Boral regarded the Boss with open disgust as it futilely tried to stand and fight. It was a small, filthy thing, some type of ant warrior still trying to protect its Queen, even though the Committed Leader had personally slain her, after tearing every limb from her bodyguard..

  Her corpse lay at the end of the Hall. With no Core and a harmless Boss to stabilize it, the Anthill was an ideal hiding place.

  The dungeon had spontaneously manifested two days after they camped in a deserted ravine, far away from that blasted city and its buffoonish inhabitants.

  They waited until it upranked to level two, then entered en masse, killing everything except the single boss.

  “This is perfect for my purposes,” Boral announced, studying the narrow tunnels that zigzagged under the hill.

  No one asked what those purposes were. His underlings had long ago learned that mistaking his Excellency’s monologues for attempts at conversation was a dangerous mistake to make.

  “I am going to talk with each of you individually. Each one has a part to play in my grand plan.” Boral's sonorous voice thrummed through the corridors of the Ant Hill.

  “As there are 400 of you and only one of me, this will take about 3 days. I will call your name and Intent, and you will walk down this tunnel into the Royal Hall. When I have explained what I want you to do, you will leave through the other tunnel into Belona and follow your instructions.”

  He did not need to repeat himself. All Imperials under his command had developed perfect memories for everything related to his Excellency’s instructions. Natural selection had taken care of those who didn't.

  Boral went down the tunnel; as soon as he disappeared, all the Committed relaxed and collapsed on the floor.

  “What has gotten into him?” a flower with a face in each petal asked the Committed at her side, who looked like a pair of Siamese twin gorillas joined by the back.

  “I don’t know, but if he asks you if you are happy in the faction, tell him yes,” the gorillas cautioned the flower, talking in perfect synchrony, “and if he asks for suggestions for improvement, tell him nothing comes to mind. If he insists, keep telling him that. He is not testing loyalty; he is testing obedience. Urto fell for it and advised minor changes to communication channels. May the maker embrace him in his soul,” the Imperial advised his friend.

  “Orun, the Analyzer!” boomed Boral’s voice.

  “I knew it, I just knew it. I had to be the first one. Just my dumb luck,” an Imperial looking like a giant platypus with four heads grumbled as he walked down the tunnel.

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  By far, he had the longest conversation with Boral. It took them almost three hours.

  “Are you sure about this?” Boral asked him, after Orun had finished analyzing each of the six spirit cores they had taken from the defunct Bosses.

  “I am completely sure, Your Excellency. I am also terribly sorry, I guess this is not what you expected to hear from me,” Orun said, preparing for the worst.

  “On the contrary, my dear Orun. Your findings have made me very happy,” Boral answered him.

  A brief glimmer of hope appeared in Orun’s eyes. “By the way,” Boral continued, “thank you for your sacrifice.”

  “Which sacrifice?” Orun asked just before Boral beheaded him. He had many heads, but Boral had many limbs as well.

  He opened Orun’s chest and extracted a shining jewel from him. Just as he expected, experience absorbed from spirit cores also accumulated in the form of cores, waiting until the Imperial absorbed them. That meant Imperials could be harvested, too.

  Boral ate the core and proceeded to leech all experience from it, until the core dissolved inside his being. Doing it that fast was dangerous and painful, but he could endure it. He could endure anything.

  He threw Orun’s corpse into the refuse pit at the center of the hall. Then he went back to the corridor.

  “Berala the Tracker!” he boomed.

  Three days later, only six Committed remained in the Hall. They looked at each other nervously. They could feel something was wrong here.

  Boral did not call for them. They waited and waited until a whole week had passed, and they still did not dare to leave the chamber. It was another test. They were sure of it.

  “Maybe one of us should head down and see if His Excellency is ok?” asked Fillan the Multiplier.

  “By one of us, you mean anyone but you, don’t you?” answered Ecena the Reproducer. Those two hated each other, as they both considered the other one to be a cheap knock-off.

  Suddenly, they all went silent as they heard the enormous form of Boral slowly climbing back into the corridor.

  When he appeared, they gaped at him in amazement. He was much larger and more powerful than before. New runes appeared on his chitinous carapace, and he emitted a palpable sense of might.

  He was well into his ninth evolution.

  Understanding dawned—and it was terrifying.

  “This could have worked better,” Boral complained. “I am but one inch away from the tenth evolution, but something is holding me back. I intended to eat your cores, but I don't think it will make any difference. You need the spirit core of a dungeon anchor to reach your tenth evolution, but there is no longer any room in my spirit to absorb a core that size.” Boral confessed to having planned to cannibalize his subordinates as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “So it will fall to you. You will each absorb one of the greater cores we took from the great dungeon beasts. You will be the first Postulants of the Committed, and one of you will become Immortal. I expect you to treat me with the respect I am owed. I am not an Omega, but I am still the head of the House of Commitment,” Boral said coldly.

  The remaining six Committed looked at each other. Had they heard right?

  “All of you were chosen for a reason. Your Intents will be crucial in the next battle against Babylon.”

  “Let’s get to work, Postulants.”