God of Zero Cost

Ethan jammed the thick wooden handle of his obsidian mace straight under the Scarab's trapped front limb, digging his hide boots into the rocky ledge as he threw his full weight into the leverage. With a heavy, wet pop, the clay leg snapped cleanly out of the floor slough, venting a small hiss of trapped gas from the natural bitumen pit.

He dropped to his knees in the loose cavern gravel, his eyes automatically tracking the bold durability rating floating in the lower edge of his vision: 105/530.

Ethan eyes scanning the bubbling black trenches lining the cave floor. He extended his hands, driving his calloused palms directly into the thick, bubbling bitumen petroleum tar weeping from the limestone walls. His hands moved with a familiar, high-speed rhythm, scooping up the raw, black sludge straight out of the stone rifts and blending it with fine, crushed gravel to create a heavy, rapid-drying mineral paste.

With methodical strokes, Ethan packed this thick mud deep into the shattered chest plates of the golem, rebuilding the broken outer crust layer by layer.

But as his fingers smoothed the raw clay over the beetle's abdominal plates, he paused, his mind flashing back to the way King Shinab had just used the oil-slicked paths to control the pace of the battle. The boss had drifted along the edges of the tar trenches, using the slippery terrain to bait his movements and freeze his golem's foot pillars.

What if... , Ethan pondered.

Instead of just sealing the outer armor plates, he used his thumbs to press a wide, hollow reservoir pouch right inside the center of the golem's belly. He linked this new internal chamber to a pair of narrow, forward-facing valves running down between the beetle's front legs.

He scooped a massive supply of fresh, viscous bitumen sludge straight from the floor trenches, and poured the thick black grease directly into the golem's new belly vault. He sealed the upper clay hatches shut, molding the outer protective shells back over the frame until the seam lines completely vanished.

The bold numbers in the corner of his vision responded instantly to his manual labor, ticking upward through the digits until they locked into a refreshed, healthy rating: 515/515.

Ethan sat back against the cool cave wall, taking a slow breath as he watched his creation test its movements.

He gave the command. The Scarab golem lunged its weight forward, and a sudden, heavy stream of black petroleum tar vented directly out from its chest valves, coating a four-foot patch of loose cavern gravel in a thick, sticky, and completely un-navigable layer of black grease.

A cold grin broke beneath Ethan's linen wrap. Any monster attempting to sprint down a narrow stone path toward his lines would step straight into this manual oil slick, losing their speed and turning into sitting ducks for his artillery.

He stood up, shaking the wet clay off his hands and pulling his bag tight across his chest.

He loaded a heavy, iron-reinforced stone into his leather pouch, spun the sling once to verify the balance, and gestured for his upgraded Scarab to take the lead position.

The beetle’s heavy leg pillars ground into the loose rock, its internal tar chambers gurgling softly as it stepped out into the dark. Ethan followed closely behind, his eyes fixed on the shadows as the path began to slant sharply down into the deepest, un-mapped rifts of the cave.