Emmet continued his point-farming operation in the depths of the Power Room, the rhythmic thwack-thwack of Behemoth against the Steampunk Colossi marking his progress. Locks, dressed in her new, stylish healer's attire, monitored the combat perimeter, her Unwoven Hair deployed only to sweep up any stray loot or warn Emmet of new spawns, ensuring maximum efficiency.

  The Power Room was a relentless engine of mechanized Rend. Every corridor was thick with the reek of ozone and burnt oil, and the air thrummed with the low, corrupted hum of Rend energy driving the machines. They had learned that the Steampunk Colossi were not merely metal, but shells animated by a dense, unstable core of dark energy. Emmet's strategy was simple: bypass the armor, target the chaotic heart, and claim the points.

  Locks and Emmet worked in seamless tandem. Locks/Tierra was aggressively seeking combat, her Unwoven Hair now strong enough to slice through the weaker mechanical joints and destabilize the massive machines just long enough for Emmet to deliver a killing blow with the newly enhanced Behemoth. The system's display confirmed their efficiency: they had accrued another 80,000 points between them.

  "Just a little more, Master," Locks noted, checking her band. Her voice held a slight tension; the deeper they went, the heavier the atmospheric pressure felt. "We are close to enough for the next captured demon."

  Emmet nodded, replacing his custom mask. "Good. We double back to the Safe Zone once we hit the threshold. I want those last two captured demons secured."

  They approached a section of the maze marked on the system's rudimentary map as the Industrial Fabrication Hall.

  "The energy signatures here are strange," Locks murmured, scanning the environment. "Fewer Chaosborne, Master. The room is quiet. Too quiet for a core manufacturing area."

  Emmet noticed the silence was unnerving. They entered a vast, circular chamber where massive mechanical arms usually assembled the Steampunk Colossi. However, the assembly lines were destroyed, the metal twisted and cooled. The room was empty of targets, clearly already cleared by another group.

  Emmet didn't focus on the destruction; his Unwoven Eyes tracked the imprints of the fight. The black basalt floor was scorched and sliced. There were deep gouges of unnatural erosion, suggesting Earth-based power, and large sections of the walls were melted and vitrified, betraying the use of Fire magic.

  "Elemental practitioners were here," Emmet said, his voice tightening slightly beneath the mask. "They cleared this room with precision. They didn't rely on chaotic brute force."

  Before they could investigate further, a low, pained groan drew their attention. Hidden behind a heap of smashed mechanical debris was an injured man, clutching his arm, his armor scorched and buckled. He struggled to sit up.

  "Hey! Are you alright?" Locks rushed forward, her hair receding momentarily as she approached to heal him.

  Suddenly, a massive, piston-driven claw, belonging to a hidden Steampunk Construct that had feigned death, erupted from the pile of debris, aiming to crush the injured man.

  Locks didn't hesitate. She threw herself between the claw and the man, deploying her Unwoven Hair instantly, the strands coalescing into a dense, metallic shield that rang violently as it caught the blow. The man screamed in terror. Locks pushed the hair forward, using her full strength to shatter the construct’s hydraulic joints, silencing it instantly.

  "Thank you, thank you!" the man gasped, scrambling back, shivering not just from pain, but terror. "I was just about to exit, but those white robes... they didn't care about us! They were gods, man. The air turned to glass around me, and the ground was screaming as it melted."

  Emmet approached, his stance guarded. "If you were incapable of fighting, why didn't you exit immediately?"

  The man, now being healed by Locks, rubbed his eyes weakly. "Sorry, I was unconscious. I just woke up moments ago. I planned to exit, but those white-robed people were fighting the monsters and another group of adventurers without any care for the collateral damage. They used pure elemental power—no corruption, just raw force. Some of the others made it out, but I couldn't blame them; they were too powerful. I was just passing by and got knocked out by some flying debris from their battle."

  Emmet’s focus was intense. The elemental precision, the white robes, and the cold disregard for collateral damage confirmed everything.

  The Divinants.

  "This elemental script is highly organized and powerful," Emmet breathed, his voice tightening slightly beneath his mask. "These aren't common runes. This is the work of those Northern Divinants." His deduction was now final, based on the victim's account and the magical signatures. He turned back to the injured man, urging him to leave the dungeon immediately.

  "They are formidable opponents, Tierra. Far more coordinated and less predictable than the Red Empire's raw parasite power," Emmet concluded, his thoughts focused on evasion and strategy. "We have enough points. We are changing course immediately. We buy the last two captured demons, and then we exit. We need to get out of their way. Fighting them now is a risk I don't need to take."

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  Emmet’s gaze flicked to his wrist band, confirming the captured demon stock: two left. Could the Divinants be after the same thing? He brushed off the idea instantly. What use could a captured demon be to pure Elemental Divinants? They sought stability and purity; the demonic energy Emmet craved was anathema to their doctrine. Their goal must be something else entirely, but he wasn't going to risk their acquisition.

  He scanned the end of the hall. The elementals had not just cleared the area; they had opened the next path—a jagged, forcefully-opened exit—moving deeper toward the central factory control room.

  "Come on," Emmet urged, sheathing Behemoth and starting a quick pace toward the exit. "We are going back for the other captured demons."

  Emmet and Locks moved quickly through the jagged exit. Their original plan to return to the Safe Zone was instantly scrapped when Emmet's Unwoven Sight caught the faintest tremor of elemental energy deep within the floor. They had walked right into the ambush.

  "Wait, Tierra! Hold!" Emmet commanded, drawing Behemoth.

  The path led them into a cramped, vertical shaft dedicated to high-pressure pipes and enormous, humming generators—the very veins of the Power Room.

  "They're not trying to hide their trail," Emmet observed, his eyes scanning the pipework. "They cleared this entire shaft, and they left these calling cards." He spotted the traps immediately. "Look, here’s a Wind Sigil layered with a Fire Rune. If you step here, the Wind acts as a focusing lens, and the Fire Runic trap would instantly blast you into the shaft wall."

  The Divinants are as meticulous as their reputation suggests, Emmet thought, running through escape scenarios. They've used this entire area as a staging ground. This entire shaft is a kill zone designed to intercept competitors moving deeper into the Power Room.

  "They cleared this path deliberately," Emmet declared, his voice hard. "We need to get out of here. If they're this deep, they must have taken the remaining captured demons."

  As they navigated a large, dimly lit chamber filled with massive, churning industrial gears, the air suddenly felt denser, heavier. The sound of the machinery deepened, almost becoming a guttural moan.

  Emmet spun around, drawing Behemoth. "Hold! This isn't Rend energy—this is pure Earth elemental power."

  A figure, dressed in the customary white robes, stepped out from behind a colossal generator. It was the Earth elemental, cloaked in an aura of pulverized rock and mud, its face calm and unsettlingly focused. It didn't speak; it merely raised its hands.

  The floor violently fractured. The basalt and steel beneath Locks and Emmet didn't just break; they began to writhe and flow like water.

  "Tierra, jump!" Emmet commanded, but it was too late.

  The ground around Locks shot up in a massive, jagged, reinforced wall of steel-laced rock, sealing her in place. Simultaneously, the section of the floor beneath Emmet dropped rapidly, isolating him on a separate, descending pillar that quickly moved twenty feet away.

  "You are mine now, Unwoven," the Earth elemental stated, its voice low and resonating with the sound of grinding stone. It transformed the chamber into a Towering Labyrinth of shifting rock and industrial debris, all focused on separating the pair.

  "Tierra!" Emmet roared, his focus split between the immediate threat and his partner.

  "I’m fine, Master! Just trapped!" Locks’ voice echoed, muffled but clear, from behind the newly formed earthen barrier.

  This is a calculated trap for any competitor, Emmet realized. This is a diversion to slow us down while the others secure the main prize. They want me delayed.

  "You won't slow me down," Emmet muttered. He sheathed the spear and focused his Unwoven power, turning his speed and precision against the elemental's carefully constructed maze. He charged into the labyrinth, his movements economical, intent on dismantling the Earth elemental’s creation from the inside out and reaching Locks.

  Emmet exploded out of the final corridor of the earthen maze and into a smaller, high-ceilinged maintenance room. He was breathing heavily, his entire body radiating immense energy from the exertion.

  The room was bathed in a cold, blue light, generated by a contained Ice Sigil drawn on the floor. Standing there, waiting for him, were the remaining three white-robed figures—the Fire, Wind, and Ice elementals, their former Earth ally now standing silently in their formation. They were grouped together, their hands ready, their elemental energy swirling around them.

  In the center of the crystalline floor, Locks/Tierra was suspended motionless and unconscious. The Ice elemental held a hand toward her, maintaining a shimmering, barely visible layer of concentrated Ice Energy that had surgically separated her head from her body, holding it inches above her neck.

  Emmet froze, his exhaustion replaced by a cold, blinding fury.

  The leader of the group, the Fire elemental—a tall, slender woman whose white robe seemed to perpetually ripple with heat—stepped forward, her face set in an expression of cold judgment.

  Before she could speak, the Ice elemental gave a careless flick of his wrist. The shimmering layer of ice energy instantly released its grip. Locks’ head, still preserved in a state of suspended animation by the residual Ice Sigil, clattered wetly onto the crystalline floor and rolled a few feet toward Emmet’s boots before coming to rest.

  The Fire elemental watched Emmet's stunned, horrified reaction with a mocking smile.

  "Oh, we've been waiting," she drawled, her voice thick with condescending amusement. "It took you so long that we had to play with this hair demon girl. Friend of yours?"

  Emmet didn't speak. The shock and the sudden, graphic brutality of the act instantly incinerated every last trace of his strategic caution and tactical planning. The fury that engulfed him was absolute and pure, transforming his Unwoven power from a carefully managed tool into a devastating, uncontrollable weapon.

  He saw the obsidian tip of Behemoth shaking in his hand, pointed not at the Ice Elemental, but at the Fire Elemental leader. His entire body radiated immense, suppressed Rend energy.

  "She is mine," Emmet stated, his voice now a distorted, synthesized growl vibrating with the raw Rend energy he usually suppressed. "And you will regret touching what belongs to me."

  The three remaining Divinants—Fire, Wind, and Earth—closed ranks instantly, their smug confidence replaced by a unified alarm, staring at the raw, uncontrollable power emanating from the Unwoven.

  Merry Christmas!