Silence became the new currency between Silas and Old Elmer. In the days following the clandestine healing, there were no words exchanged, no meaningful glances, only an unspoken understanding that flowed between them. Elmer's leg healed with astonishing speed—by the mine's standards, at least. He still limped, still grimaced convincingly when Overseer Victor's scrutinizing gaze fell upon him, but the dead grey in his eyes had receded somewhat, replaced by a deep-seated, wary vitality. He began, when unnoticed, to use subtle movements to nudge slightly better, less noticeable ore fragments into Silas's collecting path. It was silent repayment, proof of his value. Silas accepted it wordlessly. It confirmed his judgment: this old man was useful and understood the rules of survival.
However, Silas's Dire Rat Spirit quickly reached the limits of its capabilities. The area it could dig was too small, the types and weight of items it could transport were extremely limited. The meager collection in the corner of the Mirror Dimension Space grew too slowly, far from enough to support any substantial plan or enhancement. He needed more, needed to be stronger. His senses constantly scanned the environment, especially the sealed or abandoned tunnel entrances leading to the mine's deeper levels. The stale scent of blood in the air, the faint, elusive skittering from the deeper darkness, and the thicker, almost tangible despair acted like a magnet, drawing him in. It was dangerous there, but it harbored "opportunity"—more powerful subterranean creatures, better fusion materials.
The opportunity arrived in a cruel manner. A "clearing" mission targeting a deep ore vein was issued. Rumors spoke of a "pest nest" deep within a secondary tunnel, severely disrupting the mining of a specific high-quality scale-iron ore. A temporary labor crew was assembled, escorted by two fully armed, impatient-looking Overseers. Foreman Scar was also ordered to lead—clearly not a desirable task, as the scars on his face twisted with irritation. Silas and a few other relatively "robust" slaves were thrust forward with rusty pickaxes and dilapidated lanterns, driven to join the team.
"Listen up, you scum!" Overseer Victor roared at the entrance, his whip cracking the air. "Follow Scar! Clear out those disgusting, burrowing things inside! Anyone who slacks off or wanders off stays in there! Understood!"
The tunnel sloped downward, the darkness thick as a physical entity. The lantern light only illuminated a few steps ahead on the pitted ground. The walls were slick, reflecting a gloomy sheen. The air grew heavy and foul, reeking of mold, an indescribable stench of decay, and the smell of rusting metal. The further they went, the fewer signs of artificial digging remained, as if they were gradually entering the decaying intestines of some colossal creature.
Foreman Scar walked ahead, cursing foully under his breath, impatiently tapping the rock walls with the handle of his whip. The two Overseers lingered at the rear, clearly reluctant to venture too deep. Suddenly, a rapid, grating scratch echoed from ahead, followed by Scar's shocked and furious roar!
"Dammit! Stone-Claw Mongrels! Shit! More than one! Get up here! You useless wastes, block them!"
Chaos erupted instantly.
In the dim, swaying light, Silas saw several grey-brown shadows darting and ricocheting between the walls and floor with terrifying speed! They were about the size of small dogs, with unusually thick limbs ending in hook-like claws as sharp as obsidian, easily digging into the rock. Their eyes were small, gleaming with a bloodthirsty ferocity, their mouths split open to reveal rows of dense, needle-sharp teeth. They were frighteningly fast, moving like phantoms in the narrow tunnel.
A slave screamed as a Mongrel's claw tore a deep, bone-gashing wound in his calf, blood spraying. Another launched itself directly at Foreman Scar's face, barely deflected by a desperate swing of his pickaxe, metal clashing against claw and tooth with a shower of sparks.
The two Overseers at the back roared and charged forward, brandishing specialized long rods that gleamed with a faint energy, trying to drive the creatures back. The scene was pandemonium—snarls, screams, the shrieks of the beasts, and the clash of weapons echoing in the confined space.
Silas's heart hammered, not solely from fear. More than that, it was a cold, hunting excitement. These were the ones! These creatures were strong, agile, adapted to darkness, possessing fearsome digging and combat abilities—almost perfect targets!
He deliberately hung back half a step, shrinking into a recess in the wall, pretending to be panicked while his sharp eyes locked onto a relatively isolated Mongrel. It had just missed a pounce, crouching low, issuing a threatening growl at a slave wildly swinging a pickaxe, its powerful hind leg muscles coiled for another spring.
Now!
Silas concentrated all his spirit, not summoning the weak Dire Rat Spirit, but channeling his intense will, that predatory instinct born from multiple fusions and the seed of the Law of Life, into an intangible spike, driving it ruthlessly into the Mongrel's consciousness!
No finesse, only the most primitive, savage mental assault, mixed with a powerful intent to "devour."
The Mongrel's body stiffened violently, letting out a sharp, confused shriek, its attack motion instantly distorted. It seemed yanked by an invisible force, experiencing an extremely brief moment of paralysis. In that split second, the pickaxe swung wildly by the terrified slave struck true, smashing heavily onto its spine!
Crack!
The dull sound of shattering bone was unmistakable. The Mongrel howled in agony, collapsing to the ground, its hindquarters twisted at an unnatural angle, only its front claws still frantically scrabbling at the stone floor, producing a grating noise.
The fight continued, but the Overseers and Scar gradually regained control. Their weapons were better, their strength greater, and they began effectively killing the creatures. No one paid particular attention to the dying, isolated Mongrel struggling behind.
Silas's heart thundered in his chest. This was the chance he waited for. While everyone's attention was fixed on the thick of the battle, he silently moved next to the severely wounded, dying Mongrel. His movements were swift, his fingers touching the still-warm, coarse-furred body.
"Store!"
With a thought, the dying Mongrel vanished from the spot, drawn into the corner of the Mirror Dimension Space, placed alongside the ore and previous remains.
Almost simultaneously, the last resisting Mongrel had its skull crushed by an Overseer's rod. The tunnel fell abruptly quiet, filled only with heavy panting, the moans of the wounded, and the oppressively thick scent of blood.
"Pah! Bloody hell!" Foreman Scar spat a mouthful of blood-streaked saliva, checking the cut on his arm. "Headcount! See how many useless wastes bought it?"
The two Overseers roughly kicked the slaves lying on the ground. One slave was already dead, his throat torn out. Two others were severely injured, including the man with the mangled calf.
"Drag them out, toss them into the waste pit," one Overseer commanded coldly, pointing at the critically wounded. His gaze then swept over Silas and the other terrified slaves. "You! Clean this up! Drag these beasts' corpses out too! Move it!"
Silas responded with downcast eyes, joining the other slaves in moving the bodies of their comrades and the remains of the Mongrels. Inside, however, he felt like boiling magma. Success! He had obtained a fresh, powerful, almost complete sample!
That night, in the suffocating darkness and snores of the communal cage, Silas sank his consciousness into the Mirror Dimension Space. The corpse of the Stone-Claw Mongrel lay there, its black blood not yet fully congealed. He could feel the wild, raw power and earth-affinity properties within it, far more turbulent than any previous remains.
Without hesitation, he initiated Corpse Amalgamation.
The process was more violent than any before. A savage mental fragment, filled with instincts of burrowing and killing, stabbed into his consciousness like an ice pick. Accompanying it was intense, tearing physical agony, as if his bones were being shattered and remolded, a burning pain of digging through rock filling the beds of his nails. The faint light of the Law of Life circulated rapidly within him, desperately trying to mediate, suppress this savage invasion, forcibly integrating it into his own life system.
The pain lasted nearly an hour before slowly receding. Silas was soaked in cold sweat, muscles twitching slightly, but his eyes gleamed with intense light in the darkness.
He slowly raised his hand, a slight thought directing it.
Shick—
A very faint sound. From his fingertips, half-inch long, sharp energy claws, black as obsidian, instantly extended! They weren't physical, but condensed from spiritual energy mixed with the Mongrel's properties, emitting a cold sharpness. A slight scratch left fine white marks on the cold stone beneath him.
Simultaneously, he felt his feet connect more firmly with the earth. His perception of vibrations in his surroundings became acutely sensitive. He could even faintly "hear" the extremely faint vibrational echoes from the footsteps of patrolling guards far away. His vision in the dark also sharpened slightly.
More importantly, he felt the Dire Rat Spirit had grown somewhat stronger, easier to control.
Success. A perfect fusion.
Silas slowly retracted the energy claws on his fingertips, feeling the increased power within him and the newly acquired, predator's sharp intuition.