Joji sealed the entrance to his dungeon, then drew his sword and went to work on the bats with cold precision. One by one, he cut them down.
The reason was simple enough. His dungeon could strip flesh and blood from bone. It was no butcher's hand and nowhere near as delicate, but it could preserve the bones cleanly, which was already a great convenience when a haul this large would have taken days to process by hand.
'I need to really make up to Nike,' he thought.
The dungeon still moved through his nerves, and Joji had not yet grown skilled enough to command its walls and feeding mouths with any real finesse. So he made do with what came easiest, the crude, default functions it obeyed without much guidance.
The bats thrashed and shrieked around him. It did them no good.
Joji wore Rank C armor made from the Mineral Armadillo, and against that, mere keratin claws and enamel teeth meant little.
