The circular service door kept reading Vell's cylinder after its old locks released. A gold line crossed the stone frame, then entered the empty shell beneath his coat.
[Administrator privilege transfer initiated.]
Pressure struck his core from seven directions, each carrying a different command structure the Forge could not translate. Vell caught the wall while routes, locks, vents, plus sealed rooms crowded across his sight.
Several routes carried orders meant for mechanisms rather than a human core. One demanded water pressure, another requested a furnace temperature, while a third tried assigning every sealed beast below Sump Gate to his name.
He forced that layer away before the dungeon could mistake recognition for consent. The cylinder resisted him without anger, repeating an ownership transfer written for an administrator who possessed something better than flesh.
