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Those needed to be recovered. As many as possible. He didn't wish to give those Vannie bastards any more help recreating his technology. It was almost certainly inevitable in the long term, but that didn't mean he had to make it easy for them.

When he finally arrived atop the Obsidian Shell and stepped out onto the small deck, he had to lean against the black railing for support. Ugh. So sore, even after all that rest. Somehow, he could still feel the bite marks all over his body, too. Was that real pain? Or just psychosomatic? He truly was not sure, but he sure hoped it was the former.

And to think, he and that damn dog had actually ended up on the same side. He could only imagine how much worse this would've been if they'd remained enemies.

Gohvis was almost certainly going to be a problem, though. Morgunov had been looking forward to having a conversation with that surly lizard, but the jerk hadn't shown himself this whole time, either. He must've been licking his wounds, too, after that encounter. Sure, he might not have fought Koh for as long as Morgunov did, but he HAD faced the beast after its remarkable transformation.

Which was another thing that Morgunov had been trying to puzzle out during all this downtime. What exactly had happened back there? The dog had merged with the feldeath, apparently, but how? What in the world had prompted it? In his long study of feldeaths, he'd never even imagined such a possibility.

But now that he knew about it, he was actually excited to start--

Ah. There it was in the distance. Finally. His favorite workshop.

Yeah, it wasn't looking so hot, at the moment. This was his first time being back here personally after the ambush, and he could see a few pillars of smoke rising out of the aboveground buildings. Felled trees. Missing hilltops. And that mountain in the back had been turned into two mountains. Who the heck did that? Probably some angry dork who'd been fighting his Roberts. Talk about ruining the view.

But at least the whole workshop wasn't a crater. The Clown Pit was at the very bottom of a deep, underground labyrinth, and he could see--and also sense--his Roberts patrolling the area both around and inside the workshop. Everything seemed to be mostly intact. The Vannies had, unfortunately, been able to free all of his hostages, but oh well. A trivial loss in comparison to what could have happened.

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He got out of bed and made his way to the top deck. The Shell had a nice little lookout spot up there, but he hadn't been able to enjoy it much, what with all these damn stairs.

Still, he needed to move. His body didn't want to, but his brain did. And hell, he could probably use the exercise, too.

Morgunov had always wanted to take this massive mobile fortress out for a spin, but the old sourpuss would never let him, of course.

So what better time than now to indulge?

Morgunov didn't rightly know if the guy was truly gone for good. He sincerely doubted it, but either way, this was certainly a golden opportunity for him.

If only he was in better condition to capitalize. He should've been out poaching Dozy's forces left and right, bringing them to heel or otherwise taking charge of things.

But he could hardly risk showing himself in this state. Sure, he was still strong enough to storm in here and take over the Shell, but even that had proved more of a challenge than he'd anticipated.

The state of his Roberts was an especially sore point, right now. They'd been culled by such an enormous amount. It was going to take forever to rebuild them. Several months, in theory, but probably a few years, in practice. He knew himself well enough by now. He was absolutely going to get carried away with upgrading them again. Whenever he got lost in any "repairing" spree, how could he possibly resist?

What few Roberts remained had to be tasked with protecting either the Clown Pit or himself while he recuperated.

Strangely, the Vannies hadn't attacked his Fusion Forge yet. Perhaps they hadn't even realized that they'd stumbled onto its location during that last ambush, but that was probably just wishful thinking on his part. He couldn't risk leaving it unguarded, regardless. If Asad Najir still lived, then that attack was only a matter of time.

Which was part of the reason why he'd commandeered the Shell here. It was a slow, lumbering beast, but after weeks of travel, it was finally approaching his workshop. It would provide a good supplement to the Roberts already stationed there, and then maybe he could reassign them elsewhere.

The real issue was all the scattered remains of his Roberts that were currently strewn across the Ardoran continent--and worse, the Luthic Ocean.

Doubtless, there were now countless precious implements washing up on beaches all over the world.

Page 4163 -- CCCXXIX.

Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Nine: 'Behold, thy long-muted Fury...'
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The Anvil buzzed with an electric pulse.

Daro Bright, the Black Artisan of Vantalay, awoke with a start.

Agh. He'd fallen asleep on the floor again. Too many hours on his feet, rushing about. He must've collapsed from exhaustion.

And Marlizia hadn't even bothered to wake him this time, either. That was her way of telling him that she was done helping him put off sleep so that he could keep working.

Eh, she was probably right, as usual. He wondered where she she'd gone off to. She didn't much care to hang around in his subdimensional workshops, even though she often did exactly that. They seemed to make her uneasy.

Or perhaps that was the Anvil's doing.

It pulsed again as he looked groggily toward it.

A massive, hulking thing. In truth, it was more like ten anvils combined into one, but each anvil could serve a different function, and they could even morph into different shapes for the all-important purposes of containment and precision work.

At the moment, those anvils were all united in the shape of a giant metal orb, crackling with electric energy.

Which gave Daro pause.

That wasn't how he'd left it. He was still a little groggy, sure, but not that much.

Moreover, he could see the great orb rippling like water along its polished surface. And the electricity arcing around it was growing in intensity, too. Leaping out toward him.

He stood up just as a bolt of lightning snapped across his face.

It didn't hurt, but it didn't exactly tickle, either.

"Hey," he said in Valgan, a little annoyed. "What's the matter with you?"

And to his further surprise, he didn't even have to touch it in order to receive an answer.

You sleep too long, Father.

Daro just stared at it with wide eyes.

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Morgunov groaned as he rolled over. He hadn't had it this bad in a long time. Exhaustion and pain all over. Even Bool was still too weak to provide much help. The reaper needed rest, and so did he.

But his mind didn't want to hear that. It wanted to think and plan. It wanted to do stuff. It was tired of being cooped up. All the luxury in the world wasn't worth a damn when he felt this frustrated.

Dozer sure did know how to live, though. This Obsidian Shell of his was quite the vessel.