Tungsten was uncertain about this idea. Not that he did not think it was a good idea, but more of a personal matter. Though a Cyber Skeleton, he has never been outside of the Darksteel Colossus since his creation. The suit of immortal armor was as much a part of his body as his bones were. However, if Faetalis was to go with Tungsten's plan to disguise themselves as wandering heroes, then indeed, many of the Overseers may have to leave the guild on missions, and their monstrous appearance will surely put them at odds with the natives if they're predominately humanoid. So Tungsten understood the need to take on a human guise, if only for their mission.

Tungsten allowed the others to go before him while he began the rather lengthy process of getting out of his armor. Part of the features to prevent enemies from sundering or removing his armor is the fact it takes such a lengthy time to disrobe, even willingly. This was done in the event he was ever mentally compromised and was commanded to hand over his equipment. By the time it was his turn, Tungsten looked at what the others had chosen as their disguise. They were conventionally attractive looking humanoid women, and Tungsten wondered what he should look like. He has never thought about looking "humanoid" at all, having always imagined himself as either the Darksteel Colossus or his base Cyber Skeleton form. The only humanoid form he could think of right now was AlphaQ, and he would not besmirch her imagine by pretending to be her.

Instead Tungsten simply looked through the available skins and choose one that fit his dimensions. Fortunately since his base form was literally a skeleton, he had many options to choose from. Ultimately, he choose a woman's form, just like the others had, but he chose a strong looking form that almost looked masculine. Fortunately the magic of making these skinsuits also gave Tungsten the needed mass and muscles to fill out the suit where his skeletal body wouldn't. It did feel strange however. Lighter than his armor, yet at the same time.... Naked. Despite wearing clothes. Tungsten however would not admit to being uncomfortable outside of his armor, as he simply clenched his fist tightly and gave Faetalis a nod. His new body giving her a confident smile. "This form suits me well. Thank you, Creator Faetalis."

A silence would pass, as Faetalis left everyone to speak their peace, and voice their concerns of her plan. In truth, she was testing them - she had to. If she didn’t, they wouldn’t fare well in their new roles as “those that make decisions” and “those that execute decisions” at the same time. Fortunately, they were coming along at a stellar pace; even though a little hit and miss, they were well in line with her projections. They would make fine successors to her friends...

...replacements.

Sooner or later, she would have to face that fact. They weren’t coming back.

Wherever she was, they couldn’t follow.

“So many places to start, and so much to address. I suppose, I will start with the most practical of fears, and descend from there...” Faetalis says, clapping her hands together, “But, first, I want to say, I’m proud of each of you and your progress. This is what I hoped to see, when I named you my new Raid Council. The confidence to speak to me and against me in the same breath.” Faetalis beamed, her shark-like teeth clearly edged - one of her few android features, before she crossed her arms. “Now, then, to address the concerns of mutilation. Smother them, wholly and completely. I needn’t mutilate you to fit you in my Doll Skins. They are tailored to fit you, seamless, perfectly - such is my talent.”

“I would nary see one scale of your arms, Levia, chipped nor one scale of your wings, Gamma, clipped,” Faetalis says. “The skin you choose will fit you like a glove upon the hands of royalty. I assure you. And, it is that fit that I must urge you to take one, Cormac, Madame Mae. It is not to sully your form nor spit upon your Supreme Being’s gifts, but to elevate your own potential going beyond these walls and into the world of Humans.” Faetalis cast her arms to the sides, motioning to the racks of the warehouse, “These skins are those of the Supreme Beings that yours defeated. In combat. In duels. In sieges. But, these are there victories, and not yours. It is time they are retired, and the new season wear is made.”

Faetlis looked to Gamma, then Tungsten, before she continued, “And, it is for that reason, I would deny you all these skins as choices. I wish you not to forget the deeds of those that created you, but to honour their deeds by replacing these with new ones, earned by your victories.”

“So, look not to these skins for inspiration. Look inside you. See the form of the Human inside of you...” Faetalis says, standing over the crafting table, as she grew four more arms; taking thread and needle, file and scissor, and a stack of thin, skin-coloured sheets. “Inside each Monster, a Human lies - the core of their being; the darkness and guile that allows them to blend in and commit atrocities,” she says, sewing and cutting, hemming and trimming, “It sounds insane, but I urge you to look deep, and show me your innermost soul...”


Faetalis would hold up the finished product, and it would swish like a paper-thin jacket, as she threw it out behind her, and put it on like one. It would suddenly envelope her, and the nude skin would grow out hair, nails, fingers, toes, tone, and define features, until a nude woman stood before them.


To the uninitiated, this young woman looked like she belonged in a tower - desperately awaiting rescue - and appeared fragile and afraid. To the unassuming, she was the goal of a long quest...


At least, until she bodily shivered, and sneezed, “Cold...”

As it turned out, Faetalis did have something else in mind. Everyone approached the task they'd been given in their own way, several through the lens of pragmatism. It made sense, after all, to forego any special effort when one already owned an item capable of bestowing a human guise, or one could already boast a human appearance. Why wouldn't the more unusually shaped monsters present approach the idea of being stuffed into a human-sized suit with caution, even if Mae herself just accepted the impossible as a matter of course for Supreme Beings, without thinking? In their best efforts to accomplish their objective in as sensible and efficient a manner as possible, however, it seemed as though the Overseers missed out on a crucial piece of their master's assignment: her intent.

Mae crossed her arms -an impossible feat in her typical form- and developed a pensive expression as she ruminated on what Faetalis had to say. Like some of the others, she'd assumed that her boss simply wanted them to be disguised. To that end, the obvious choice was to select a skin from the grisly spoils of bygone victories, which magic would then allow them to inhabit. When she remembered a way to disguise herself without needing to sacrifice one of these trophies, Mae had been all too pleased at her own supposed cleverness, not realizing that she'd missed the mark. The hidden horror's simulated eyes went wide, mirroring her true self's thoughts, as the corrective words of Faetalis sank in. While she didn't immediately grasp the meaning of everything the Supreme One said, she knew in an instant when she'd messed up. Just being disguised in some way wasn't important; it was how that mattered. Suddenly the Witching Veil seemed like a cheap trick, a stop-gap solution that didn't actually address the issue. Like cooking in a bucket instead of a pot, just because she saw a bucket first.

Moreover, these once-glorious husks weren't hers, or any Overseer's to take. It soon became apparent that the much smarter Overseers were just as mistaken as Mae. As Faetalis continued to explain, however, things didn't necessarily become clearer. She wanted the members of her Raid Council to not look around, but within. Mae blinked a couple times as she looked down, trying to see what Faetalis evidently saw in her, although all she ended up seeing at the moment was her human guise's bosom. A 'Human', inside her? During and after the Guild's more high-profile invasions Mae had a bunch of humans inside her, whether minced, ground, juiced, baked, or raw. It had been a long time, however, since mankind had been on the menu, so she somehow doubted that was what Faetalis meant. But then what did she mean? Unlike her Maneaters, who at one point had been ordinary people before succumbing to their unholy, mutative curse, Mae had never been human, at least as far as she knew. As a Great Old One, she existed as a ghoulish monstrosity wholly beyond the ordinary world, a fearsome deity borne of gluttonous depravity whose hideous flesh made mockery of the human form, of the depths to which their sin could lead them. Maybe...that was what Faetalis alluded to? As Great Old Ones went, Mae did sit comfortably at the tamer end of the spectrum, far less cosmic and incomprehensible than her more 'outer' kindred, as far as she knew. Maybe, instead of a pretty form chosen for Mae, in order to cover her up with a much more appreciable veneer, her boss wanted a human that is Mae, or at least what she represents.

Or maybe that was all just a bunch of hogwash. Mae did feel a little hungry, and nothing distracted her from the monumental task of critical thinking like an empty stomach.

Either way, the headless horror did feel like she had a slightly better grasp of what Faetalis wanted. Her glamour watched, and her blindsight scanned, as her master finished her great work with a flourish and slipped on her new flesh like a jacket. In just a moment the deception was complete, and a totally unfamiliar human stood before the group of monsters, a pretty little thing that smacked of none of the Conquering Technomancer's genius or ambition. Mae couldn't even feel her pressure anymore; there wasn't a single trace of the slightly oppressive 'gravity' that naturally emanated from a Supreme One to weigh down upon lesser beings, such as herself. "Dad-gum!" she breathed, re-evaluating any detail for even the slightest hint of a flaw in the disguise, but just as she expected she found none. "Well, butter me up an' call me a biscuit, that's one downright immaculate costume there, Lady Faetalis!" She then internalized that her boss was cold. Somewhat sheepishly, Mae removed her Witching Veil, and in a matter of seconds the lovely chef ballooned back out into her true, abominable form. Promptly she removed her sleek, dark brown Night-lined Mantle and offered it to Faetalis to drape around her shoulders like a cloak.

No longer possessed of a head to emote with, the great ghoul stepped back and put her hands on her hips as she considered what to do. This place wasn't supposed to be a boutique where the Overseers shopped around for a good fit, but a tailor where they could get the perfect fit custom-ordered. As far as Mae could tell, the 'human' Faetalis asked for wasn't what Mae wanted out of those available, but what she wanted, period. But what did she want? It was a dizzying question. Right now, she mostly wanted a snack, and failing that, to be back in her kitchen cooking something, since that was what she enjoyed the most. But she also wanted to do a good job for Faetalis, of course. And that meant showing her 'innermost soul'. But what was that? Mae felt like she was thinking in circles, getting nowhere. "I don't got the INT for this," she mumbled to herself in resignation. What did Canology Mae want out of herself?

Try as she might, she could think of nothing she wanted more than to provide for her Guild, to make meals that could satisfy body and soul, then send her friends off with full hearts and all the boosts and buffs they might need to do their jobs. As fun as terrorizing that expedition had been, she possessed no particular bloodlust or grand ambition, other than to obtain fine ingredients for the craft of exquisite dishes. Of course, any who threatened her kitchen would soon find themselves on the menu, and she did feel a little ashamed that she'd never earned glory for her guild on the field of battle, but was that what she really wanted? ....No. Let the others pillage, adventure, scheme, and conquer; Mae would be here to get them ready when they left, and to welcome them home when they returned.

A vision sprang into mind--either hers or that of Faetalis, or maybe both. A woman, somewhere in her mid-thirties, at least. Quite stout, but nowhere near as much as Mae herself. Possessed of ruddy, ordinary features, chestnut-brown eyes, crow's feet, and wavy, mousy brown hair, pulled together in a ponytail over one shoulder, covered partially by a white cloth wound around the top of the head. Dressed in a simple forest-green overdress over an ankle-length smock, yellowish in color, and sporting a well-used apron and rolled-up sleeves. Hers was a face that could be found most anywhere, whether in a tavern making beds or doling out food and drink to weary travelers, in a farmhouse over a roaring stove after a long day's work, or at market bargaining for the freshest meat and produce from the countryside. This sort of face belonged to countless mothers and wives, and it was one that just about anyone would happy to see, for it belonged to someone who knew how to take good care of you. Not someone who would ever change the face of the world, whether through war or politics, or who would earn the admiration of heroes or kings, but someone who ran a tight kitchen and kept a good home, beloved by many and respected by anyone with a lick of sense. There could be no doubt about it; for all of Mae's monstrosity, and despite the Witching Veil's glamour, this better represented who she really was.

Levia almost hated that her worries were assuaged by Faetalis' words, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, REALLY wishing that she could just not participate due to her extra limbs...but the chimeric dragon had little choice now that everyone else was in human form. They were so...smooth and normal looking that to the dragon that was raised around such monstrosities and abominations of nature, she couldn't help but miss how cute they all were in their individual ways.

Nervously, Levia would take a skin and duck behind a corner to slip into it before hearing the words of Faetalis instead. ...If these disguises were meant to be themselves, their innermost human-like traits then...how the heck was Levia's going to look!? There was 0% of her that was human from her poisonous breath to her numerous limbs...if anything, the only reason she looked human was her creator's whims. Still, she couldn't help the entirely human feeling of wanting to belong, of wanting people to be proud of her, and how that innately conflicted with her job of destruction and interacting primarily with beings barely intelligent enough to say a single syllable.

Mae also seemed to be conflicted and removed her own disguise, leading to Levia feeling like her hesitation wasn't a mistake. Mae was a lot wiser than she was, and right now Levia could do nothing but think. And for someone with low MP, that was quite an ask. But still, either in her mind or Faetalis, a vision did at least start to materialize. The abandoned experimental child, created to fulfill countless goals and dreams only to be tossed aside for a different child. This one sought to be accepted, this beast thought itself a human, and in its anger broke things upon command in hopes of receiving love in turn. Nobody born and discarded the way that Levia was could hope to be prim and proper, and if she were human, she'd still prove herself their superiors in strength. As such, Levia's innermost human couldn't be described as much else other than a punk, the type that would look at home in the alleyway many orphans of this world called home. Eyes that radiated hostility, casting a shadow over her double-sided intentions, and a proper enough looking body to show that she was once cared for, but her present situations speaks otherwise.

A vagrant amongst the fortunate.

Scratching her head, Levia seemed conflicted. "C-Can I not at least keep my tail!?" she would ask, holding it protectively with her two largere draconic arms. "And...can we take these skins off while inside our home?"

Gammaton had already reached out an insectoid claw towards the skin of her choosing, but recoiled at Faetalis' declaration. These were not their trophies, but the trophies of their betters. Gammaton remembered more vividly now, that while she had faced the original possessor if this skin on the field of combat, it had been the Supreme beings who struggled against this particular opponent. Gammaton had instead commanded her armies and dealt with the enemy's lesser minions.

At first, Gammaton thought that Faetalis was suggesting for Gammaton go out into the world to seek a worthy opponent either in combat or in tactics, to subdue them, and flay them for their skin, bringing it back as a prize for Faetalis to fashion into a disguise. Yet this also was not Faetalis' intent. Faetalis asked them to look inside themselves to discover the 'human within'. This was an ironic, almost blasphemous joke for Gammaton. In her egg state, she was an insectoid neural parasite residing within a humanoid shell. If anything, she was was often in the form of a human, but was truly an insect deep inside all along, not the other way around. She thought back to the minor argument she had just had with Cormac. Gammaton had no issue pretending to be a human, but to actually be such an inferior creature felt beneath her. Not only did Gammaton believe that insects were far superior to other animal kingdoms, even among mammals, humans ranked pretty low in Gammaton's eyes.

And yet, in both Yggdrasil and in this New World, it was humans that reigned as the apex species. Why had Gammaton never considered this obvious flaw in nature's design? Gammaton was suddenly fueled by a desire to 'correct' this evolutionary fallacy, but thoughts of evolution invariably turned her mind towards GrillBears, her creator. He had been human too. Faetalis, though ascended, is human as well. GrillBears had created Gammaton to be a capable warrior and general, but her had also made her something of an alchemist, instead of blind obedience alone, he made her curious about the world, and fascinated by the potential of life. He spent his free time experimenting and showing her his handiwork. She didn't understand at the time, she merely saw the expediency of using his research to make her soldiers more powerful for the sake of Infactorium's military glory. She did not at the time partake in the joy of discovery. Yet now she finds herself lounging in Hivehill, once she had received orders from Faetalis and relayed those orders to her workers, Gammaton was bored. Bored with simple obedience.

Gammaton wanted something; and as a lepidopteran, the answer was simple, she wanted to evolve. And she thought that this desire was merely the instinctual need to continue her metamorphic cycle of rebirth, but perhaps it was telling that her disdain for humanity was probably due in part to jealousy. Why were humans the dominant species in both worlds? But then, did that mean that Gammaton wanted to become human? The thought disgusted her, but it made her wonder, what did a human want? Her mind returned to GrillBears. During one of his experiments he had mentioned another world off-handedly to Gammaton. He had mused on why he enjoyed being in Yggdrasil so much, to the detriment of the time he spent in the 'other world'. His answer was simple, in Yggdrasil, he could be anything he wanted to be, do anything he wanted to do. In Yggdrasil, he could experiment on animals and...'play God'.

As a general, discipline was everything to Gammaton; discipline and obedience. Sure, she was allowed to be imaginative when it came to elaborate strategies, but her goal had always aligned with what her superiors wanted of her. Gammaton had always suppressed her ambition, her selfish desire. But here, now, Gammaton realized that she wanted the same thing humans wanted, and this was the 'human' inside of her. Gammaton didn't want to be human, but a human didn't want to be human either. A human wanted to be God, and so too, did Gammaton.

Yet this did not answer the the very real problem at hand, Gammaton was to devise a look that she would feel most comfortable and request Faetalis to tailor the disguise. Gammaton wasn't sure if Faetalis could fashion a disguise that was the very concept of a God, but even if she could, it wouldn't be much of a disguise. No, for now, Gammaton had to quell her ambitions. Apotheosis would come much, much later. It was not yet time for ambition and grandeur. But there was a change, Gammaton found herself identifying more with the clerical and pharmaceutical aspects of her nature more than the military; the alchemist side of her personality, for is an alchemist not one who seeks God through science? One who yearns for the secrets of the universe, who would challenge nature and turn lead into gold? Was not Faetalis, the closest thing to a God in Gammaton's eyes, not herself an alchemist of sorts?

Gammaton imagined, in her minds eye, the image of a potion-seller, but one unsatisfied with her station, and therefore dressed regally and opulently, with a devious twinkle in her eye. The queen of her own ivory tower, and an intellectual who defied outdated philosophies, one who could sacrifice anything in the pursuit of evolution.

Gammaton crossed her many segmented arms in contemplation. "Lady Faetalis, your craft is far beyond our understanding. Will a verbal description suffice to be translated into a visual shape? Would that you were a neural parasite too, then I could let you consume a chunk of my brain to convey the image I have in mind."

Tungsten was already going through a veritably whirlwind of emotions with his new position, but now Faetalis wants them to not only have a human skin, but to think of themselves as humans. Even with the gift of sapience, this was not something that Tungesten ever thought to do, and has no idea how to approach this. He has always been a remorseless killing machine, and never once thought himself human, humanoid, or even remotely similar to most other bipedal sapient lifeforms. He took about as much attention to pay attention to the nature of humans as much as he paid attention to the life and culture of ants.

Once more Tungsten was stunned into silence. All he could do was strip the flesh suit off of his body, the artificial mass deflating around his skeletal frame. He tried to think about what exactly Faetalis wanted, and what her words meant. She wanted everyone to create a unique human form, not simply take one from their creators. Tungsten wasn't entirely sure why: were these not merely disguises for them to use to infiltrate the new world? Why invest so much in their meaning? However the more he thought of it, the more Tungsten slowly began to realize that Faetalis was looking towards the future.

Right now everyone was scrambling to restore the guild back to it's former glory. At best everyone was concerned about what the future holds and what threats may approach them in their weakened state. But Faetalis did not care for such things. She did not want the Overseers to be a reflection of the past, but the explorers of a new, unknown future. Tungsten was uncertain still, but at the same time he was beginning to see what Faetalis wanted. She wanted everyone to stop waiting for their creators to come home, for her to give them purpose, and for themselves to create their own purpose. Their own ambitions, to act on their own will. Just as humans explore and expand beyond merely comfort, but towards conquest. Never satisfied with merely surviving, but thriving, for themselves.

To live for one's own self, and not for the purpose of your creator or even towards one's purpose. Unlike humans, who are born into the world with no meaning or fate, each and every one of the Overseer were created to cater and operate their facilities. They knew very little beyond the confines of their factories. The world may as well not exist beyond the context of their factory and the guild as a whole. But Faetalis wants them all to move past that. So Tungsten had to ask himself. What did he want? What would he do, without his creator, without the factory? What did he want to be?

Tungsten tried to think deeply. For all of his life, it has been defined by his service to AlphaQ. To be her shield, to take on her pain. To support her in her endeavors until the bitter end. Though he must now live for himself, he cannot help but think that he still wishes to do what he once did in his past life. To help others, take on their suffering, and support them to become a better self. Even if he cannot live for AlphaQ, he can live for someone else. He lives for others, because that is what he wants to do. He wants to be, "A hero."

Thoughts became physical as Tungsten gains a new skin. Unlike the previous form, this one was not big and burly. So thin in fact, one could still see the bones. Tungsten has always disguised himself as a bigger, more intimidating form, but his true self, his inner human, was small. Puny even. Not a hulking monstrosity like his armor, not having the same larger-than-life presence as his creator. Indeed, Tungsten looked like one of the weakest Overseers. But all the more reason that Tungsten chose this form. It's not about how he looks, but how he acts. Even if he looks tiny he will fight like a giant, and live a hero's life. "I do not understand what you request, Creator Faetalis. But I like this form. It feels... Comfortable."

Little did Tungsten know, he was also buck naked and letting his newly formed male organ hang out. He had quite a weapon on his person, truly a weapon suitable for slaying dragons given it's size and strength. Likely a physical representation of Tungsten's own prowess in battle. And unlike Faetalis, he still didn't really feel the cold though his new flesh was starting to feel a breeze and he wasn't sure if that was normal or not. He has a lot to learn about being a flesh-and-blood creature. On the bright side, he has some interesting woad patterns on his body.

"Hrrrrm," Cormac groaned as Faetalis answered him. He still didn't quite see the point in wearing a disguise over his own skin that appeared already so close to human, but if this was her command, he saw even less of a reason to put up a stink about the whole affair. "If ye insist, lass," the giant agreed.

The ease in which he agreed was the result of several factors. Part of it was his still remaining respect for their former leader, even if she asked them to see her as their equal. Part of it was because his relationship with his creator hadn't been as close as the other Factory Overseers had been with their own creators, the two's interactions often brief and with long stretches of time between each. There was certainly respect for the man, but not the blind praise one would expect. But most of all, he had never been as attached to his form as the others. Call it modesty or call it self-loathing, Cormac had always been aware in his lack of beauty. If it was something B;oodAndGuts93 had programmed into his awareness, the man was a cruel progenitor indeed, though it had the direct benefit of only making him even more proud in his own work. The effectiveness of a tool, weapon, or even another person mattered much more to him than its visual appeal.

And so, Cormac would strip out of his clothing with ease. Just because he had little pride in his appearance, didn't mean he was ashamed of it. Perhaps it would remind Faetalis of the seniors of the old world one would often find in the restrooms of public gyms who saw no reason to cover themselves during their walks between lockers and showers. It would make the time he took to choose his new skin much more awkward for those around him than he probably needed to.

"Hmm. This will do," Cormac finally decided. The skin that soon enveloped him was one that looked much more traditionally handsome and still kept the Gaelic-theme that the giant was fond of. He was still large and muscular, standing taller than the average human, but not several heads more as he had been. The monstrous giant looked more like a heroic giant slayer now. "Thoughts?"

Faetalis would take the covering offered, and suddenly grow a second pair of arms and two pairs of legs, as her lower half burst open at seamed into a mess of simple, copper wires and panels of the vaunted Carbon Steel; reconfiguring herself, Faetalis would rise above them all, and flexed the form of the Lv75 Raid Boss [Horrorqueen Drider, Alpharancne] - however her body seemed incomplete, as the blanketing cloth seemed to glue to her skin and veil her eyes, as her upper body took on a phantasmal, decaying state and look, as she took on the body of the Lv70 Raid Boss [Poltergeist Dragon, Gravewurm] and her upper body took on scales and needle-sharp claws to gouge and sever flesh from behind the pale.

Before any member of her Raid Council could register the fact they were in the presence of two fused Raid Bosses, they would feel something punch into them like a breeze.

Before anyone could raise their guard, before their instinct could even process the idea of it, they would feel the breeze rummaging through them.

Before anyone could even question, "Why," the breeze would be gone...

Faetalis withdrew a string of silk from their bodies, and a strange phantom was attached to the thread by the base of its spine. Roaring, Faetalis would put her quartet of dragon arms and spider spinnerets to work, as she powered through every phantom until it was packed into a jacket like the one she'd donned.

Once again, Faetalis had set her Raid Council to a semi-rigged test. Again, the point wasn't to pass or fail, but to put their all into the task set before then. Even if they had picked an existing skinsuit, she would have tailored it to fit them, and suit them. In the case of Tungsten and Cormac, the "old men" of the group, she expected them to choose off the rack, after introspection. Equally, she'd expected the pushback from Levia, in concerns to her form and her pride in what her Creator had given her; in the same vein, she expected the same of Gammatron, as her parasitic nature didn't have a lingering permanent form, as she changed with her host, so having a permanent body would be off-putting.

And, Mae had lived up to that expectation, perhaps, the most thoughtfully of all. Such was the nature of her Head Chef; to inquire and ponder; to question and experiment; to put her pride on the chopping block and slice, dice, and mince it into whatever "dish" was on her mind, until it "tasted" perfect.

And, to these ends, Faetalis would tailor their own, unique features in.

For Mae, the [Home Sweet Home] Passive, which gave Mae the warmth of a rolling kitchen, and the embrace of a new home; the unbridled kindness that children would flock to, and the unblemished potential that adults would revere. In conversation, she could draw no ire and soothe flames of anger with a few words.

For Levia, the [Wildwoods Dracoling Hatchling] Active, allowing her to embrace the form of one born a [Wildwoods Dracoling] and coat her arms and legs in gleaming, verdant scales; tip her fingers and toes in sharp, digging claws; and, edged her teeth in sharp fangs, while gifting her a short, but powerful tail to sound the darkness of her tunnels.

For Gammatron, the [Swarming Queen] Active, allowing her the power to draw vermin to her aid; creatures of simple minds and simple natures, and gift them the intelligence of her Ants, and the power to set them in a direction aligned with her own Hive. From ants to rats to wasps to butterflies, the vermin far and wide will follow her Will beset upon them, as if she were their Goddess.

For Tungsten, the [Industrious King] Passive, which gave him a supernatural sway and charm in the matters of business and industry; a man of the markets, and a scion of sales, his opinion is well respected and sought after, once given and proven. As it is well-known, he that controls the banks, controls the markets, and he that controls the markets, controls what sells and what doesn't.

For Cormac, the [Soulflame Forge] Active, allowing him to smelt metal as if it were the next stage of metalworks and quality, by investing the fire of his very soul into the hammer, anvil, and forge when he works. Each hammer strike, a part of himself is ground into the metal; every fold, a spiritual success to the next last one. The Will of the Fomorian imparted upon every creation.

After uncounted minutes of marveling at her craft, Faetalis's Dollhouse would fall silent of snips and snaps, and she would hold the jackets in her many arms, as she spider-walked to her Raid Council in turn, as she presented their jackets.

“My Raid Council, you've reached the last hurdle and surmounted it,” Faetalis says, before presenting Mae her jacket, “Mae, hold on firmly to your warmth of hearth and home,” she walked to Levia,“Levia, never surrender your wildness, but learn to embrace your civility, as well,” she presented her jacket, and continued, “Gammatron, start small, do not fear failure, so you may ascend naturally,” she presented her jacket, then moved on, “Tungsten, turn that industrious mind towards the future, and help shape this world,” she presented his jacket, and stood, finally, before Cormac, and presented his jacket, “and, Cormac, forge that iron will of yours to steel, and ready your hammer for the coming demand.”

“Take the rest of the day, and savoir your new position. Get yourselves used to your new skin, and the power that they bare,” Faetalis says, dispelling her transformation, and standing skyclad before them once more,“and visit your new Factories. Power them up, and explore your new domains. Then, prepare yourself - in a week, we will move upon Anzelgrad.”

“Raid Council! Dismissed!”

Mission received! Mae was so fired up, she could scarcely contain her excitement as she made her way out of Faetalis’ Dollhouse, her new jacket carefully draped over her arm like a butler’s towel. When she arrived at the meeting today, she did so full of anticipation, eager to see what lay in store for Infactorium and its Overseers in the time to come, as well as for a chance to contribute to the good of the guild in a brand new and (hopefully) more impactful manner. Now she made her way outside again with her every expectation exceeded, bearing the precious gift and even more precious praise of a Supreme Being and fulfilled in a way that a meal never quite could. It was a little overwhelming, even; to be ascended from the status of cook to a position on par with Lady Faetalis herself was a dizzying prospect, and part of her wanted nothing more than to trundle back to the Gorging Trough, put up her feet, and relax with a nice bowl of Chimeric Stew. But as her boss’s new assignment suggested, today’s excitement was far from over.

She returned to the Gorging Trough posthaste, where she found her Maneater staff in the restaurant’s makeshift dining hall, chatting over lunch. The moment the reverb of her footsteps reached them, however, the ladies leaped up from their seats to rush the door. None of them, of course, beat her sous-chef Head, who already stood at the entrance ready to receive his boss.

“The meeting went well, I presume?” Head asked by way of greeting, his manner politely cordial. It didn’t take a mind reader to sense that Canology Mae was on top of the world, but she went ahead and made it crystal clear, anyway.

“You bet your britches it did!” she sang, her good cheer practically radiating from her flabby stump of a neck. “Faetalis gave everyone a promotion! From now on, we’re gonna be helpin’ keep the guild safe!”

As the Maneaters behind him echoed their leader’s announcement in eager undertones, Head clasped his hands. “Goodness, how exciting,” he monotoned, sounding like the least excited person in the universe. “Have you some idea for the capacity in which we shall do so?”

“I sure do, so listen up!” Mae exclaimed, and dutifully her staff gathered close. Instead of stand there to explain, however, she turned to go and beckoned for the rest to follow. “C’mon, I’ll show ya! Basically, we’re gonna be funnelin’ anyone fool enough to come at us up through the mountain. To reach the top, they gotta climb up through a whole heap o’ floors, all o’ which’re gonna be defended by us Overseers! And get this,” she added, proudly putting her hands on the fat rolls on her hips. “We’re the top floor, right below Faetalis! That means I’m the second-to-last boss! Ain’t that a riot!”

Her announcement elicited a chorus of cheers and applause from her Maneaters, including a golf clap from Head. “Alright, alright!” Mae said after a second, shooing at them with her hand. “Don’t go bringin’ the house down just yet, before we do any defendin’, we gotta build the place first! And I ain’t the architechtin’ type, so y’all’re gonna help!”

A few minutes later, the whole kitchen crew stood in the middle of a giant cavern, its walls and floor all smooth, featureless rock newly hollowed out by the build crew. It was totally empty except for the lift that Mae and her cooks arrived on, itself a wonder of engineering considering the sheer combined weight it just supported without giving up the ghost. In hand the headless horror clutched the key that it would be her life’s duty to protect, with which any invader would be able to ascend to the upper reaches of the stronghold and challenge the Supreme One herself to decide the fate of Infactorium. Of course, Faetalis wouldn’t lose to anyone, Mae knew, but for that to even be a question the enemy would have to get past her first. Her fist tightened. Even if she was just some freaky, overfed monster in a chef outfit, she wasn’t going to go quietly. And this huge space was here to help her.

The only question was what she’d make of it.

“Kay, folks!” Mae clapped her hands together. “‘Cordin’ to the boss, we can stick whatever we want in here to give us the best shot at beatin’ the tar outta whoever comes in ‘ere. Jus’ keep two things well in mind, y’all. One, we gotta have a clear path through. Can’t just stick three walls around the door an’ call it a day, or they can start bustin’ up our crap. Two, if anyone reaches us, that means they got past everyone else, so they’re gonna be stronger’n a gallon o’ moonshine at midnight. So I need some real bright ideas, gimme all ya got!”

In a flash the awed gathering descended into a cacophony of suggestion and discussion, of half-baked ideas, whole-baked schemes, and no-bake spitballing.

“We should cover the whole floor with spikes!”

“Just a giant cave full of spikes, nothing else? That’s so lame!”

“What if they can fly, dummy? Or swing around with grappling hooks?”

“Well, what if we shoot them down with turrets?”

“Turrets can be blocked, snuck around, and disabled. We must diversify and keep them on their toes.”

“If ya ask me, we should put tons of fire everywhere!”

“Just hazards aren’t enough, we need traps. Stuff that they trigger by accident and that takes them by surprise.”

“Ooh, like they step on a plate, and suddenly arrows shoot from the walls, and axes swing around like, shwing, shwing!”

Mae just stood there for a bit, absorbing it all. If had a head she would have been nodding thoughtfully, but she settled for having Head do it for her. Everyone seemed to be coming up with lots of ideas for traps and such, but nothing structural or cohesive. Finally, she piped up. “Girls, girls, girls,” she rumbled, getting everyone’s attention. “Before we put stuff in the rooms, we gotta have rooms! Plus, we need a theme. Somethin’ that ties the whole doggone place together.”

That left everyone a little perplexed, reconsidering what they needed to do. In that silence, however, Head spoke up. “I may have an idea, madame.”

Mae gave him the thumbs-up to continue.

“Well, if we are to give our unwelcome guests the lowest possible odds of survival, we should aim to keep them in here as long as possible and confront them with as much trouble as we can. For a moment I considered some sort of maze, but that leaves too much to chance, and any challenge they miss constitutes wasted effort.” He paused for a moment as the others took in his wisdom, agreeing with the conclusion drawn. “So, I would consider presenting a linear experience, with only one way forward. We could divide this cave into a number of rooms, where Maneaters can be challenged, connected by halls full of traps that snake throughout the whole area, rather like obstacle courses. And in terms of theme, I see no reason to reinvent the wheel. “

Mae snapped her fingers. “Of course! We can make it like the Gorging Trough, except…bigger. WAY bigger. So when our ‘customers’ arrive, it’s like they’re the food that’s getting prepared!”

Her idea ignited a spark of inspiration through her cooks, who began to churn out new ideas, fresh and full of flavor.

“So, each connecting hall should resemble an assembly line for a dish? Something like, an enormous chopping block for an antipasto charcuterie board, with giant chopping cleavers and knives?”

“Maybe make it uphill too, with huge olives, salami, and blocks of cheese sliding down the wood floor to crush ‘em like boulders!”

“What about a fish dish? We could have a water section where they have to swim around a bunch of hooks, nets, and sea monsters, but to get out they have to find the right hook to grab and ride on.”

“Make the bastards run across a grill above roarin’ fire! Or a stove, with jets of fire poppin’ up all over the place!”

“How about a bunch of sausage grinders, with a load of raw sausages the size of punching bags dangling above? One wrong step, and they’re mincemeat!”

“For the salad, we could have a garden room full of dangerous plants. It could have a harvester of some kind, to slice them up while they’re rooted down.”

“Ooh, what about a dessert room full of freezing ice cream, and pits full of sticky syrup! That’d be sweet!”

All the suggestions filled Mae with joy. “Now you’re thinkin’! she hollered. “A gauntlet of killer prep stations, runnin’ the gamut of elements an’ damage types, plenty of tricks and traps, with each death run punctuated by a dinin’ room custom-made for y’all to throw down in ideal conditions. Best of all, we can still use the place to actually make food, too! And we’ll call it…” the eldritch chef spread her hands out dramatically. “Madam Mae’s Full-Course.”

Everyone was in agreement, and without further ado, work began.

Confusion settled over Levia as she processed the new amount of limbs she was processed. She'd flex her small digits, 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5, and then it stopped as far as her hands went. And that was weird. Really weird. As weird as waking up one day in someone else's body...only, it was stranger to think that this happened in the blink of an eye. They'd have the rest of the day to get used to these forms and get acquainted with their new factories as well. Levia had a feeling she'd need a lot longer but...work called.

Departing in silence without the heart to say that she absolutely hated her human form, Levia would head to her primary facility and sit down on the floor. Everything felt off. But, Faetalis' words rang in Levia's head. "Never surrender your wildness, but learn to embrace your civility, as well." Clenching her hands, Levia would get bumped into by a recycler slime, the worried worker silently sensing her inner turmoil and trying to reassure her. As best as a mute ball of sludge with a few braincells could, at least.

"Hey... she said, trying to ease the slime down and off, unused to the feeling of her hands being much more sensitive with human skin over them. Standing shakily without a large tail for balance, Levia would bounce on the balls of her feet. One, Two. At least humans had two legs...she couldn't imagine how hard her life would be now if she had a draconic lower half with four legs. Even her own reflection on the polished floors irked her, but...she was starting to get an idea.

By and large her facility within the guild was...let's not mince words here, pointless. She didn't defend anything or create anything meaningful, didn't do anything useful, and as it stood the most useful functions she's served was to break rocks with her hands. It wasn't that she wasn't proud of her facility, it was that she wanted to do more for those around her. And that's when she started remembering the circumstances of her creation. "...Father..." she muttered to herself, before eyeing the slime, grabbing it by the sides. "I know what I need to do! For your support of your superior, I am promoting you effective immediately Reslymcler #46! From now on, you'll oversee breeding and recycling efforts when I'm not present. New duty calls!"

With a vague liquid "bloop" of approval, Reslymcler #46 became Managel Slime #1 and extended a bit of its mass to "wave" at Levia as she departed, running not to her own facility, but to the outside of the factory entirely. Then, to the outside world.

She had components to collect. Breeding stock to acquire. Chimeras to make. Her facility would be shaped up as a chimera creation facility, with one solitary goal:

Prove that Levia was so useful, having more Chimeras like her could only help everyone. And she'd start with an attempt to cross-breed various members of the surrounding fauna, utilizing her own venomous blood as an agent to ensure her brood could be around her without worry. If her purpose was to be destruction, and their assignment was a kingdom, she'd ready an army of monstrous chimeras while utilizing everything possible in the area of their home. Such things would take time, but she was sure that Lady Faetalis would be proud of her for finally having something to create:

An army of siblings with which to serve any number of purposes. She'd even create livestock suitable for the underground for Mae to butcher. She'd even see if Gammaton would like her to try hybridizing insects, wanting nothing more than the praise of those around her.

Awash in thoughts of the future, Levia could be seen beaming as she ran about, embracing the wildness that Faetalis valued as she began the difficult work of chimera creation.

Gammaton accepted the jacket from Faetalis but didn't put it on yet. In her true form as an insectoid, she had a protective exoskeletal layer. She may be naked, but she felt secure. And when she was parasitizing a humanoid host, she would wear clothes. Given Faetalis' nude condition when she put on her new skin, Gammaton didn't want to risk the disrespect and unpleasantness of being exposed in the new image Faetalis had granted her. When the council was dismissed, Gammaton skulked back to Hivehill. Trying on the jacket, Gammaton confirmed that Faetalis had indeed peered into her own mind to confirm the image she wished to portray. But it only formed part of the picture, and Gammaton set the silk-producing insects of Hivehill to craft her a robe, regal in it's black and gold, utilitarian and intellectual in its construction.

Then she turned her thoughts to Hivehill. Gammaton and her army were the first line of defense, and it was her wish to be the last. Each floor was a production center in their own right, and no general worth their salt would ever concede to allow even a fraction of that infrastructure to fall to the enemy. But what worried Gammaton was the fact that Faetalis seemed to anticipate a challenge. As far as Gammaton knew, there was no power in this world that rivalled the guild. Caution seemed almost...excessive. But perhaps Faetalis had seen something in her scouting that shook her, and this was what worried Gammaton.

Upon entry, assuming enemies discovered the entrance at the base of the mountain, intruders would be greeted by the mines. There was a central shaft for ease of logistics that was too easy of a route deep into Hivehill. So Gammaton would have to seal this shaft the moment any invaders entered. She would commission to have a massive stone and steel pillar constructed that would form a centerpiece in the upper portions of Hivehill that would slam down as soon as any enemies stepped into the shaft. If the enemy were unfortunate, they would get crushed, and if they scattered, they would be isolated into separate, maze-like mining corridors with miner and soldier ants lurking around every corner. The entrance would be layered with various forms of detection to make sure that no one slipped in without being noticed. Since the ants were all under her command, Gammaton would grant them the same poison and negative status immunities she had, while simultaneously ordering the ants to flood the caverns with poison. It was a bit of twisted irony unknown to Gammaton, since in the real world, human houses are fumigated to get rid of insectoid pests, not the other way around. The first half of Hivehill would thus be a dark, claustrophobic and toxic gauntlet beset on all sides by hostile ants emerging from tunnels. if this didn't kill the enemies outright, it would at least disorient them and buy time for the rest of Infinifactorium to prepare.

The mines would all ultimately converge on a single exit big enough for only one person to squeeze through at a time that led to the second half of Hivehill, which would be the opposite, a large open area, the hive of Hivehill dangling overhead as swarms of wasps would descend on the enemies with nowhere to hide. Far from the entrance would be bombardier beetles spraying volatile caustics at them, defended by soldier ants. It would test the enemy's ability to deal with open warfare, and given that it's impossible that all enemies exit the mines at the same time, it would put them at a terrible disadvantage at the beginning of combat. If she was in her final form, then Gammaton may join her soldiers at this point, commanding and buffing them, swooping down to deal sonic death. If not, she would prepare by gorging herself on food, building up 'evolution points' and waiting for the enemies to arrive.

Should enemies make it past the field of battle, they would enter the chamber of the queens. The queens of Hivehill are technically a form of furniture, barely mobile unit production buildings, but with a trap component capable of combat. The three queens are spread around the circular chamber evenly, and will swipe at enemies with their scythe-like appendages and spew venom, while spawning adds at regular intervals. Gammaton would also put the beast pens to use, and any creatures that Levia was willing to spare would be thrown in for a completely random variable. In this room, Gammaton will also face the enemy herself. If she was in her egg form, then the enemies will get the full battle, as Gammaton will fight in each form, using abilities that each form specializes in. Upon defeat, each form would undergo the next step of metamorphosis, becoming more powerful, and the battle would continue. It is only upon defeating her in her final form that Gammaton will concede and hand over the key to Tungsten's Big Scrap Alley. It perhaps wasn't the mot imaginative gauntlet, but it embodied what Gammaton was most comfortable with.

Cormac accepted the jacket, albeit with a quizzical expression on his newly attained face. He hadn't expected Faetalis to gift them... Well anything beyond these new skins, and even then they felt like a boss giving their employees the company's new uniforms. A requirement for the new standards created by upper management. These jackets though, despite being much more similar to the earlier analogy in the sense that both we attire meant to appear mostly invariable from each other, felt much more personal. These felt much more like gifts. Especially with the new, specifically chosen skills attached to them.

"Hmmm," was his initial response, before pulling it on to find that, unsurprisingly, it fit like a well-tailored glove. "I... appreciate it, lassy," he told her. For anyone who didn't know Cormac, such a response might have been disheartening to hear. Most would probably expect something along the lines of, "I love it," or "Thank you so much." However, coming from the often grim and serious man, a floor guardian they had all come to know through years of daily cooperation, the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips spoke volumes over the underwhelming words he had managed to string together into an adequate response.

With Faetalis dismissing them all, Cormac would return back to his domain, The Mór Brionnú, thinking about testing out his newly gained ability given to him by the jacket, as well as get used to his new skin. Climbing down the many, many flights of stairs that led to the pipe-filled and cluttered forge gave him plenty of time to think and reflect on the day's meeting, and one thought he settled on was how glad he was to be a part of Infactorium, with its many eccentric members. Sure, they may argue or go about their tasks in very different ways, but between each of them was respect and care. No matter what hardships lay ahead for them, the giant was confident that they could weather them together.

The first item Cormac would decide to craft would be a fairly simple iron great axe, curious to see how this [Soulflame Forge] would work. Just as with everything he ever would create, the Fomorian would put his heart and soul into his work, beating away at the iron with the enthusiasm that only an old man that had mastered his craft through decades of hard work could ever show. And sure enough, with each strike, he watched the quality of his materials grow, unnaturally so, until the rough iron axe that he had begun with now shined with the caliber of the best damn steel one could possibly find.

Looking at the axehead for any imperfections to hammer out, Cormac couldn't help but spot his handsome reflection looking back at him, a warm smile on his lips that only he could ever see here in the privacy of his forge. "Enjoy the beautiful face Faetalis has given you, Cormac," the reflection would say. "It doesn't change what lies beneath the surface." And like that, the smile was gone, replaced by a grim frown as the old man tried his best to ignore the intrusive, self-deprecating thoughts plaguing his mind by beating the steel axe into his anvil. After shattering it into pieces and throwing in with the rest of his scrap metal, the old man wondered why these thoughts on his usual appearance were suddenly bothering him so.

Tungsten remained silent as Faetalis granted the Overseers their new skins, as well as new orders. Though stoic and emotionless on the surface Tungsten was still a whirlwind of emotions, both proud and fearful, of what the future may hold. This was such a new direction of authority that Tungsten had very little idea of what to do. Deep inside, he even wondered if Faetalis was perhaps even wrong about this direction. He dare not speak it however, knowing that such a thing said would surely be punished. Indeed, Tungsten himself wanted to seek repentance for questioning the great creator. He was just full of doubt... But with a hint of pride as well.

Returning to the Big Scrap Alley, Tungsten did a check on operations. Things were... Functioning. Not the best, but not the worse. Mostly focused on repairs. But Tungsten needed to think for himself now. Now just for the operation of the guild. Not just in honor of his creator. He needed to do what he wanted to do. And he wanted to be a hero, but how? In times like these, Tungsten had very little idea of how to resolve his internal conflicts. But there was one constant in his life he could turn towards. One thing that he knew would always help him, just as it has helped his creator in the past: Music.

Walking to his room Tungsten went to operate his command center. Here he could coordinate everything within his zones, as well as track down his Cyber Skeletons. Though a warrior and craftsman, Tungsten was also something of a musician. A showman. Sure, he did not make his own music, but he is able to get a feel for music and find what most resonates with him. Something that would speak his emotions where the machine could not. He sorted a few of his Cyber Skeletons away from standby to assist him in operating a few instruments as he attached a microphone to the side of his head, walking through the factory to begin to work and sing and song he felt matched his mood the best.

I close my eyes and I keep seeing things
Rainbow waterfalls
Sunny liquid dreams

He looked at the analytics of his factory, noting how badly it was doing before. That's what was eating him, among many things. Just to see how far they've fallen. He's working so hard to just get back to their former glory, could he really be relied on to change directions? To do better? Even his creator toiled for many years to do everything she had accomplished now, with the aid of the guild. Tungsten himself wasn't even a factor until she was already well into development with the Big Scrap Alley. Truthfully, the fact that he had to take care of it was a massive burden, one that he will never admit to being too difficult, but it had such baggage that the pressure was crushing him.

Confusion creeps inside me raining doubt
Gotta get to you
But I don't know how

Tungsten began to read. Reading the personal logs and account of his Creator, AlphaQ. He's always had access to them but before he had only ever listened to her accounts in person. He found them fascinating and all the more reason to worship her. Now all he had of her were these books. Most incomplete, barely notes or just a jumble of words with no context. And yet somehow, Tungsten felt... Familiarity from these text. It's when he began to realize that some of these words aligned with quests that he had done with her, or ones she had done in the past that she told him about. This lead into a sort of rabbit hole where he began to search up information on the quests she had partaken themselves, accessing the database of quest guides and plot summaries that AlphaQ had archived.

Call me, Call me
Let me know it's all right
Call me, Call me
Don't you think it's 'bout time
Please won't you call and

But the more he read into the story, the more he began to realize just how hard AlphaQ had fought. Her earlier records were far more full of her personal thoughts that Tungsten ever knew. He had always seen her as a strong, defiant woman, willing to fight against the very gods if they wrong her. But these earlier records... They showed her weakness. They showed her doubt. Her struggles. How the guild was barely operable at the best of time due to a lack of resources and dedicated players. Dramas in both real and in-game life that threaten to tear the guild apart. Heinous things said by creators and to creators. Now granted, these were all from AlphaQ's perspective. Tungsten knew that perhaps she was just being bias. But even so, it showed that once upon a time she was not great. And yet somehow that was... Good.

Ease my mind
Reasons for me to find you
Peace of mind
What can I do
To get me to you

Tungsten began to reevaluate himself as he began to walk around the Big Scrap Alley, singing loudly into his microphone over the dim of construction. He needed to stop wallowing in this self-loathing, he knows that. He thought that he wasn't worthy. But reading these archives, seeing AlphaQ's struggle, it gave a renewed sense of purpose in Tungsten. And that's because even if he didn't feel ready, it's thanks to his creator, and the efforts of all the creators, that Tungsten had so much more to work with now than his creator did when she first started out. She took on the role of a Supervisor before the Infactorium had anything beyond a guildhall. He read the history of the Cyber Skeletons and how many versions were made and destroyed as AlphaQ grew into her position and power. Now Tungsten will have to fulfill the role of Supervisor, but he won't start the same as AlphaQ. He had so much more to work with now and he began to realize that he could do things that AlphaQ wasn't able to when she first began.

I had your number quite some time ago
Back when we were young
But I had to grow

If Tungsten had tears he would cry. He was reading these archives and it was filled with all sorts of ideas and plans AlphaQ had planned. Ones that Tungsten had never seen, since it seemed like at some point AlphaQ had to abandon these ideals just to keep the Big Scrap Alley running. She was running on fumes, working so hard on her own, and that's not even including Guild Wars and personal conflicts she was settling. No wonder she was so bitter and cynical, seeing all of these youthful ideas she had cast aside for survival. And here Tungsten felt like a fool. He was so filled with doubt, fears, and worries that he wouldn't be worthy despite having so much more than she did in the past. Now he could afford to do all of these things, and still have enough resources left over to continue growing. Tungsten looked around his factory. Instead of seeing what was lost, he should see the potential. To have things that his creator couldn't. Things that she wanted.

Ten thousand years I've searched it seems and now
Gotta get to you
Won't you tell me how

Putting the book aside, Tungsten looked around the factory. He needed to get the old crew back together. He immediately set out work to bring back the Boneyard so he can work on Cyber Skeletons again. He'll also need to revive a few operators that were destroyed during the shift to these new lands. Easy to do within the Big Scrap Alley itself since they weren't very high level NPC's. But more importantly, he knew he had to make the most of Faetalis' talents. Surely, she knew of his capabilities to know that despite being a combat oriented Overseer, he also had a mind for trade and logistics. To that end he also knew he needed to expand his work force. Not just the Cyber Skeletons, but truly skilled specialists. After all it's important to be able to delegate tasks for efficiency, and as good as the Cyber Skeletons were as minions they weren't generally useful for more intelligent operations that Tungsten needs done. As long as he can create these specialists, he can afford to expand the range of his influence and control the markets. And if he can control the markets, he controls the money, and with it the power to affect the world. To do what AlphaQ couldn't but wanted to do.

Call me, Call me
Let me know you are there
Call me, Call me
I wanna know you still care
Come on now won't you

Tungsten still couldn't get over AlphaQ possibly never coming back. He wasn't sure how he could cope, how to mourn. These weren't things he was ever ready to do. But deep inside, he knew he had to move on. Maybe one day she'll be back. Maybe she'll see what great things he's done. But first he needs to do those great things. To be something his creator would be proud of. Something he could be proud of. He would recall all Cyber Skeletons currently on recon and resource collection, since he needs all hands on deck to rebuild his factory floor. Since he also needs to pull double-duty defending the floors, he'll also need to convert some Cyber Skeletons into more combat oriented models. Not a large force, but enough for him to get a gauge of what he should and shouldn't keep. Like AlphaQ, he'll need to do some testing to get a feel for what would serve his purpose the best. Unlike AlphaQ, he has plenty of resources to work with and doesn't need to gamble too much on a prototype that might not work out.

Ease my mind
Reasons for me to find you
Peace of mind
Reasons for livin' my life
Ease my mind
Reasons for me to know you
Peace of mind
What can I do
To get me to you

With renewed spirit Tungsten began the process of rebuilding the Big Scrap Alley and ultimately, himself. No longer a mere overseer, not just the meat shield for his creator. He would live his own fate now, guided by his hands. While he will still think of his creator with fondness, he must be willing to leave the nest. He must now take responsibility for the Big Scrap Alley in ways that he never expected, but now his heart was no longer gripped by doubt. Even if he faces uncertainty, he's now far more confident in his abilities by virtue of the struggles his Creator had surpassed before. And he would not fall behind her: he was created to be worthy of standing as her sword and shield. And now, he will continue to stand on the legacy she had built, to create a better world she would love.

As her Overseers, and her new Raid Council, took to their factories, to their new lives, and their new responsibilities, Faetalis would take to the skies after a day - assuming the form of a Rustic Gravewurm soaring in and out of the clouds; staining them with death and rust. Anzelgard could see her soaring as a pale omen, a potent of doom...

This would be the practical exam of her Raid Council: Defend Anzelgard from her.

Yes, she would have opted for anything else - engineered a scenario to have an enemy force attack the village; a bunch of faceless nobodies with the sole purpose of pillage and purge. Hell, she could have just created one from her Dollhouse, and spared herself the resources to manipulate real people.

However, she needed to put her new Raid Council through their paces, and push them to their limits.

And, to that end, she would force them against the strongest force possible.

Herself.

So, she would fly through the clouds on and off for a week - leaving a doll of herself to operate as herself in her own stead, so she was in two places at once. The doll was superficially her, and incapable of operating in combat as she could, which was all according to keikaku*...

All that remained was how her Raid Council would act throughout the week.

And, at the end of said week, the Doll would look up into the rust darkened sky, as she did each morning...

“Alright, then,” Doll Faetalis says, as she sat on the edge of their mountain. “It’s about time we deal with this overgrown lizard,” she says, programmed to have zero knowledge of Faetlis’s true purpose for her existence, “I gave it a week to see what it was doing, and now, it’s just being annoying. It hasn’t been sunny for days. I’m getting pale as a ghost.”

Getting up, the facsimile would call an Emergency Meeting.

It was time to slay a dragon. Anzelgrad would make for a fine battleground.

When Levia resolved herself to breeding chimeras, she was also unaware of just how...messy of a process that would wind up being. Between unmentionable fluids, eggshells, corpses, blood, shed skin, and any number of various unique messes made, Levia was basically a glorified janitor until she bred intelligent enough Chimera to help. It was a good thing her slimes were willing to help out breaking down all the crap, otherwise...well, it'd be a health hazard to rival her poison breath.

The annoyance that was the overgrown rust-breathing dragon was a nuisance that Levia was fully intending to swat once she wasn't busy with literal babysitting. Babysitting abominations against God, but...still, babysitting. Luckily for her, the emergency meeting was called when a majority of her prototype chimeras were still asleep, so they wouldn't eat each other while she wasn't there.

Still unused to her human form, Levia would hesitate to sit before realizing her hips were still human-sized and lacking a whole other set of limbs and sat down. "I'm assuming this is about that giant dragon that's been harrassing us for a week. ...If we're making a plan to deal with it, we should avoid using metal weapons. Heh, if anything, I might be the best suited to bring it down," Levia said, making slight punching motions.

"I've tried poisoning the air when it makes passes, but I think it might be immune," Levia added.

With the personnel of the Gorging Trough wholly fixated on their new mission, the days seemed to go by very fast indeed. Of course, that wasn't to say they went off without a hitch. Every day Mae applied herself to the construction of her new floor for hours and hours on end, and though the creative tools supplied to her meant that she could simply skip the otherwise egregious amount of effort it would take to manually throw up all these rooms and obstacles, realizing her vision turned out to be anything but easy. She went in with a brilliant mental image of what she wanted the Full Course to be, complete with all the scintillating suggestions of her Maneater understudies, but translating those ideas to physical space was an altogether different beast.

The headless horror found herself in a constant and frustrating loop of instantiation, second-guessing, and readjustment. Chambers wouldn't line up right, or they'd end up overlapping, and her attempts to patch things up would mess with the overall cohesion and flow. When things felt to sloppy, she'd start over, fiddling with this or that room's layout. Forget solving puzzles--making one was the real challenge. Mae's every movement was burdened under the weight of her own expectations. As the final line of defense before Lady Fatalis herself, her domain needed to be airtight. But how could she account for every possibility? Even when she finally had a particular Course the way she wanted it, the moment she brought in a few Maneaters to test it they would inevitably turn up some sort of loophole, shortcut, or flaw that needed to be addressed, which sometimes demanded another total redo. Mae could only groan and try again.

Progress was slow, hampered further by the range limits of her blindsight that prevented her getting a clear picture of the whole thing, and very often she bemoaned the fact that she'd started without an actual plan in mind. Then again, without any architectural skill or experience, she didn't even possess the faculties to make a proper plan in the first place. Whenever she made real progress and the tests turned out well, Mae locked the corresponding Course down, refusing to re-evaluate or change it further, even if it made future courses harder to work around. The results spoke for themselves. By the end of the week, her illustrious food-themed Full Course was only just over half done. She couldn't even be happy with that, though; how could she account for all possible the abilities and skills that any enemies challenging her floor might have? They might possess invisibility, or flight, or the power to control water or earth, all of which would be disastrous.

Her Maneaters, meanwhile, were having troubles of their own. With their classes decided upon they began the task of training in order to develop their abilities and be more able to fight, both as the minibosses of the Full Course and just in general. Unfortunately, with no actual instructors available in Infactorium for any of their desired classes, let alone all of them, they possessed frightfully little to go on. Using the guides and records available in the guild's files they tried to figure out the rudimentary weapons provided by Cormac, but even the goal of 'not incompetent' seemed awfully far off. While their battles would inevitably involve them casting aside their classes to fight with their natural ability as Maneaters, the prospect of having a joke for a first phase left all of them discouraged to varying degrees.

At the end of the week, Mae -the tired and unhappy head of a tired and unhappy group- attended the Emergency Meeting glad for a change of pace. Even then, however, she ended up being out of her depth. "That big honkin' monster, huh?" She scratched as the back of her neck. "I dunno a great way to take care o' that thing, to be honest with y'all. Couldn't even see the durn thing 'cause o' my vision, but the others filled me in. Even if I could see it, I couldn't fight it, though. Just too dang slow." She gave a long, guttural sigh. "Maybe if I fixed somethin' real nice for it, it'd be happy enough with us to go away if asked? Or...I don't see any reason why Five-Course Meal wouldn't work on it, but if that varmint catches wind of what-all I'm tryin' to pull, my goose is cooked."

During the week, Gammaton personally wandered into Anzelgard in an attempt to understand the beings she had resolved to surpass. With her disguise, she went by the name of Vanessa the Alchemist. Using her knowledge gained from consuming Szilard's brain, Gammaton was able to give a decent enough foreign backstory as to avoid scrutiny. 'Vanessa' quickly formed a 'friendship' with the blacksmith, Cormac, giving her a place to go and have an intelligent conversation when she was tired of observing the citizenry. She peddled simple potions for competitive prices, striking up conversations with her customers and analyzing their hopes and dreams. however, no sooner had she started her infiltration did the shadowy figure appear in the skies over Anzelgard, and it was all the local populace could talk about. Gammaton wondered waht it was doing. It didn't seem to be hunting, yet had staked this area as its territory for some inexplicable reason. Still, Gammaton had no reason to worry about it as long as it did not appear hostile to Infinifactorium. But the emergency meeting was called, and Gammaton arrived.

Gammaton was surprised Levia had tried poisoning it, even more surprised that such an act did not provoke the creature to violence. Gammaton was sure that the overseers could band together to take the creature down themselves, but doing so may reveal the guild to the locals. And there was another thought. "I believe that Lady Faetalis gave us these disguises for a reason. Now we could strip them off, and rise to do battle with the dragon, and only put our human skins back on once the fight was over, but then I feel that by doing so, we make a choice that these skins are not our true selves. What is it that we can do in these skins that we cannot do otherwise? Walk among the people of Anzelgard. And if our previous decision at this council was to take Anzelgard under our wing, then I feel that it is only fitting that we render the people Anzelgard capable of defending themselves from this threat. The dragon does not trouble Infinifactorium, but it troubles Anzelgard; it is all they have complained about for a week, so it behooves them to rise up and deal with this problem themselves. Of course, I have no qualms about training and guiding them, and will lead them into battle if necessary. But if these people are under our protection, then I think this is the perfect opportunity to have them earn their place as our vassal. To prove that they are worthy to be at Lady Faetalis' feet."

It was a good thing that the others mentioned the dragon and the effect it was having on Infactorium and Anzelgard, acting like some much needed exposition for the old man who'd fallen asleep through the movie, because before then he had no idea why this meeting had even been called. Ever since the last meeting of the Raid Council, the other factory overseers had barely seen Cormac as he toiled away in the bowels of Infactorium, giving himself project after project to take up his time. And with the serious lack of any windows or natural light within The Mór Brionnú, he might as well have been living under a literal rock.

"I hadn't even considered that, but ye're right Gammaton," the giant said after the Vermin Lord had finished giving their piece. "Though de question then remains, how do we bring de dragon down to their level so de humans can feel like they won rather than watch us do all of de work?" He placed a hand on his chin to think over it for a moment before recommending, "Perhaps some bait? A large amount of treasure it can't help but try and collect to return to its lair? Or plenty of food to fill its belly? Then I could craft some cannons to fire harpoons to pin it to de ground so it doesn't take off again. Though we'd need something heavy on de other end of de line so it doesn't fly off."