon felt a renewed wave of frustration as they bumped into each other, completely unaware of how useless they looked. It clenched one of its utility limbs in exasperation. Fine. If this is the mission, then I’ll do it. But I’m doing it my way.

“Alright, gather up!” Mechalon yelled, its voice sharper than it intended. The three Cubes paused, their small legs clicking as they awkwardly gathered around, not quite in sync, but close enough. “First things first,” it grumbled. “You all need designations. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my mind.”

It pointed at the first Cube, its smallest but most agile creation. “You’re One. You seem... somewhat competent. Let’s keep it that way.”

The second Cube, slightly bulkier with a few dents from previous mistakes, was next. “You’re Two. You’ve got strength, but please, don’t try to weld anything that isn’t supposed to be welded.”

Finally, the third Cube, which had a patchwork repair job after nearly jumping into the furnace, got its turn. “And you, you’re Three. Don’t even think about doing anything reckless, alright? I’ve had enough of your... creative solutions.”

Naming them helped, if only slightly. At least now it could yell at them with purpose. But this was just the beginning. Mechalon still needed a plan.

It dragged a piece of scrap metal over to the ground, using one of its appendages to carve into the dirt. “Alright, listen up,” it said, its mechanical mind racing. “We’re going to make a metal cube. Simple, right? It’s something you should know how to do instinctively, but this time, we’re going to split the task. One task, three parts. Got it?”

Of course, they didn’t respond. They just skittered about, legs twitching in anticipation—or confusion. Mechalon couldn’t quite tell.

It spent the next hour drafting and scratching a plan into the ground, adjusting the details as memories of the day's mishaps flashed through its circuits. Welding. Shaping. Organizing. It had to account for every mistake they had made so far—like the time Two tried to weld Three to a wall, or when One attempted to chase a roach and got stuck in the scrap heap. This time, though, it would be different. It had learned from its failures. This command needed to be foolproof, with no room for misinterpretation.

After carefully reviewing the plan for the third time, Mechalon looked up at the Cubes. They jittered about in front of it, almost eagerly awaiting orders, though it was more likely they were just idling. “Alright, here’s how it’s going to work,” Mechalon declared, its tone firm and precise.

“One, you’ll handle the shaping. You’re the fastest, so I trust you to get the pieces into proper form. But no shortcuts!”

It pointed to Two next. “Two, you’re welding. I’ve seen what happens when you get too excited with that welder, so be careful this time. Only weld what I tell you to weld.”

Finally, it addressed Three. “And Three... your job is organizing. I know you’re prone to... enthusiasm, but this time, just make sure everything is in the right place. No more jumping into piles of scrap, understood?”

The plan was set. It wasn’t elegant, but it was functional, and that’s all Mechalon needed. “Okay, Cubes, let's see if we can pull this off without anyone getting melted… or thrown into the furnace.”

It took a step back, watching as the Cubes skittered to their positions. Its circuits buzzed with nervous energy. This could either be a turning point or another disaster waiting to happen. But one thing was certain: this was no longer just about roaches or random commands. This was about control, precision, and teamwork—however crude that team might be.

From Mechalon's perspective, the plan was foolproof—or so it thought. Everything had been meticulously designed. Every task was broken down, with no room for error. The commands were clear, precise, and tailored to avoid the disasters of the past. What could possibly go wrong?

"Alright, Cubes. Let’s do this," Mechalon said, stepping back to watch One, Two, and Three spring into action.

The first few moments felt promising. One skittered across the workshop, rapidly shaping slabs of metal with sharp precision. It took Mechalon a moment to realize how fast One actually was. Too fast. It barely had time to appreciate the smooth lines of the metal before Two rushed in with the welder. Two was... enthusiastic, but it seemed to be obeying the command to only weld what I tell you to weld. Sort of.

Mechalon frowned as Two welded all the shaped metal pieces together, the rhythmic hiss of the welder starting to sound a little too chaotic. The slabs of metal were coming together—but the joints were... angled in ways that didn’t quite fit the blueprint. "Hey, slow down!" Mechalon barked, but the Cubes were locked in. The command had been clear: no shortcuts. And they were certainly following that directive with all the fervor they could muster.

Three, dutifully organizing the pieces, had the hardest job. It scuttled about, frantically sorting the slabs that One and Two kept throwing at it, attempting to fit them together in the correct pattern. But something was off. The pieces didn’t align quite like they should’ve. The metal slabs were curving instead of stacking. Mechalon’s circuits whirred with confusion. How was this happening?

It realized too late.

The slabs weren’t being organized into a cube. The pieces were bending. One had been too fast, over-shaping the metal. Two had welded them together perfectly—just not into the right shape. And Three, in its eager obedience to "organize everything properly," was doing just that: organizing the pieces into the shape they were unintentionally becoming. The instructions didn’t specify a cube shape, just that they needed to follow the process.

“Wait—STOP! What are you—NO!” Mechalon shrieked as the final pieces clicked into place.

The creation wasn’t a cube.

It was a sphere. A massive, unwieldy sphere ten times the size of the original cube they were supposed to create. A sphere now filled with welded, reinforced metal slabs and infused with liquid energy. The worst part? It was following every single instruction to the letter. Perfectly shaped. Perfectly welded. Perfectly organized.

And perfectly terrifying.

The sphere trembled ominously as energy surged inside of it, the glowing mercury-like substance swirling faster and faster, charging itself with an unstable hum. Mechalon's limbs flailed in panic. “No, no, no, this isn’t—”

The ground shook. The massive, overcharged sphere trembled, then it started to roll.

“No! Stay still! That’s NOT part of the plan!” Mechalon screamed as the massive sphere slowly but surely began to pick up speed, barreling toward the door of the workshop.

With a screeching whirr, the metal sphere smashed through the doorway, sending debris flying as it rolled out of the room, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Mechalon's optics widened in horror as it saw the sphere careen into the dungeon corridor, gaining speed as it went downhill. The echoes of clanging metal and rumbling stone reverberated through the halls.

"Oh no. Oh no no no!" Mechalon’s entire body trembled with a mixture of disbelief and exhaustion. It had thought it was being clever. It had thought it had control. But no!

“Why couldn’t you just make a cube?!” Mechalon whined, flopping down as it stared at the empty space where the monstrous creation had once stood.

A moment passed before it groaned, shaking its head. “Herding Roaches. More like Herding Maniacs. I should’ve started with one...”

As the distant crashing sounds of the runaway sphere echoed back to Mechalon, it couldn’t help but mutter one final thought:

“Well, at least they followed the plan.”

There were the echoes of screams from somewhere down the hallway, as it told them to gather up again and hide, adventurers would be coming to investigate what had happened, and it was slightly embarrassing they had made something as unsightly as a sphere for their first project. The system didn’t seem to agree as it processed their achievement.

Herding Roaches: Complete?

Level Up!

It would not be touching Mind right now, as it would be too tempted to make more of them, but first… it needed to survive them. It immediately placed all of its points into Durability.