The transition from Floor 2 to Floor 3 was not subtle.

Floor 2—the "Teasing Tomb"—was designed to be a humid, atmospheric labyrinth of hot springs and mossy grottos. It was warm, pleasant, and smelled vaguely of jasmine and damp stone.

Floor 3 was Hell's boiler room.

As the heavy freight elevator rattled downward, the temperature spiked. The smell of floral bath salts vanished, replaced instantly by the stinging scent of ozone, sulfur, and burning grease.

The elevator doors groaned open with a heavy, metallic thud.

"Welcome to the basement," Reed muttered, stepping out onto a vibrating metal catwalk.

The cavern before him was massive, easily three times the size of the Core Room above. It was a natural hollow in the earth that Grika had ruthlessly colonized with industry. Thick, jagged stalactites hung from the ceiling, their tips glowing orange from the reflection of the magma channels that Terra had diverted through the floor.

Steam hissed from cracked vents. Massive gears, salvaged from the dungeon's initial creation menu, turned slowly in the shadows, powering unknown mechanisms.

It was loud. A rhythmic, deafening CLANG-HISSS-CLANG echoed off the stone walls, the heartbeat of a dungeon preparing for war.

"Status report," Reed shouted over the noise.

Grika swung down from a chain hoist, landing on the catwalk with a heavy clank. She was wearing a thick leather apron over her grease-stained overalls, and her welding goggles were pulled down over her eyes, glowing with a faint magical HUD.

"We're behind schedule, Boss!" the goblin chirped, lifting her goggles to reveal frantic, bloodshot eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept in three days, which was probably true. "But the aesthetics? The aesthetics are chef's kiss."

She gestured grandly to the center of the room.

"Behold! The Meat Grinder!"

Reed walked to the railing and looked down.

Dominating the center of the cavern was a thirty-foot-long corridor. But it wasn't a floor; it was a conveyor belt made of interlocking iron plates. Above it, massive, rusted pistons were poised like hammers waiting to drop. On the sides, spinning blades whirred with a menacing hum.

[TRAP INSPECTION]

Name: The Industrializer (Mark I) Type: Kinetic / Environmental

Damage: High (Blunt Force + Laceration)

Mana Upkeep: 12 Mana/Hour (Active)

Description: A series of hydraulic presses and spinning blades designed to process armored targets into scrap metal.

Note: Not OSHA compliant.

"It's beautiful, Grika," Reed said, genuinely impressed. "Does it work?"

"Mostly!" Grika grinned, revealing too many teeth. "The gear ratio on the third piston is a little sticky. Sometimes it jams if you feed it something too chewy. Like a shield. Or a very dense dwarf. But Terra is testing it now."

Reed looked around. "Where is Terra?"

"TESTING."

The voice boomed from the floor of the pit.

Terra, the Magma Golem, was currently standing in the middle of the conveyor belt. She was holding a massive boulder roughly the size and shape of a compact car over her head.

"SEND IT," Terra rumbled.

Grika scrambled to a control console that looked like a steampunk pipe organ. She slammed a big red button.

KACHUNK.

The conveyor belt roared to life. The floor moved beneath Terra's feet, dragging her backward toward the first set of pistons.

Terra didn't resist. She let the belt carry her. As she passed under the first piston, it slammed down with enough force to crack the earth.

BOOM.

Terra caught the piston with one stone hand, stopping it inches from her head. Sparks flew as adamantite ground against iron.

"PRESSURE IS ADEQUATE," Terra critiqued, shoving the piston back up. "IT WOULD CRUSH A HUMAN RIBCAGE. CONTINUING."

She rode the belt to the spinning blades.

SCREEEEEE.

The blades struck her rocky flanks, carving shallow grooves into her outer plating but shattering against her core density.

"BLADES ARE SHARP," Terra noted, stepping off the belt as it looped around. She tossed the boulder she was holding into the gears. The machine crunched loudly, chewed the rock into gravel, and spit it out the other side. "DIGESTION SYSTEM FUNCTIONAL."

Reed let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Okay. That'll stop the skeletons. What about the blast doors?"

"Over there," Grika pointed to the far wall.

The entrance to the stairwell leading up to Floor 2 was now blocked by a slab of dark, heavy metal. It wasn't just iron; it looked like a composite of every scrap metal they had scavenged from dead adventurers, melted down and reinforced with dungeon stone.

"It's reinforced with a gravity rune," Grika explained, wiping oil from her cheek. "If the power cuts out, it fails closed. It drops like a guillotine. Nothing is getting through that unless they bring a Dragon or a very angry Siege Engine."

Reed nodded, doing the mental math.

[RESOURCE UPDATE]

Current Mana: 18.5 / 150

Expenditure: High (Construction Costs)

Status: Critically Low.

They were broke. They had built a fortress on a shoestring budget, and now they were running on fumes.

"Boss?"

Reed turned. Elara was floating behind him.

The Banshee looked miserable. In the Core Room, she had started to look almost human, flushed with color, solid enough to touch. But down here, amidst the roaring fire and grinding metal, she was pale and translucent again. She hugged herself, her spectral hair drifting listlessly.

"It is… too much life," Elara whispered, her voice barely audible over the machinery. "Fire. Noise. Moving parts. It hurts my head."

Reed softened his expression. He stepped closer to her, instinctively shielding her from the heat of a nearby vent.

"I know," Reed said. "It's aggressive. But this is what keeps the quiet safe, Elara. We build the noise down here so the Core Room stays silent."

Elara looked down at the Meat Grinder. "You build machines to kill."

"We build machines to survive," Reed corrected. "There's an army coming, Elara. You felt them. If they get past Grika's toys, they get to you. And they get to me."

Elara flinched at that. Her eyes darkened. "No. They cannot have the warm spot."

"Exactly," Reed said. "So we need iron."

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

A rhythmic banging noise interrupted them.

Reed looked up. High above the factory floor, perched on a ventilation duct, was Riva.

The Harpy looked bored out of her mind. She was pecking at a loose rivet on the ductwork, trying to pry it loose.

Tink. Tink. Pop.

The rivet fell, bouncing off the catwalk and nearly hitting Grika.

"HEY!" Grika yelled, waving a wrench. "Stop eating my architecture, you overgrown pigeon!"

"Bored!" Riva shrieked back, hanging upside down like a bat. "Floor 3 is ugly! No shiny! Everything is brown or rust! Riva wants colors! Riva wants to fly!"

She swooped down, landing heavily on the railing next to Reed. Her talons scratched the metal. She looked at Reed with wide, pleading golden eyes.

"Boss. Please. Let me go up. This place smells like burnt hair."

Reed looked at Riva, then at the map of the surrounding area on his interface.

He had blinded the Necromancer's first wave. But the fog was still out there. And according to the system warnings, something big was moving behind the tree line.

He needed intel. And he needed to get Riva out of the foundry before she accidentally flew into a piston.

"You want to fly?" Reed asked.

Riva perked up, her feathers ruffling. "Yes! High! Fast! Clouds!"

"I have a job for you," Reed said. He pointed up, toward the massive ventilation shaft that acted as the dungeon's chimney. "I need you to go topside. High altitude. Above the tree line."

Riva tilted her head. "Hunt?"

"Scout," Reed corrected. "I need you to be my eyes. The Fog is moving, Riva. I need to know what's inside it before it knocks on our door."

Riva's expression shifted. The chaotic, playful scavenger vanished for a second, replaced by something sharper. Predatory.

"Spy Bird," she whispered.

"Spy Bird," Reed agreed. "But rules, Riva. Strict rules. No engaging. No diving on zombies. No trying to steal helmets from skeletons. If you see them, you come back and tell me. Understand?"

Riva scoffed. "Skeletons have no shiny. Just dusty bones. Riva will watch."

She hopped onto the edge of the railing, spreading her wings. They were impressive in the dim light—powerful, silent, built for sudden violence.

"Go," Reed said. "And be careful."

"Zoom!" Riva yelled.

She launched herself into the air, catching the updraft of heat rising from the magma channels. She spiraled up toward the chimney shaft, disappearing into the smoke and darkness in seconds.

Reed watched her go, a knot forming in his stomach.

"She is going to fight," Elara said quietly, floating beside him again.

"I know," Reed sighed, rubbing his temples. "She has the impulse control of a toddler with a knife. But if she spots the army early, it gives us time to warm up the grinder."

He turned back to the factory floor.

"Grika!" he shouted. "How long until the main blast doors are fully automated?"

"Two hours!" Grika yelled back, already welding a patch over the rivet Riva had stolen. "Assuming the mana holds out!"

"Make it one hour," Reed ordered. "I have a feeling we're going to have company sooner than we think."

He looked at the readout floating in his vision.

[THREAT ANALYSIS]

Enemy Movement: Detected.

Distance: 5 Miles.

Speed: Accelerating.

The game of cat and mouse was over. The siege was beginning. And down here in the dark, surrounded by grinding gears and flowing lava, Reed hoped that iron and fire would be enough to hold back the tide of death.

"Alright," Reed said to the empty air. "Let's get ready for the inspection."

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