“It’s a trap.”

Who said that? 

They were descending through the wending tunnels of eerily smooth stone, torches and [Light] spells casting long shadows on the walls. Some…vast and sprawling maze of intersecting tunnels penetrating deeper into the earth.

Too long to have any purpose clear to those within. An arterial structure of tubes, meeting and intersecting, fragmenting into stranger organs.

A Selphid’s creation. The tunnels were…cramped. Claustrophobic. They were wide enough to let six people walk shoulder-to-shoulder without cramping them, but the columns of Calanferian soldiers and colonists only walked two-at-a-time.

The horses had to wear blinders and be led by hand single file. It felt as though, with each step, cotton was being pressed into their ears. The heartbeats and rush of one’s own blood grew louder. Each sound more intrusive until footfalls sounded like thunder, air being inhaled a storm.

Talking…ceased except when necessary. Thousands of minds wished to go back—but they were being pursued. The Iron Vanguard.

They had to go deeper. And now, they were realizing they were no longer alone. The deeper the shadows drew, the closer everyone got to one another. Except for one.

The [Knight] walked ahead of the others, motioning to the Goblin with the bow. He tapped the Knight of Spring on the shoulder, leading the vanguard.

“Stay behind me, Seraphel. I know dungeons. You, uh, bad Goblin. With me.”

“Yes, sir, Slayer Guy.”

“I’ve got your back, Rabbit.”

They strode ahead, but even their advance…slowed. Clumped up. The probing souls moving ahead began to cease walking forward, or even move in reverse. As if something was dragging them backwards.

“Pull the scouts back.”

“Ambush, Captain Ennerev? Captain?”

A strained voice. Was it Captain Ennerev who spoke?

“No…Lord…Lord Cortese. They’re panicking.”

“Tell them to…to…fall back. Thronebearers, forwards. Don’t let the columns be separated. Pursuers?”

None. And then the voice spoke.

“It’s a trap.”

Who said that? It was bad luck to say something like that. No one had been attacked yet. The voice was grating, too loud. The footsteps shuffled onwards.

“It’s a trap. ‘Tis a trap and smells of one. If not a trap, then…this place was not made of the likes of us. You ken what I’m saying?”

No response.

“Hello? Why aren’t you speaking? Ksmvr? R-Revi?”

Who? The voice grated. Deeper, they were heading, and now something was stirring. Silence now, blessed, except for that voice.

“Lord Racist, sir. Rabbiteater? No one’s…Princess? Can anyone hear me? Even you, Clatterface? Veine? Something’s wrong. Look at me. Stop, stop. Something’s very wrong. You’re all walking in sync. Snap out of it. Ksmvr…the lights are going out.”

Deeper. Until the tunnels pulsed around them and thoughts grew so loud they drowned out all other noise. And the world grew bright again.

Then…they lost count. Of numbers. Names.

Mostly everything.

 

——

 

Baleros’ jungles by spring were not a place any sensible commander would wish to advance into. However, the trail was fresh. The pursuit was behind only half a day at most, and the Calanferians were tired, out of their element, and had been forced to clear a path.

Therefore, there was every expectation of catching them and bringing them to battle by dusk at the latest. To that end, four legions had been disembarked from four warships. Each legion had begun their advance through the jungles, the first of which followed the Calanferian’s trail exactly; the others were forced to clear paths, a difficult process even with the War Walkers and [Mages].

[Steel Commander] Bizine was determined to bring the rearmost elements of the Calanferian army to battle. Thusly, she advanced at full speed until her pursuit encountered an obstacle.

“The legion will halt.”

The armored Dullahan threw up a hand, and the voices of Dullahan officers echoed around her. Her [Strategist].

“The formation will encircle the tunnel entrance and prepare for ambush.”

[Captains] of each company within the legion.

“Mitrix Company shall dig in!”

“Obric Company, [Overwatch] those trees.”

“Colnec Company, dig in!”

Then the lesser officers gave such orders as necessary, redirecting soldiers. As they had not been brought to battle yet, Steel Commander Bizine allowed the proper protocols of command to continue, but waited, chafing with impatience.

This was no regular campaign; it was practically adamantine in priority. The Seer of Steel himself requested hourly updates. She had a list of prisoners of war to take at all costs, and…she was well aware that she was not only within Jungle Tails’ territory, but facing at least one Level 40 [Knight]. Possibly higher if the reports from Pursuit Fleet Comodas were to be confirmed. A warrior possibly at Level 50, to withstand a full barrage unaided.

By contrast, Bizine was merely a [Steel Commander], but that did mean she had passed her way up the ranks and was now commanding a legion—four legions—of Dullahans wearing steel armor. Of course, [Iron Commander] and [Stone Commander] didn’t always match your command in this day and age, as the Iron Vanguard used very little non-magical iron when they could begin at steel…in practice, it was stone or wood in the lowest commands, used for training or securing areas, not open combat. It was a mark of desperation to call on a group of lesser-clad Dullahans in the Iron Vanguard, but they did not have enough steel for everyone.

Outfitting millions of Dullahans in armor taxed every forge in the north. After all, not just [Soldiers] wanted steel plate, but civilians too! Few armies in the world could outfit so many warriors in full plate; she had heard Ailendamus of Terandria could field similar armies. No species but Dullahans had such heavy, all-encompassing armor for even their meanest soldiers.

Thusly, as she waited for the [Scouts] to report in, she had every hope of prevailing against the common Calanferian [Soldier] in massed-melee. However, her heart sank as the first Dullahans wearing the lightest armor they could—cloth—came back.

It always seemed so painful to her to wear armor that moved slightly with their bodies. And it had to be so light, without the comforting pressure of regular armor. She wondered if their bodies covered by the ‘armor’— which made them look like slightly padded Humans—hurt if they struck branches too hard. How naked it must feel! But the [Scouts] worked with great distinction, and to offset their humble attire, each one carried a badge of metal that other Dullahans might know they were not so poor or desperate as to use cloth.

The [Scout Leader] reported to her as bugs buzzed around the Dullahans, finding little to bite except faces, and those were smeared with unguents to keep them off. Even so, Bizine had to resist the urge to swat several which landed on her face anyways.

“We have scouted for signs of massed troop movements or ambush within five miles. We cannot detect any trails other than the ones that lead into the tunnels, Steel Commander.”

“So noted, Scout Leader. Strategist, have legions Foundment and Callidec move up on the flanks. Locate other entrances or forge ahead. Legion Thirs will join at location to encircle and fortify. Scout Leader, locate more such tunnel exits. Magus, a line to Invictel as well as a request for an audience with the Seer of Steel.”

It was done. Within minutes, Steel Commander Bizine had put in two requests. One for information, one for an audience with her acting-commander for this mission. Normally it would be a [Strategist] or [General] of Invictel. Even Tulm the Mithril if the moment was urgent enough. But he was in Izril’s New Lands, and the Seer of Steel…

Bizine was nervous, but she projected her voice as she gave orders. The Seer of Steel was listening through the scrying orb, but gave no orders. If she erred, it would be noted.

“The legion will encamp! The Calanferians have entered the Mindscape Ruins; a known death-zone. Massed combat will result in unacceptable casualties. Thus, the legions shall locate exits and bring the Calanferians to battle if they emerge.”

It was required to inform the legions of reasoning for orders that went against their main directives, which was to bring the Calanferian force to battle. Steel Commander Bizine turned, then, and the scrying orb lit up.

Then the Seer of Steel spoke in a deep, booming voice. His body was that of a War Walker, and even in the scrying orb, his voice was too loud. Bizine had seen him striding along, wearing a scrying orb for a ‘head’. It allowed the body to fight while the head remained in Invictel, giving orders.

How the Seer of Steel could operate his body miles from where his head was she had no notion. She could manage twenty feet at most before her body grew uncoordinated. Bizine knelt, waiting for censure or correction as the voice boomed.

“YOUR ANALYSIS IS AGREED UPON, STEEL COMMANDER. RECORDS INDICATE THE MINDSCAPE RUINS CAN EASILY WIPE A LEGION. I AM UNEASY ABOUT REMAINING IN JUNGLE TAILS TERRITORY, HOWEVER.”

“I shall deploy scouts to further monitor our flanks, Seer of Steel.”

Bizine had to try not to shout in reply to the voice. The Seer of Steel rumbled.

“DO SO. ARE YOU PREPARED TO BRING CALANFER TO BATTLE? REPORTS OF SER SOLSTICE INDICATE HIS LEVEL EXCEEDS THAT OF CONVENTIONAL WARFARE.”

In other words, his actions could change a battlefield by himself. Steel Commander Bizine shifted uncomfortably. She had served with distinction for fourteen years fighting Maelstrom’s Howling forces…but individuals of the caliber of this ‘Ser Solstice’ were still few and far between. When the Bannermare or her mother took to the front, Bizine was not in charge. This would be her crucible, if the Calanferians survived where they had gone.

“I am uncertain, Seer of Steel, but there is no other commander present with higher levels or greater experience save for [Warship Captain] Ledr, and his speciality is not suited for ground-based warfare. My intention is to use our irregular forces to counter him. One of the Eternal Nobility has been attached to my legion.”

The Seer of Steel’s face relaxed slightly.

“THE ETERNAL NOBILITY? AH, VERY GOOD. WHO FIGHTS WITH YOUR LEGION?”

A pause. Bizine’s face went slack as she turned to the [Strategist], who in turn had to consult their notes. The Seer of Steel noticed the pause, and rather than embarrass his underlings, he chuckled.

“I DO NOT RECALL. SCION TREFLAX?”

“I am unaware as well, Seer of Steel.”

She was allowed to smile, and they both met eyes, an honor that made Bizine sure she’d brag about it later. The Seer of Steel chuckled again.

“WITH GREAT RESPECT, CONVEY MY APOLOGIES. CONTINUE TO SEND ME UPDATES.”

The connection ended, and the scrying orb went back to simply recording the world around it. Steel Commander Bizine rose from her knee and turned. She gave few orders as her legions moved, locating two more entrances at greater distances, and she reviewed what files the Iron Vanguard had on this particular ruin.

She ordered her legion to move back a thousand paces from the entrance. Meanwhile, her scouts reported foreign contacts in the jungles, beyond local monsters and animals.

Out of caution, Steel Commander Bizine ordered the scouting net widened. [Cartographers] sent her old maps of known entrances to the Mindscape Ruins, and she advised the Seer of Steel that her legions would not be able to cover such a huge area without splitting up. She was ordered to avoid overextending and to deploy [Scrying] spells to every entrance instead.

 

——

 

The first night thusly passed with no incident. Steel Commander Bizine waited, playing Go with her [Strategist] until ten straight losses had her inspecting the camps.

The second night, her [Scout Leader] lost contact with a patrol. Their bodies were not discovered. Steel Commander Bizine reinforced the patrols with quick-response teams.

The third night, another patrol was attacked by a local monster known as a Duffshambler. It was quickly slain due to response teams.

The fifth night, Scion Thornidre of the Eternal Nobility offered to lead a detachment of volunteers into the Mindscape Ruins to pursue the Calanferians or confirm their demise. The measure was discussed at length, then decided against given the risks. Steel Commander Bizine also received a report from her [Scout Leader] that there were foreign entities moving in the jungles. He believed they were moving outside of his directed radius and feared he was outmaneuvered.

Steel Commander Bizine refused a request to range over twenty miles from any legion’s presence, but requested [Scrying] spells to sweep the jungles. This earned her minor censure from the Seer of Steel, who explained that most conventional [Scrying] spells did not move in linear patterns nor would reveal much from an aerial view. He did devote some of his own abilities to scrying, however.

Day seven. The Seer of Steel issued an alert to Steel Commander Bizine. [Scrying] spells had shut off in a wide sector around her western flank. She ordered her legions to redeploy and change their formations in anticipation of attacks.

Day eight—the first ambushes of scouting patrols revealed assailants’ bodies. Lizardfolk. Scouting south of Steel Commander Bizine revealed more elements moving. West, north, south—Warship Captain Ledr confirmed visible movements from his position.

Open combat on day nine with Jungle Tails. Steel Commander Bizine reported her forces were outnumbered and requested the fleet deploy reserves to avoid the southern elements from completing an encircling action.

Day eleven—legions abandoned all but the primary entrance to the Mindscape Ruins. To prevent further casualties, Steel Commander Bizine requested withdrawal from the Seer of Steel. It was granted, and her legions fell back to their warships with minimal pursuit. However, the warships remained anchored despite occasional harassing fire from the coast.

They finally left on the nineteenth day, in order to resupply, and only maintained two monitoring vessels. Steel Commander Bizine was unhappy with her failed objectives, casualties taken, and retreat. However, the Seer of Steel’s analysis of her actions was ratified by Invictel [Strategists]; all out warfare between both forces would have only destroyed both’s combat potential to no end.

Moreover, it seemed Jungle Tails was equally unsure of whether the Calanferians were alive. Pending resupply, Steel Commander Bizine would resume the pursuit. If they were alive.

Nineteen days. Projections indicated that even with a full cargo of supplies for the New Lands, the Calanferians would not have enough for more than a month of provisions. And it was unlikely they’d carried that amount with them off their ship, even with Chests of Holding. For now, the Iron Vanguard waited to see what this element of Jungle Tails would do. They were not in open conflict with Jungle Tails…yet.

In truth, the only distressing part of this campaign was that the Titan of Baleros had intercepted and decoded transmissions about the Calanferian detachment and had placed a bid on Steel Commander Bizine’s legions to destroy the Jungle Tails forces. Aside from that predictable, yet unacceptable, breach of security, all had been acted on according to protocol.

 

——

 

Thus, two levels higher and many, many mosquito bites shorter of blood, Steel Commander Bizine signed her report of the campaign on the twentieth morning over breakfast in the warship. She glanced over the report, and her quill wavered as it came time to append any additional notes.

The Dullahan woman was uncertain and fiddled with her helmet for a while. In the end, she elected not to mention the strange…feelings from below. She had plenty of reports from other officers of Dullahans hearing voices that weren’t there. Emotional outbursts. Disquiet in the ranks.

Her superiors were well aware of the Mindscape Ruins’ phenomena. Bizine elected not to add anything that would impugn her record or status, especially since it wasn’t new information.

She just wondered—

What was going on down there?

 

——

 

Her name had been Gilthisa. Was Gilthisa. Is Gilthisa. Which was it? No one knew.

She…had…was…is…

A [Diligent Peasant], Level 21. Chosen for the New Lands expedition for her level and knowledge of agriculture, construction, and foraging. As well as her health, marital status, and so on.

She hadn’t known what ‘agriculture’ meant when the [Recruiter] was writing down names, and the embarrassment stayed with her. She had walked for fourteen miles at the break of dawn to reach the city to volunteer. The memory of townspeople laughing at her was still with her to this day.

Fresh, hot embarrassment. Feeling ignorant, foolish. The exasperated expression on the polished [Recruiter]’s face as he explained it meant farming.

It lingered, that emotion. Resurfacing when she was least expecting it or when her shames surged up, like bubbles of agony or embarrassment bursting in her head.

But that did not define her. It was not the only memory she had, just one of the freshest. The other one, that shone brighter still, was the elation of being chosen. Disbelief of the other villagers, the vindication and triumph of them coming to her after being shunned. Seeing the [King] himself in the Eternal Throne itself.

The awe of it. Trembling at the knees, breathless, glory and hope filling her body as she knew she was chosen to bring Eternal Calanfer’s light to the New Lands. 

Terror she would fail. 

Joy she was chosen.

Then the battle at sea, and more terror, trapped within a sweltering mass of bodies, hearing screams from above. Being handed weapons by frantic [Soldiers] and told they would fight if needed—

That memory was shared. Like a scar made of blood driven through the head. Blood on the decks, [Pirates] grinning as they swung aboard. Dead bodies falling into the water.

Terror and rage and fear and desperation and—

It was a maelstrom, a storm that followed. Gilthisa had not been there on the decks, reaching for her friend as he slipped into the waves. Nor tried to leap into the waters after the other [Knight] only to be thrown to the deck and ordered to fight—fight because they were almost overrun.

But she had. She was Ser Collins, a [Knight] and Thronebearer of the Illuminance-rank, serving under…

No.

Who was she? There was no Gilthisa. Just the memories of a woman named Gilthisa.

One of many. Many that were one. It…wasn’t dark anymore.

There was light. Flickering off the walls, a glow of it that came from the travellers, a sea of lights merging, wending together. Bright streams joining, overtaking the smaller strands.

If there was a Gilthisa, it wasn’t because of her class. Or name. Or rank.

It was because she, her memories, were brighter. A few of them. Her awe was not unique, though it was strong. Her shame? Stronger. A bright flash of memory unfaded. But what drowned it out was…

A grinning face staring up at her. The glint of a tooth under moonlight. Panting, shaking, hands trembling as they let go of the knife’s blade. A gurgle of bowels voiding, and the stench. Then the scream—

Which was it? Guilt? Horror? Sadness? Terror? Rage?

A mix of them. The memory refused to die. It was…not larger or longer, but deeper than the others. More vibrant. Overwhelming other memories of tying shoes or other things. It was defined. A sinking mass of feeling that collected other such emotions around it. So what was strongest, even in the ocean, was that memory.

Husband-killer. [Murderer]. A class written in blood, until it had been deemed self-defense by the Thronebearer and [Bailiff]. But the shame persisted, the way they looked at her. The memory.

She had told no one. None of the [Recruiters] had known or brought it up. But that memory was now…it defined everything. Drew other memories to it.

A mugging in an alleyway. Begging for mercy and calling for a Thronebearer who never came. The agony of having fingers broken.

Another man, [Carpenter] Kilne, whose left hand still didn’t move properly to this day. Only his level, 32, had made him eligible for this trip, and the fact that he had been willing to risk his life. What good was a [Carpenter] with one hand to compete at making beautiful furniture? But perhaps…

Defeat in battle. Watching more and more of the friends she’d grown up with cut down by a hail of Ailendamus’ crossbow bolts as they fled. Golden armor broken and stained red as she ran backwards, heart thundering in her chest—

Dame Neranthei, in service now to Princess Seraphel. Only…

Who was Princess Seraphel? Who was Neranthei?

The names were ceasing to matter. Only the memories. And with the memories came names, but only a few echoed across all of them. Seraphel…yes…

Seraphel did echo. So did ‘Ser Solstice’ and ‘Thilowen’ and ‘Ksmvr of Chandrar’. But only them. Who they were was still a mystery. If they were an idea, down here, it was so many things.

Ser Solstice, a great and glorious hero. A [Knight] of mystery. A warrior without peer.

A mask. But this voice was so tiny it could barely be heard. One amongst thousands.

Princess Seraphel. A beautiful [Princess] of Calanfer. A cursed woman. A pitiable figure. Someone who loved wretched undead?

So terribly alone.

It didn’t matter. Deeper and deeper they were going, and now…

Now, there wasn’t any Gilthisa left. Just the memories. And what emerged from each were the pools as the ocean dripped downwards. Tributaries of color running together and forming…well.

Emotions.

 

——

 

Anger baked the skin. It simmered, building and heating more of itself into embers that blaze into true, roaring flames of rage. It was common, from each and every one of those-that-had-been.

But it was not equal. It had many flavors, each one bitter. It was almost always tainted.

The helplessness of a child railing against bullies. The frustration of losing a game of cards. Or staring at a superior shouting down at you. These were common, and thus, present and plentiful, filling space, but they were just…basic.

It was the deeper emotions that drew the others to them and formed the basis of everything. The true and abiding rage of someone who had lost everything. A parent losing a child. A lover killed in battle.

All of your friends. Helplessly watching them vanish as ships died at sea—

That was fresh. That battle at sea was the still-burning spark that threatened to make this feeling ignite into true fury. The death, the blood, the—

 

——

 

Guilt. A sea of it. That was another pool, and it was swirling around those who held it in their chests. Guilt and rage, so close in many ways, but this was the weight, like leaden chains, as opposed to the flaring sparks. It, too, was common, but some held it deeper.

Pride and guilt were the two faces of the coin that flipped endlessly, and in this moment, in this place, every coin had landed with guilt’s face showing. 

For the battle at sea. 

For the fallen Earl Altestiel.

For all those who had died, and if it could have been stopped…if he had only made the right choice. Was this the right choice? But guilt awaited in every decision.

A drawn sword, and a bared back. Hesitation. Lowering the blade—and all that remained was—

 

——

 

Sorrow. Now this, this was just a river of tears. Purer than guilt, which was a twisting spiral dragging you down. It was the water that flowed from the rock, but, crucially, it would never heal the rock it wore down.

It was neverending, because it was always behind. An open wound bleeding forth. And there were those who defined the other emotions.

A steel will, enforced by one man whose name still echoed—Thilowen. Protect the [Princess]. Keep the secret. Protect the—

Guilt, what if he had done the wrong thing? That raised sword—

The ship vanishing. The anger that vision produced. Again and again—

But they were an amalgamation of other points of view. Drawing together, seeking outlets in the only way they could be expressed, by the best vessels. However, sorrow?

Hers were not the greatest of all. It shouldn’t be compared. But hers was so long. It had so few breaks. A ribbon woven behind a smiling mask and that bleeding heart from the day she turned sixteen. 

Seraphel. And the husbands whom she had never loved, the cage which snapped shut again and again and ever again, even when death should have set her free. 

Despair, deeper still. A beautifully deep color at the heart of it all. Despair, for she had no hope nor glory in the Eternal Throne. Just a soft bed of despair to lie against until…

Until there was hope. A ray of it piercing down in the gloomy lands of Noelictus, and terror, and the feeling of waking up and being alive until despair gripped it again and—

That was what drew colors to her. The flashes of bright hope against despair only enhanced the color. The horror she told no one, of her wedding nights. The days that seemed to have no end—

That drew them around her. Gentle, melting butterflies made of tears joining the [Princess] who sat at the bottom of the sea, head craned upwards. Staring up at those little stars of hope she could see.

But not here. Here…the seas closed, and she sank deeper and deeper.

 

——

 

And there they were. Suddenly, there were numbers again. No names, but individual perspectives had emerged out of…everything.

Guilt.

Anger.

Sadness.

Will—but this was a tiny amount, for it defined so few—

Columns of colors winding through the tunnels. Moving as one. Each one fit, but there was one—one more.

It was a hard emotion to name, for it contained so many things that fit other perspectives.

He had lost his family. More than once. He hadn’t…even had a chance to bury them. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. Why him? Why was he so weak? If only he’d been stronger, if only he hadn’t been a fool, she’d never have tried to die for him. She was melting. Even now, he couldn’t do anything more than hold her in his arms. So easy to give up, to say enough and lie down. But he refused to die. Refused to let his brothers’ sacrifice be in vain. A flower. Remember the—

The single perspective shivered as the sea of colors ran around it, and it should have been erased, picked apart and joined the myriad divisions. But there were rules even here. The heart that beat each conflicted emotion was overwhelming. The emotions were too loud and refused to part.

No knife could separate them, however subtle. And—it was more than that.

He’d been here before. It was in the [Innkeeper]’s guilty smile. A thousand and one peaceful days won at the cost of his brothers’ lives. A flower. The hand of friendship from a [Knight] he never thought he’d be offered.

A waving white flag. It was desperation, determination, grief, and anger, a hand clinging to another, a knee refusing to bend. So perhaps—you would call it courage. Wonder? Triumph and glory, a determination to seize it again.

A fifth pool of color broke from the others and drew more towards it, that alluring glow. Until five colors wound into the heart of the strange tunnels.

Even the watchers were impressed. For they were used to many such colors, but they had never seen this one in such number with their own eyes. Perhaps…perhaps these weren’t the same prey as most. It would be so easy…but there was a single voice that called out, which refused to join the colors. Few had ever done that. And that strange color—yes, better to wait and see.

 

——

 

The Synectic Maze: Fervored Strataveins (Level ???)

 

(Something is wrong. You know it. You…have to leave. You’re not sure who ‘you’ are. But you have to leave. The tunnels are vast. They echo with laughter. Something is coming. You have to fight. Fight…but who is there to fight?)

(There’s no one here. But surely…you can hear it. It’s shuffling closer. Tall. So tall it nearly touches the smooth stone of the circular tunnel mouth. The moss is blooming all colors around you. It reeks of malice. Its skin is sloughing off. It’s too tall. It has five mouths. Kill it.)

(Do you even have hands?)

(The snuffling grows louder. The shambling thing—it wants to kill you. Do something! You have to do something! The colors are rushing. They’re…gathering.)

 

Combat Start: Tears splash to the ground. The Weeping Princess appears.

The Weeping Princess weeps for the childhood she left behind.

 

(The Shambling Thing draws closer.)

 

The chains of guilt rattle. The Guilty Man stumbles into being.

The Guilty Man orders someone to attack. He casts around.

 

(No one can attack.)

(The Shambling Thing draws closer. It’s almost upon you.)

 

A wordless howl from the darkness. The Angry Woman leaps forwards.

The Angry Woman attacks the Shambling Thing! She delivers 2 damage.

 

(The Shambling Thing swings an arm. Its blows tear at the air. They could break a neck. They deal 34 damage to The Weeping Princess.)

 

The Weeping Princess sheds more tears. She looks for a [Singer].

 

(No one is singing.)

 

You can hear a heart beating steadily. The Lonely Warrior has to act.

The Lonely Warrior strikes The Shambling Thing with all his might! He delivers 59 damage!

 

(The Shambling Thing is hurt. Its blood is purple. It splashes to the ground, but it refuses to retreat. Can it even feel pain…? It tries to drag The Guilty Man away.)

 

The Guilty Man begins to attack, then hesitates. He looks at his sword. He does not attack.

 

(The Guilty Man is being strangled. He takes 33 damage.)

 

The Weeping Princess is helpless. She watches. She always has to watch.

The Angry Woman lashes out! She does 4 damage!

The Lonely Warrior slashes with any weapon he can find. He deals 45 damage!

 

(The Shambling Thing is badly hurt. Pieces of its body are falling down. It reaches down vaguely and tries to put an arm back on. It flops to the ground, twisting like a worm.)

 

The Guilty Man orders The Angry Woman to attack the leg! [Furious Assault]!

The Angry Woman tries to handicap the Shambling Thing! She delivers 18 damage!

(The Shambling Thing is crippled. Its movement speed is reduced.)

The Weeping Princess hopes things will get better. She is still crying. But she knows it never will.

The Lonely Warrior hacks the Shambling Thing apart! He delivers 88 damage!

(The Shambling Thing is dead! You receive 52 EXP and a Mound of Oozing Purple Flesh!)

 

(The party continues through The Synectic Maze. They’re getting hungry. Provisions are running low. What will you do? Eat the Mound of Oozing Purple Flesh?)

 

The Weeping Princess cannot bring herself to eat the flesh. She goes hungry.

The Angry Woman sinks her teeth into the flesh and grows sick. Her stomach is full.

The Guilty Man offers food to The Weeping Princess. She is fed. He goes hungry.

The Lonely Warrior eats some moss. He is partially filled.

 

(The party continues. The Angry Woman is violently sick. She receives a fever and begins to shake. She takes 14 damage. In time, the sickness fades. The Guilty Man loses stats due to hunger.)

(You think you’re going the right way. Are you? You can’t tell. Up. You think you need to go…up. But the tunnels stretch outwards. They’re changing color, aren’t they? You’re staining them as you walk. You can’t help it.)

(The party shuffles through a sea of bones. They fill this next section. It might be very dangerous. Do you continue?)

 

The Weeping Princess waits for someone to save her. But there’s no one. She feels like she’s forgotten something…

The Angry Woman continues ahead, heedless of the danger.

The Guilty Man warns The Angry Woman to look for traps.

The Lonely Warrior tries to eat the bones, but they’re too old. He picks some up anyways.

 

(The party continues until they come across the source of the bones. It’s a Ravening Beast, all teeth! It crawls forwards, claws clicking over the ground. You cannot count how many legs it has. Its center is glowing orange. It thinks at you: ‘death.’)

 

Combat Start: 

Her hands are trembling. The Weeping Princess sits and wishes for a chair.

She wants it dead. The Angry Woman charges into battle.

Sighing, The Guilty Man wonders if this monster can be reasoned with.

The Lonely Warrior feels like he’s met this beast before. He readies a weapon.

 

(The Ravening Beast leaps at the party and slashes, biting and chewing. It delivers 58 damage to The Weeping Princess! It delivers 11 damage to The Angry Woman! It delivers 22 damage to The Guilty Man! It delivers 32 damage to The Lonely Warrior!)

(Blood is running onto the ground. The Ravening Beast seems to be everywhere. It wants you dead. You can feel it. The walls are glowing with orange…eggs? You feel like you have to destroy it.)

 

The Weeping Princess calls for help! She pulls out a toy soldier and begs it to fight. Then she weeps, but she is tired of weeping.

The Grim Knight appears! He slashes the Ravening Beast and delivers 44 damage!

The Angry Woman bites and claws at the Ravening Beast in turn! She delivers 1 damage!

The Guilty Man asks if the Ravening Beast is a monster. 

 

(It does not respond.)

 

The Lonely Warrior throws the bones he took! He deals 1 damage to the Ravening Beast!

 

(The Ravening Beast focuses on The Weeping Princess! It begins to eat her! It delivers 144 damage!)

 

The Weeping Princess begs for aid. She’s crying. She promised to stop. She swore to stop. She’s forgotten something important. Where’s the music…?

The Angry Woman attacks the Ravening Beast! She delivers 3 damage.

The Guilty Man orders The Weeping Princess to flee! [Expeditious Retreat]!

The Weeping Princess doesn’t want to be alone. She does not flee.

The Lonely Warrior attacks the Ravening Beast from behind! He deals 66 damage.

 

(A Mysterious Watcher appears. It utters a warcry to the Ravening Beast and slings a stone! The Ravening Beast takes 14 damage!)

(The Ravening Beast is eating The Weeping Princess. It delivers 101 damage.)

“Fight! You have to fight! Stop—stop attacking in turns! Seraphel, do something!”

(For some reason, the Ravening Beast takes 3 damage.)

 

The Weeping Princess closes her eyes and pretends it’ll be over soon. She does nothing.

This is wrong. The ghost told her she had to try. She feels this is too familiar. A spider’s web. What’s…?

The Grim Knight shields The Weeping Princess! He protects her from damage this turn.

The Angry Woman lashes out at the Ravening Beast, trying to do more damage. She does 4 damage.

The Guilty Man orders the party into formation! [Hold the Line]! Damage taken is reduced!

The Lonely Warrior hates his foe. He remembers something. [Grand Slash]! He delivers 244 damage!

 

(A Mysterious Watcher is pleased. It stops attacking the Ravening Beast and starts smashing the eggs on the walls. Little wriggling things die as it stomps and stomps.)

“What are ye doing? End this madness! Rabbiteater, do it again! Ksmvr, don’t go with—”

(The Ravening Beast is furious! It abandons The Weeping Princess and swarms everything! It delivers 22 damage to all.)

 

The Weeping Princess realizes she’ll never be saved. Her tears stop.

The Grim Knight launches a counterattack! He delivers 33 damage to the Ravening Beast.

The Angry Woman stares at her hands. She’s too weak. She does nothing.

The Guilty Man draws his sword and hopes he’s right. He cuts at the Ravening Beast. He delivers 49 damage!

The Lonely Warrior wonders if his friends will survive. He attacks harder out of desperation! He delivers 94 damage!

 

(The Mysterious Watcher has smashed all the eggs. It waves and vanishes, pleased.)

(The Ravening Beast is weak. It tries to flee.)

(The Ravening Beast escapes! The party gains 288 experience and a Bottle of Water!)

“So many bodies. What’s that, Seraphel? Keep it. It can’t be worse than…”

The Weeping Princess equips the Bottle of Water!

 

(The party continues onwards.)

 

——

 

(You can’t tell how many days it’s been, now. You come to a strange…encampment in the tunnels. Another empty room. This one doesn’t contain enemies—for now.)

(The Mysterious Watcher is waiting for you. It has a base, strung up pieces of meat, and tools here. It smiles at you. It is ready to fight if need be.)

(The party is tired. The party is wounded. The party is lost. What do you do?)

“Listen ta me. They’ve got lots of them on the ramparts, and they don’t fight like you do. Do you understand? Even if we still outnumber them…”

 

The Angry Woman demands to know what The Mysterious Watcher wants!

 

(The Mysterious Watcher laughs. It replies that this is all a dream. ‘When you wake, if you wake, you’ll get it. You’re caught in your emotions.’)

 

The Lonely Warrior is confused. He scratches his head. How can we be uncaught, then?

 

(The Mysterious Watcher inspects The Lonely Warrior. It lowers its weapons. It says it’s never seen anything like The Lonely Warrior. He’s sort of scary. The Mysterious Watcher doesn’t want to fight. Not with ‘Jungle Tails’ above.)

 

The Guilty Man asks who ‘Jungle Tails’ is. He doesn’t want to fight.

 

“You serious, Lord Idiot?”

(The Mysterious Watcher finds the question highly amusing. It laughs. ‘They’ve come for you. But also us. You should leave. They won’t come down here in great numbers, but you won’t survive as you are.’)

 

The Weeping Princess knows it’s true. She bows her head, guilty. She’s let everyone fight for her all her life. Never again. She bites her lip. Never—

 

(The Mysterious Watcher points. ‘If you go that way, you might make it. But there are more monsters between you and the exit.’ It regards the four of you. ‘You’ll never make it as you are.’)

“Help us. In the name of the Faerie King, I ask…”

(The Mysterious Watcher hesitates. It argues with itself, then after a while, it gives you some meat.)

(The party eats the meat. It feels better. The Weeping Princess shares the Bottle of Water around. It has a funny taste, but it quenches your thirst.)

(The Mysterious Watcher wants the Bottle of Water. It offers to trade a Wooden Spear for the Bottle of Water.)

 

“That’s a stick with a point on it. I could wipe my ass with it. We’ve got more weapons if ye’d only use them.”

The Weeping Princess refuses after some thought.

 

(Disappointed, The Mysterious Watcher bids you farewell. It hopes to meet you under better circumstances. You continue on your journey.)

 

——

 

(It’s the eleventh encounter so far. You’re walking upwards, and you think you can feel a breeze on your face. No, wait. It’s just your imagination. You’re worried about how much further you have to go when an old foe reappears.)

(The Ravening Beast scuttles out of the shadows! It’s healed! Worse…there are two of them, now.)

(A second Ravening Beast has appeared! It’s smaller than the first.)

“More of them. Don’t let them get around you! There’s so many.”

 

The Guilty Man orders a barricade built! He tosses pieces of a broken ship down. The hallway is partly blocked.

The Lonely Warrior charges, heedless of the danger! He delivers 122 damage to the Ravening Beast! He takes 14 damage as he’s attacked back!

The Angry Woman throws stones! She delivers 1 damage.

The Weeping Princess has to fight. She flails at the enemy. She delivers 1 damage to the Smaller Ravening Beast.

The Grim Knight challenges the Smaller Ravaging Beast with a [Challenge of Honor]. It does nothing.

 

“Rabbiteater, get back! They’re all around your people!”

(The Ravening Beasts attack The Lonely Warrior! They deliver 144 damage! For some reason, they take 2 damage.)

 

He has to keep swinging, even if he dies. The Lonely Warrior continues to fight! He delivers 66 damage to the Ravening Beast!

[Take Cover]! The Guilty Man orders the Lonely Warrior to protect themselves! He activates the pieces of the toy boat.

 

(Zzap! The toy boat pieces blast the Ravening Beasts for 77 damage! They deliver 2 damage to The Lonely Warrior by accident.)

 

The Grim Knight toy is cracked and damaged, but it does its best. It slashes at the Smaller Ravening Beast for 23 damage.

The Weeping Princess is humming a familiar tune. She attacks and deals 6 damage! She feels odd.

‘Surely…something’s wrong. I feel it. This is not me.’

“Seraphel?”

 

The Angry Woman is staring at The Lonely Warrior fighting alone. It’s not his fault…is it? She stares at her hands. Then she remembers.

The Angry Woman draws a wand. She casts [Fireball]! Both Ravening Beasts take 160 damage! The Lonely Warrior takes 16 damage by accident.

 

“Feck me sideways! How did you all do that?”

The Weeping Princess blinks. It’s not her turn. But she felt the heat of that. 

Is someone talking? She knows it’s not her turn, but she looks around anyways.

There’s a tiny fly following the party. It has brown fur, goat’s horns, and hooves.

No, wait, it’s a Satyr! But it’s…wrong.

It calls itself Vofea. It keeps calling The Weeping Princess ‘Seraphel’. 

Seraphel blinks. She rem—

 

——

 

—ered her name. The [Princess] whirled, and then she saw and heard again. She saw and heard—not some strange being that thought of itself as ‘The Weeping Princess’, who had a thousand eyes and limbs. The break from that amalgamation of minds felt like ripping her entire body away from her finger.

And it was only the tiny finger which remained, alone and screaming—until she realized that was all of what she had been.

Seraphel stopped clawing at her face because she realized—the blisters on her skin and her ragged, filthy appearance meant this was reality. Her fingers hurt. Flames were still burning down the long tunnel, and they were fighting.

Crelers. The swarm was trying to come over the walls that were all that remained of the ship. Threatening to overrun the motionless ranks of people standing there. And in the center of the fighting was—

Rabbiteater? An entire column of people was buried in the center of the Creler swarm—two swarms, albeit reduced—standing still. Seraphel’s eyes bulged in horror. She saw blank-faced [Soldiers] holding still as Crelers covered them, biting, tearing—and they didn’t fight back.

Then, as one, the entire group lashed out, swinging swords, axes, even hoes and other tools at the Crelers. Lashing at them until the baby Crelers drew back; they attacked, stomping, following the lead of the battered figure in armor.

“Rabbiteater!”

She thought he’d drive the Crelers back entirely, but then the Goblin froze up. And so did the other warriors. The Crelers moved back on the offensive—or so she thought. But they froze up just like Rabbiteater.

Waiting…for their turn? Seraphel blinked. Now it was The Guilty Man’s turn…she swirled, and Lord Cortese strode past her, blank-faced. He and a column of people swung their blades at the Crelers, then stopped. Stepped back.

“What madness is this?”

Seraphel’s head was splitting open. For a moment, when Cortese had passed her, her mind was filled with guilt. Self-recriminations. The entire hallway had turned…purple. As if guilt were a physical thing, and it was! A glowing color emitted from Cortese’s group. It overwhelmed everything—until only guilt could remain. Then the purple was challenged by a flare of ruddy orange.

The Angry Woman. When Seraphel looked, she saw Menrise striding forwards, aiming a wand with ranks of men and women covered in injuries. Most didn’t have wands, but they were still aiming fingers glittering with crackling…

“Is that…?”

The [Lightning Bolt] came from hundreds of people at once. Seraphel cowered as the massed spells blew the Crelers apart. She gasped as the angry wave of emotions faded. Then felt sinister malevolence dawning.

The Crelers were attacking, shrieking as their ‘turn’ started, and they fought to make their emotions rage over the others. But unlike the others, she could hear…something.

A pounding malevolence. Almost a word. Death, the idea of it conveyed at everything and everyone that wasn’t them. Death—and a keening frustration. A rage as they poured towards the barricades, seeking to devour and kill Menrise’s group.

We are trapped! Kill! Kill! 

They were all trapped. No one stopped the Crelers from moving. Seraphel watched Lord Cortese standing there as Crelers scurried underfoot past him. Focused on Menrise. That was when the [Princess] moved.

“Menrise! Menrise, get back!”

They were bearing straight for her group! One was attacking Menrise herself! It crawled up her dress, horrible pincers beginning to bite her arm, and Menrise did nothing! Seraphel ran forwards and grabbed the Creler.

She pulled, and it came away, legs bloody, biting the air. Seraphel screamed and expected it to whirl and rip her face off—but it kept clawing at Menrise!

Ignoring her? The Creler flexed and wriggled in her grasp until she dropped it. Seraphel’s foot stomped, and the Creler compressed. She felt a horribly squishy hardness under her foot. She stomped three times—and it crawled out from under her foot, largely unharmed. It tried to bite Menrise again.

“No, no, no! Get away from her! Get—”

Seraphel’s seventh stomp finally ruptured its organs. It burst, spewing orange guts onto the smooth stone floor, and she squealed and leapt back. The Creler kept trying to move, though. So she kept stomping.

Eventually, it was only twitching. Panting, Seraphel stepped back, then saw the dying Creler turning. Trying to retreat.

They were heading back. She felt green glowing across the tunnels. Forcing the Crelers’ unified emotions back. Rabbiteater was beginning his attack.

“Madness. This is madness. Menrise—!”

Her friend was standing there, her helmet covered with bits of blood, bleeding—Seraphel searched for a healing potion, but she didn’t have one on her belt, and neither did Menrise! Behind her—

There were people on the ground, half eaten or bleeding to death. The rest stood, blank-faced, a blue glow fighting for dominance amidst the swirling colors overhead. Anger, simmering upwards…

“Insanity.”

Seraphel would have sat down and been sick or just given up, but the sound of metal striking stone or bodies told her the Crelers would be back. And—a glimmer of movement, a desperate voice in the tunnels drew her eye.

Something was moving. Independent of the strange waves of people. Seraphel broke away from Menrise with effort. She’d almost been drawn back into…

 

The Weeping Princess is doing nothing. The Guilty Man calls on her to act!

 

—No! Seraphel wrenched herself out of the haze of blue. Stumbled forwards, slapping her cheeks. What did she do last time?

Remember her name. Seraphel du Marquin. The song. Cara’s songs. She’d been humming it. The [Princess] hummed it again, bit the inside of her cheek, anything to keep herself individual and not part of whatever collective was trying to drag her back inside.

That was when she saw the only other figure who’d been free from this madness the entire time running down the line of the wounded and dying.

Vofea. The Satyr had a length of cloth in her hands, and she was grimly striding down the line, cursing. She was using a flask to clean each Creler-bit person she came to. Then she would take the vial and pour the liquid onto the bandages before wrapping them around open wounds. Passing by some people too hurt, running—

“Vofea!”

The Satyr nearly leapt into one of the motionless people as Seraphel raced towards her. The Satyr spun.

“Princess? You’re awake! Is Lady Menrise…?”

“She’s hurt! Help, Vofea—! What’s going…?”

“I have her. As much of this shite as we have left.”

Vofea saw Menrise was bleeding and shouldered past Seraphel. She ignored questions as she poured what Seraphel realized was healing potion onto bandages and wrapped them around Menrise’s gouged shoulder. Vofea poured the last few drops of the bottle into the wound, then dropped it. She reached down, and Seraphel saw the Satyr had a belt of bottles…mostly empty.

“Damn. We’re almost out. But if you made it…! C’mon, hurry!”

Vofea yanked at Seraphel, and the two stumbled forwards. Seraphel almost squealed as she realized they were going past the barrier, but Vofea just yanked something off her belt and handed it to the [Princess].

“I healed everyone not dead best I could. We’ve minutes.”

“To do what?”

Seraphel realized she was holding a familiar, silver blade. Vofea held the twin of it in her hands. She pointed to the swarm of still, waiting Baby Crelers. Without hesitation, she began stabbing them, grinding them beneath one hoof as she wrenched the tip of the enchanted blade through their bodies to bisect them.

“Kill ‘em. Hurry! They won’t fight back! Don’t ye remember?”

Seraphel froze up. She stared at the sword in her hands until marching figures made her twist.

Lord Cortese followed by Admiral Dakelos, Revi, and more men and women she recognized. The expedition…

 

The Guilty Man is sortieing.

 

Vofea grabbed Seraphel’s shoulder, snapping her out of it again.

“Stab them!”

Shakily, the 4th Princess did just that. She approached one of the glowing Crelers nervously and gingerly stabbed it with Ksmvr’s sword. She blanched as the tip of her sword produced an orange spurt of blood, but after a moment, when it refused to react, she realized…

“T-take this!”

She began stabbing, her blade missing half the time as the Baby Creler bled more and more profusely. Seraphel thought she was doing well until Vofea, who had torn up eight Baby Crelers, saw her.

“You idiot!”

She stormed over and slapped Seraphel across the head. The [Princess] flinched as Vofea bared her teeth.

“Stab and step! Tear them apart! Stop wasting time!”

She shoved Seraphel, and the [Princess] stumbled. Unused to the tone, shocked, Seraphel almost shouted back until she saw Vofea’s desperate expression. The Satyr was covered in blood and filthy. She appeared sleepless, and the orange blood and gore had fused to her fur and splashed up to her hips.

Seraphel gazed down at the blade in her hands and remembered that faint voice she hadn’t quite processed. The battles they’d fought.

 

(The Weeping Princess took 15 damage!)

 

What…did that mean? She gazed back at the dead bodies lying on the floor. Then at the blade in her hands.

The next Baby Creler not being hacked down by Lord Cortese’s ‘people’ was just standing there. Gingerly, Seraphel put a boot on its back and brought the blade down. It was…tough even with the enchanted metal. She twisted the blade, then pulled.

It was like carving through a piece of meat with bone. But her blade was exceptionally sharp. Seraphel wrenched the blade through the Baby Creler. She blanched as the little horror came apart, spilling its guts everywhere.

“Don’t stop! There are hundreds of the buggers!”

Vofea encouraged the [Princess], and Seraphel stomped a second Creler and began to bisect it. The effort took both arms, and she was panting after the sixth. She would have done a seventh, but Vofea shouted.

“Lady Menrise is doing more magic! Get back! What’s she…run, run!”

[Light Arrows] now. Seraphel saw Menrise pointing towards her and realized the danger. She fled with Vofea as arrows poured into the battlefield, hitting the Baby Crelers. It wasn’t just Menrise casting them, Seraphel realized.

“All of them?”

[Soldiers] and [Deckhands], [Knights] and commonfolk were all firing magic from their fingers as if they were Level 20 [Mages]. Seraphel couldn’t believe her eyes. Vofea, though, just cursed.

“I dunno how she remembered to use magic after so long of hitting things like a dunce! But if she doesn’t blast us all apart, she’ll kill everyone with her!”

“What?”

Surely hundreds, if not over a thousand, people all casting Tier 3 magic was a good thing. For answer, Vofea pointed and ran.

That was when Seraphel saw one of the quasi-[Mages] casting magic stop throwing [Light Arrows] and drop without a sound. They were convulsing on the ground, and Vofea grabbed something else and began to splash them with it.

“It’s the mana potions! Get one and give it to anyone who falls down!”

The [Princess] understood in an instant what was going on. Mana burn. Or more like—mana drain. Most of these people weren’t spellcasters! They had no mana pools, and Seraphel’s limited magical teaching told her that if they were somehow overdrawing on mana—

She cast around desperately for mana potions, and Vofea yelled.

“In the back! The horses have some!”

The horses were all standing together, placid, and Seraphel ran up to them and once again saw more colors. A very faint brown was emanating from this group. It felt like…worry?

But it wasn’t strong enough to push the other colors overhead back, so they just remained where they were. She yanked open pouches until she found some vials, then ran back. Only, she stopped as she saw what was coming.

 

(The Ravening Beast attacks in a desperate frenzy! The Smaller Beast is attempting to flee!)

 

One wave of Crelers was retreating—the other attacking Lord Cortese and Menrise equally. Seraphel screamed.

“Cortese!”

She didn’t recall much after that, only that she was swinging her sword at the Crelers, hacking at them and stomping until they fell back. Vofea was the one to snap at her.

“Seraphel! Seraphel, it’s done. There aren’t enough of them to think loud enough anymore. See?”

She pointed, and Seraphel saw the last of the Crelers were gathered together in a clump as Rabbiteater’s group hacked them up. They didn’t move or react—she stared down at the twitching Creler she’d ripped apart. It was still trying to move. Vofea gazed at it too before stomping it.

“I wondered if they’d start thinking normal once it was one or two left. Maybe they were, but it takes too long. Your lot dices up anything it kills. We’ve got maybe half an hour before they keep moving. C’mon. Healing and mana potions first. Bandage anything big. This lot’ll do a bit of healing, sometimes. Explain to me how you got out of this nastiness and maybe we can wake the others.”

Numbly, Seraphel followed Vofea. The Satyr was triaging the columns of people again. How long had they been down here? This was madness.

And—there were far fewer people than there should have been, at least by Seraphel’s count. She saw a group standing behind Ser Thilowen, much smaller, and the animals were in the back, but—

“How many died, Vofea?”

“Hundreds? I reckon at least a thousand. The Crelers were the worst. ‘Till I realized I could be killing them nonstop, all I could do was keep you and some others from getting killed when we were attacked. How’d you escape?”

“I don’t know. I felt something was wrong, and I was humming…it felt familiar. Wrong. Perhaps it was my class? My tiara? My aura?”

Vofea glanced sideways as Seraphel felt at her riding dress and her tiara, which was on her head. But her hands leapt away from her clothes in shock. She was covered in filth and sweat and dried blood, just like everyone else. The Satyr shrugged.

“Unless you can free the others, it ain’t much use. Now there’s two of us. Not much help when there’s an army to take care of. Oh, look. Your lot’s replaced you.”

“My—what?”

Seraphel turned and saw the ‘blue’ group that had been holding still throughout the battle was moving again. A blank-faced woman was leading them, and Seraphel saw, to her shock, that it was a familiar person.

“Gilthisa!”

“…Who?”

Vofea squinted at the woman wearing plain clothing. Seraphel pointed.

“She’s a [Peasant] from Esterfil. She killed her husband, only he was assaulting her, and then she joined the New Lands expedition, and she was so happy. She…”

“Have you two met? I’ve never seen her before now.”

Vofea eyed the woman again, and Seraphel gobbled for words.

“No. Never. But I was her.”

“Ah. The blue stuff floating out of all of you. Ach. Your minds are all entangled. What’d they say this was? Selphid stuff? Well, I hate all of those buggers now on principle. This trap will kill us all, Princess. Nevermind there’s been enough of us to kill most of what comes along. Those Creler-things keep eating at us, and there’s more horrors down here.”

Seraphel turned to Vofea, and the Satyr sagged. She was…young, wasn’t she? A new adventurer and part of the Horns of Hammerad? Seraphel wasn’t too clear, but she remembered Ksmvr of Chandrar lecturing her several times. Now, though, the Satyr seemed like she’d aged from what she’d seen so far.

And, Seraphel realized, as The Weeping Princess continued forwards, without her…

Now she and Vofea were the only two sane minds in this labyrinth from hell.

 

——

 

The one blessing was that movement in these tunnels took a long time. It wasn’t like they would stumble across another set of enemies instantly, according to Vofea.

“‘Tisn’t like much can live here given they need numbers to even exist. My guess is that if anything lives here permanently, it eats the moss and such.”

“Eats the moss?”

“Sure. You’ve had much of it. Rabbiteater’s group is sensible enough to munch it down, but it took a lotta time before your lot did anything.”

Seraphel recalled the low provisions of earlier and blanched.

“Then did the Angry Woman—Menrise—really eat…?”

“The purple meat? Yep. I tried to stop her. Got some of ‘em to vomit it back up, but six died, and the rest were so sick they couldn’t walk straight.”

Six. That meant every time she’d registered being hurt as The Weeping Princess…Seraphel blanched. They were riding in a wagon. The animals pulled it behind the main group, who were marching down the long tunnels slanting slightly upwards.

The tunnels. The tunnels didn’t end. They twisted and turned, not ever in sharp angles but in long sloping curves that made you feel like you were walking in odd spirals or bends where the tunnels slanted left or right or down, and you felt your sense of gravity and direction completely vanish.

That was unpleasant enough, but the ‘organs’ made everything far, far worse. Seraphel had wondered how they were able to fight in these tunnels—it almost made sense that they were attacking in waves because in some places the tunnels were too narrow to fight in. In some places, they did widen out, but it was when they came to a break in the long passages that she learned to prepare for battle.

The…organ-rooms were what she and Vofea called them. Huge chambers where monsters tended to live, given the relative space, and each one was unsettling to be in. None of them followed usual building standards. Not a single one was square or even perfectly round. They resembled organs. Just like the tunnels resembled veins—but of no creature Seraphel knew.

The sight of such a room, which might be shining with the colors of the monsters inside, would pulse ahead of the party, a sickening lighthouse, and Seraphel would grow to hate them. Not least because she felt like the emotions and light concentrated here. Pooled downwards like liquid, almost. Perhaps that was how the moss grew, for there was precious little moisture she could see, let alone light or food.

All of this was beyond intolerable, and Seraphel said as much in the first few moments of orienting herself to this new hell.

“This is madness, Vofea. Adventurer Vofea? Forgive me, but how did you not succumb to this?”

The Satyr just shrugged wearily.

“Just a trick of perspective. I keep myself to myself. This isn’t the first of such things I’ve seen. Not that most places in the Faerie King’s lands are like this, but a few, some. He permits no hostility, nothing that would violate hospitality, and most of his folk obey it. This violates any notion of hospitality, not that we had any expectation of it.”

Her answer confused Seraphel, who frowned.

“The Faerie King? Er, is that Chandrarian? Balerosian?”

Vofea glanced at Seraphel, then laughed.

“Ach. I forgot Ksmvr’s rule not to tell. Doesn’t matter. No, no. Just another realm. Another world entirely. Like yon Earther folk come from. But mine is different. Better and separate. Closed. So there won’t be help coming, even if I invoke his name.”

Seraphel’s mouth opened. Vofea invoked Earthers like Cara, but she claimed…! The [Princess] was about to babble questions, then just glanced around.

Bloody, blank-faced people marching past her. Cortese’s purple twisted with guilt. Blue tears wept from the eyes of ‘her’ group without end.

Not the moment. She breathed out.

“Can we wake them? The others?”

“If you can, be my guest. I cannae wake anyone. Not even the skeleton or ghost woman, Veine. All are trapped. I’ve slapped, shouted, done all I can think of. Nothing. The most I can do is protect Ksmvr here.”

The Satyr pointed, and Seraphel turned. What she’d assumed to be another piece of luggage on the wagon was, in fact, a hog-tied Antinium. He was radiating a faint grey, and she suspected that if he were freed, he’d be with Ser Thilowen.

“We should do that for everyone. At least Cortese, Menrise, and Rabbiteater—”

But then who would lead each group? Vofea read Seraphel’s mind and shook her head.

“Your lot stops when I take you away. I’ve healed everyone I thought was important and tried to keep them safe. But I’m almost out of your mystic healing potions.”

“We never had that many. Is—is that the entire stock?”

Vofea indicated three mostly-empty bottles on her belt and gave Seraphel a smile of pure despair.

“It is. I wasted much of it ‘till I realized it and the people it given to must be rationed. Bloodyhanded work. I knew it would be hard, this. But I thought it was only dying, not choosing who must die.”

The [Princess] put her head in her hands. Then she gazed at Rabbiteater.

“Surely we can rouse them if I can be freed. We must try. Come on—”

She rose. Vofea did not. Just wearily watched as Seraphel ran to the head of the lines and began to talk to Rabbiteater. Cajole him. Shook his shoulders, tried to break his stride. Poked him with her [Ghostly Hand], then struck his shoulders. Shoved and shouted at him.

Nothing. After a while, the Satyr called out.

“Something must have led you free. What was it?”

Seraphel, panting, returned to the wagon and sat there.

“I felt so helpless. I couldn’t do anything, and I wept and wept.”

“Yep. Fat lot of good it did until you started fighting. Even then, you fought like a drunken pixie.”

Seraphel flushed, remembering how she’d flailed at the foe.

“I recall. I remember thinking it was wrong. That I had done so poorly before. I—I never wanted to be so helpless again.”

Do something, idiot! Anything! Rabbiteater’s words rang in her head, and Vofea eyed her.

“True. ‘Tisn’t like the others fight proper either. It’s more like how they think you should fight and such. For instance, Ser Solstice? He charges in and slashes things, but I’ve not seen him kick anyone in the nutsack once. Only when he uses a Skill—then he looks like he did on the ship.”

It explained why The Weeping Princess was still acting like her. Seraphel rubbed at her face. The memories of her grief, of her failed marriages and despair, hung above her, the core of the blue river. It was embarrassing, familiar…and she refused to wallow in it.

“Never again I swore. Well, if that has freed me, then surely…why is Lord Cortese ‘The Guilty Man’?”

She pointed at him, and Vofea squinted.

“Is that what you call him in whatever you’re doing? Weird name.”

“Yes! He keeps wavering because of a sword? A raised sword?”

Bits and pieces of each person’s memories were jumbled up in Seraphel’s head. Only the strongest of each memory, but it left her rattled. Confused.

The Guilty Man—Lord Cortese’s group—wasn’t her own, so ‘his’ guilt was harder to remember. Seraphel could most strongly remember the poor [Peasant] or the grief of the others—though it all felt like her memories. As if she had once been forced to kill her husband.

If only. As if she…had once followed that white flag. She gazed at Rabbiteater, then Cortese, and focused on what she could recall of him.

Guilt. A sword raised towards someone’s back. Names and identity vanished in that haze where you lost even your name, but she, as Princess Seraphel, could extrapolate.

Had Lord Cortese been thinking of running Rabbiteater through during the Battle at Sea? Was his guilt over that? Or not doing it?

She shuddered, imagining Cortese prepared to kill Rabbiteater like Prince Iradoren. For what?

Well, hence the guilt. As for Lady Menrise…Seraphel gazed at the helmeted woman, marching along.

“I knew Menrise did not bear the cost of losing her people lightly. But that much anger…”

“Oh, aye. Threw herself at the monsters, she did. For all the good she does grappling. I fear more her magic. She’ll kill everyone in her company, doing that much.”

Vofea spat over the side of the wagon. Seraphel nodded.

Another complication. What could they do? Well, according to Vofea, they were able to act without waiting for one ‘feeling’ to assert dominance. Which let them run up to help heal people, get them out of the way, or stab the enemy to death.

“Not that it’s easy. The first things you ran into were taller’n bugbears. So thick I could’ve stabbed them all day and not gone through. Between two of us, we might do enough, but it’s not like two hundred Rabbiteaters using [Grand Slash].”

Seraphel remembered that. She nodded tightly, hands balled up in her dress.

“But we must do something! We surely must!”

Vofea eyed her sidelong.

“You’re the one with Skills and levels aplenty. I? I’ll take some if it’d help, but I’ll need many of ‘em to do any good, or so it seems. Thirty…mayhap the Folly of Isthekenous will grant them to me once I sleep. I’d take them now.”

She pulled some Creler blood off her fur, and Seraphel’s brows wrinkled up.

“You haven’t gotten a class yet? From all you’ve done? I swore I heard Adventurer Ksmvr telling you to gain one.”

“Oh, aye, I’d take it too.”

“Then…why haven’t you? Unless, somehow, none of this counts as levels?”

The Satyr shook her head. She tapped the side of it.

“Nah. I haven’t slept since we entered. I reckon that’s a lot longer than you’re supposed to go without sleep. Not sure how long it’s been, either. I stopped counting after twelve meals.”

“What?”

“Can’t. Or d’you feel tired?”

Seraphel’s entire body hurt. She had blisters which had popped and turned to raw skin; she was bleeding from her feet, and only the desperate situation kept her from collapsing. But her mind was sharp and active, and she said so. Vofea gave her a crazed grin.

“Strange to hear from a woman who’s walked and fought just as long without nary a wink.”

No one had slept. Seraphel’s eyes darted to the amalgamation of emotions, and she swallowed hard. Vofea nodded.

“I reckon that’s a waking dream or close enough. Yon Lizardfolk with the weird heads told us—well, me—that so long as we’re together, we’ll not die for anything but lack of rest, and this group does rest its body if nothing else. I’d use the time to scout ahead, but they warned me I’d be swallowed up alone. Even they have to go at least sixteen-strong.”

“The who?”

“The group we met.”

“Oh—The Mysterious Stranger? They were just one person to us.”

Vofea frowned as she gulped some water and shared it with Seraphel.

“What kind of names and things didja see?”

“It was very confusing. Sort of like a game of chess? Only, we were the pieces…the Lizardfolk were one person who kept hiding their face. And—and I think I remember you.”

“Ooh, what was I?”

“A fly.”

“What?”

“Well, Ser Thilowen was just a toy soldier…it must be because his group was so small. I had to ask him to fight.”

Vofea gnawed on this.

“Makes sense. The Lizardfolk were like me, free of this place. Though the Creler-things bit them up anyways. Later, when we went to the camp, they talked with me. D’you remember what they said?”

Now it was clear. Seraphel pressed her hands to her face, smearing blood onto her cheeks. She gagged and almost called for Mariel or Beacle, but…they were part of the others. Purple and orange, respectively.

“Jungle Tails. Oh no. On top of the Iron Vanguard? No wonder they laughed at Cortese. Were they truly about to ambush us?”

Vofea nodded and described the place that Seraphel had ‘seen’ in more detail. It had been a camp in one of the open, organ-like sections of the tunnels. A natural safe-zone? Or perhaps not.

“Their heads glowed. And were slightly too big-like. A few of ‘em were Nagas—at least, that’s what they called themselves. They seemed as though they’d be like wild fae in other times.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning they’d kill us if it suited them. But I made ‘em a touch interested, and Ser Solstice, wary. So they let us be. They said that this place rips you apart alone. Safety in numbers. Even we can’t venture far beyond this group or we’ll be lost.”

Seraphel shivered.

“What is the point of all this? This is the work of Selphids, surely. The Minds. It has to be. I have heard of the Minacien Wall. This breaches it utterly.”

Altering the mind on such a scale? Every kingdom of Terandria would have this place razed. Though it was practically abandoned to monsters and this tiny tribe, anyways. Vofea smiled.

“They said it used to be a Selphid place. But most of it’s wrecked. As to purpose…there’s something in some of the big rooms we come to. It collects. All the colors drip down into liquids. The Lizardfolk were harvesting some. My guess is it gives them the glowing heads. Looked tasty. Like blue fruit juice.”

Vofea licked her lips, then began spitting Creler blood out. Seraphel did likewise, reflexively, and gagged. She reached for her side and found something hanging there.

A…jar.

“Oh. What’s this?”

It was a lovely jar with glass on the upper portion and delicate blue metal on the bottom, worked with visibly glowing signs. A big metal cap was holding it in place.

Vofea peered at it.

“Ah, that. Now and then your lot picks things up. That came from the Creler nest. You found it amongst all the bones. Then you kept sipping from it. I tasted a bit just to make sure it weren’t more poison, but I dunno what it is.”

The Bottle of Water. Right. Seraphel gingerly unscrewed the flask and sniffed at the liquid within.

It was definitely not water. It had the faintest of odors like the metal had rubbed off into the liquid, but more than that, it had a faint tingle even when she poured it over her hands. It was clear, though, and Seraphel frowned.

“I took drinks of it. How much…?”

“It refills. Not sure how many of you drank it, but you didn’t shit yourselves on the march, so there’s that.”

That explains the smell. Because she was too tired to find water, Seraphel washed her hands and face with it, at least. If she’d drunk it, she doubted it could do worse.

Seraphel offered some to Vofea, and the exhausted Satyr let the [Princess] tend to her legs and fur. She winced a bit, but she just curled up. Seraphel realized, seeing how thin Vofea appeared, that the Satyr might have been working nonstop to keep them alive.

Trembling, Seraphel whispered.

“I’m so sorry. Thank you, Adventurer Vofea. I swear, by the Eternal Throne, I’ll make it up to you. Now, I’ll help too.”

One eye opened, and a goat’s pupil regarded Seraphel as Vofea smiled.

“At least I’m not alone. That’s something.”

Then she passed out without really sleeping, and Seraphel saw her mind joining the sea above for a few moments. She cleaned Vofea’s fur and skin as best she could. Then regretted using the ‘free’ Bottle of Water.

…It left a residue. Her quiet cursing made Vofea smile. The Satyr yanked herself ‘awake’ and swung her legs down to admire them.

“Eh, tisn’t the worst thing to happen, Princess.”

“I know that, but it’s damned uncomfortable!”

Seraphel scrubbed at the weird, filmy layer on her skin. Vofea eyed her.

“So it’s not the smell or your clothes?”

“No. Why would it be…”

Seraphel stared at her clothing, which was filthy, but she fit in with everyone else. Then she sniffed. Her eyes narrowed, and Vofea added unhelpfully with a touch of her mischievous side.

“Well, you lot did march and fight nonstop all this time. And yeh all eat. Not a single break between you. Mostly, it comes out, and it’s not like there’s flies, but—”

The shriek was of Princess Seraphel scrambling to find clothing, any clothing whatsoever. And clean wash water was the least of her concerns. Vofea shrugged.

“Don’t worry! My nose stopped working ages ago!”

 

——

 

There were some mercies. The ‘party’ did stop for breaks to rest their body, wherein they said and did very little. Occasionally, one group would do something, like Rabbiteater’s group finding stones to hand to Menrise’s. Prepping for the next fight in their own way.

There was some intelligence here, but it was like the actions of snails compared to Vofea and Seraphel, who took every moment they had. Mostly to talk and think; their bodies were just as worn out as everyone else’s.

“However, we hopefully won’t die of overwork or starvation. At least we do eat, even if our clothing is horrendous.”

Seraphel eyed the bloody hands shoveling food into mouths or drinking water with great worry, but Vofea had a more pragmatic approach.

“If they’re not bleeding or dying of mana-loss or whatever, it’s the best we can do. Now, what can we do?”

“Well…I think Lord Cortese is figuring out some things. Using the pieces of Throne’s Will as makeshift cover in battle is inspired.”

Even in his role as ‘The Guilty Man’, he was thinking tactically in ways Seraphel could not. She had run around looting all the chests and bags of holding, and as [Princess], she had keys that Vofea had lacked. The net result was several scrolls they could use against foes, and, perhaps most helpfully, they had grabbed every wand they could find and assigned them to Menrise’s group.

That would keep them from dying of mana-loss, or so Seraphel hoped. She’d been tempted to keep one for herself, but as Vofea had pointed out, ‘encounters’ were group battles. There was a limit to how much she and Seraphel could do without grand Skills or combat classes.

Case in point, there was a night attack. Not really an ambush; it scared Seraphel, but they saw the colors, a deep grey, and everyone was standing before the monster group came at them.

It was ‘only’ twenty-eight pig-things. Boars? They had metal armor and tusks, and once they realized how many people were here, they tried to retreat. But by that point, they were overwhelmed by a sea of people swinging weapons into their bodies; metal or not, it just took one ‘turn ’before they were hacked down.

Two casualties on Calanfer’s side. Several more hit hard or knocked flat, but Ser Thilowen’s group had shielded Seraphel’s.

Two…and Seraphel and Vofea hadn’t managed to do anything.

Or correction, Vofea had. The moment she’d seen the armored pigs, she’d charged them, shouting for Seraphel to help. The [Princess] had stabbed their underbellies and bloodied them, but then had to run before they trampled her.

Vofea, realizing the Stelbores were far too armored to cut down, had instead blinded two with quick stabs through the eyes, then discovered there was a gap in their armor. She’d cut the throat of another before they attacked.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Seraphel was kneeling over the two broken and trampled forms—[Sailors], she thought—as Vofea shook her shoulder.

“Princess, we’re moving.”

“We can’t leave them!”

Surely they had time. But the columns of people were trailing onwards, and as the lights of their combined thoughts faded…something was sucking at Vofea and Seraphel. Pulling her thoughts out of her body. As if her mind were nothing more than dust blowing into a vast, impassioned cyclone that would disassemble it, funnel it into—

“Princess!”

She had to leave the bodies, tears running down her cheeks.

 

The Weeping Princess shed more tears. All she was good for was crying.

 

Seraphel could almost hear the voice calling her…but she refused to let herself be subsumed again. She had to try.

“Never again. Never—never again!”

 

——

 

Not everything in these tunnels was violent. Sometimes, the party passed by things and chose to fight—or not. And what could survive in this place in great numbers?

Well, what about four-limbed ‘walkers’ that had no visible bodies? They resembled elephant legs up to an undercarriage of a body—but that was where their form ended. Just a rounded hump with legs, grey and wrinkled. No mouth, no appendages…until you realized their mouth was on their feet.

They walked over the moss to eat it. Then just swayed in place. There were over a hundred of them, and how much danger they could be? Unknown, but it didn’t come to a fight. They fled the moment they saw the party, excreting a slippery substance out of their mouths that might also function as rectums.

That nearly killed Seraphel. Because the moment she’d seen what she thought was a threat, she’d charged the weird walkers and begun slashing, though Ksmvr’s sword had had trouble biting into their hides. Then she’d slipped, realized the party was moving away, and nearly fallen racing back.

The walker-thing’s excrement was as slippery as oil! What had saved Seraphel, as she tried to get up, was her bare hands. She’d found purchase with them and clawed her away across the floor, ruining another dress. But almost being sucked into the terrifying void…

Vofea was good enough not to laugh at her after she’d run to help Seraphel up. Shamefaced, the [Princess] hadn’t said much, but she had realized something from her near-excrement-death.

“The water-stuff. Whatever it is, it let me keep a grip on the ground.”

“Ech, it does build up. See? It’s all over my fur. Beats blood, but it’s like being wet. I keep picking it off.”

Vofea indicated her fur, and the ‘water’ had clumped up like gel and matted on her fur. More finely than the blood, but Seraphel wondered what it was supposed to do.

Making it so the poo-slick didn’t stick to her seemed to be one use. She washed her dress off with the stuff, and then begged Vofea to teach her how to use Ksmvr’s sword. She had to be some use. The Satyr shrugged.

“I was more used to the sling, but fast as need to be—it’s just a firm grip. You’re no swordsmaster. Nor do they attack back. Just get in and stab.”

Seraphel feared she wouldn’t be strong or courageous enough to take a life, even unmolested. Then she thought of the dead [Sailors]. She licked her lips.

“Perhaps a dagger? An enchanted one?”

 

——

 

Wailer Frogs, a native hazard to Izril and Baleros. Their wails could shatter eardrums. In these tunnels?

They’d murder everything. Fortunately, two things occurred. One was that Menrise cast [Silence] which meant you just had a bunch of very loud frogs who could take huge bites out of you.

The second was that Seraphel found her nerve. How, she didn’t know, but in that desperate moment when she realized they might all be deaf or dead, she had an enchanted knife from Menrise and Cortese’s belts and was stabbing.

She popped the Wailer Frogs’ throats as they inflated like bubbles, then slashed their eyes, running in a trail of blood as Vofea swung both of Ksmvr’s swords. She didn’t laugh at Seraphel then.

It wasn’t a long fight by the party’s standards. Two ‘turns’…but to Seraphel, it felt like hours. When she was done, every part of her not covered in the weird ‘water-gel’ was soaked in red. Vofea blinked at her.

“How many frogs did yeh stab, Princess? Must’ve been at least forty.”

“I didn’t count. H-how many people are hurt?”

“Few bad. Those buggers don’t bite bad. Sit down.”

“No, no…let’s bandage them. And the blood, I’ll wash it off with the free water.”

‘Free water’ was her name for the jar’s contents. Seraphel used it to clean herself off, despite the weird film, because, well, water was a limited resource. She had not missed that provisions were already running low.

Indeed, the party began to eat the frogs after making a fire, she was relieved to see. The mechanical cooking of frog meat made her hesitate. Then her stomach rumbled, and she remembered Lord Cortese’s group giving her food.

Besides, frog legs were a delicacy in Desonis. 

…Yup. They tasted just like she remembered. Well, far worse without the spicing. Seraphel gagged a few bites down.

Vofea was impressed. She was having trouble with the foul taste as well.

“You eat frog legs, Princess?”

“Once. Shardele tricked me into thinking I had to when we visited Desonis. I asked for them specially, and the Sleeping Queen watched me eat eight.”

She’d puked into the wastebin after the banquet. Vofea grinned.

“Once, when I was small and new to the Lands of the Fae, I wandered into an old swamp. ‘Twould have been the end of any foolish child but for the Faerie King’s rules. No one to harm guests anymore. Well, some would—but not the lurker of this particular swamp. I was crying, waist-deep in the water with naught a notion of how to find land, nor sight of it, when the waters churned and she arose, foul as a bog witch’s nightmares, breath to kill a thousand flies. Shat myself, did I.”

“How horrible. How did you survive?”

Vofea scratched her neck, embarrassed.

“Eh…not from anything I did. Since she obeyed the Faerie King’s rules, she merely explained t’me what a fool I was. Then she hosted me ‘till I could navigate the swamps.”

“How kind of her then!”

“Well, yes and no. She fed me rotted fish and flies, and toads were the last of her finest fare. Just because I couldn’t be harmed doesn’t mean I couldnae be punished.”

Seraphel shuddered, and Vofea bit some more frog and shuddered too.

“This…is still somehow worse’n her cooking. At least she spiced hers. Ah, but she was a wonderful thing. Old as all are in that place.”

“Older than ten thousand years?”

By now, Vofea had confessed much of who she was, and even if Seraphel was highly skeptical about everything, she could raise an eyebrow and jest with her only sentient friend. Vofea snorted.

“Far older. None are born to the Faerie King’s lands now. Not since…the war. Kaelis, her name was. Loyal as they come, for all she’s a bogglewart swamp creature. Loyal enough to die.”

“Oh, she passed away? I’m sorry.”

“Nah. She came here. Her form’s changed, like Lady Shaestrel and the others, but death comes for us all. I wish she were here. She’d eat up them froggies like lunch. Then cook me some.”

Vofea grew sad, tracing her fingers along the ground. Seraphel swallowed her frog meat, then, after a moment, poured some of her ‘free water’ over the frog meat and took another bite. Vofea eyed her.

“Er, I’m not a great adventurer and whatnot. I’ve only survived the Crossroads of Izril.”

“Only?”

“—Yes, but I dunno if pouring mystery water over frog meat is wise. Then again, I ate pemmican nonstop on the way out of the Crossroads and shat the biggest log in creation after.”

Somehow, all of Seraphel’s adventures with Rabbiteater tended to head towards scatological discussions. She wondered if he had a cursed Skill or something. The [Princess] shrugged.

“It makes it taste better.”

“Issat so? Give some here then.”

 

——

 

After a few cycles of fighting and resting, Seraphel’s arms had stopped burning, and when she saw a threat…she attacked it. Not with skill or grace, mind. But with that desperation, knowing that every monster she did not kill would attack her friends.

She and Vofea felt like the only two waking people tending to an army of sleepwalkers. Accordingly, Seraphel was almost confident the two of them were actually friends.

She had never, ever, even in Noelictus, had to tell someone they had guts hanging off their back—let alone touched actual organs. At first, she was horrified, aghast, additional adjectives of trauma here.

Now, Seraphel just finger-combed Vofea’s fur if it was too matted with filth, and if Vofea pulled something out of her hair, Seraphel didn’t ask what it had been. She felt…tougher, or at least, more mentally numb to seeing blood. Certainly, the constant exertions had an impact on her body. Rabbiteater would have probably still called her weak, but merely walking no longer tired Seraphel.

She just wished she could wake someone up. She had thought, if anyone, Rabbiteater…but no, The Lonely Warrior kept marching along with Badarrow by his side. All of them were under the same spell.

Ksmvr was the only one of them that Vofea had hopes for, and she’d flit to him when they weren’t working, but Seraphel kept trying to wake Menrise or Cortese. She tried everything from foul-smelling liquids to talking to them to using her aura to try and push whatever effect was on them back. She even put her circlet on Cortese’s head—nothing.

It truly did seem like it was perspective or experience that let her and Vofea escape. One from her knowledge of the Lands of the Fae—Seraphel from her encounters with the Witch of Webs and her own long war against despair. Nothing else could break someone from the trance. Not pain nor auras nor even sound.

Seraphel knew that because at some point a little red…thing appeared and started following Lord Cortese around. It just flew through a wall after one of their battles and started buzzing at him. At first quietly, then with increasing noise. It would shrill so loudly Seraphel’s ears rang, stop for hours at a time, then buzz like a hive from hell.

“What is that?”

Vofea finally lost her temper and swatted at the bug after a long time of them hoping it would wake Lord Cortese. Seraphel tried to ‘kill’ the spell or whatever it was, but her enchanted daggers just passed through it.

“It must be a spell. A high-level one. It’s trying to reach Cortese.”

“Isn’t that bad, what with scrying spells showing where we are?”

“This is no ordinary scrying spell, believe me! And it is—so—annoying!”

Seraphel kept swatting until the dratted thing ceased to buzz. It seemed like whoever was on the other side had only the patience to annoy him for a few minutes at a time, but dead gods, the volume.

…Well, the mystery of Cortese’s mysterious ‘bug spell’ aside, Seraphel had little time to think of more than preparing for the next ‘encounter’ in the dreadful maze. Each new group of monsters meant her and Vofea racing forwards to try and lame or kill as many as possible to save the party from taking ‘damage’.

“I can’t believe none of you realize it’s such fakeness.”

Vofea panted as they were cleaning up after one fight. Seraphel was wiping blood off the daggers onto her riding dress.

“It feels much like a dream. You know, one you don’t realize you’re in? Only, at the same time, all makes sense. I was simply The Weeping Princess—only in my case, I hated it; I’d sworn to stop being so helpless. But I was more than myself, if that makes sense.”

“Oh, aye, it does. But how d’you reckon with that annoying narration giving experience and damage? Too much of a game, that.”

The [Princess] hesitated.

“…What narration? Experience? Damage? It seems to me as if we’re like marching pieces on some great board, like chess, only far more detailed. We swing swords or flail about as the ‘enemy’ comes out of the darkness. That is what I remember.”

A sea of figurines, all of whom resembled a [Princess] veiled in tears, marching forwards. All of them her, but no specific piece her body. A being that was made up of ideas of what she was, of her grief—not her memories or personality.

Vofea’s mouth opened.

“I, eh—nevermind.”

“You clearly saw something different. Tell me.”

“Oh, aye. But I, ah, I’ll explain as best I can, but it won’t make sense to yeh. That clears it up, though. Each to their own point of view.”

That was when it was easier. But there were moments when she wished she had never woken. That would have been so much—

Easier.

 

——

 

The Grim Knight lands a killing blow at last! He delivers 12 damage!

 

(The Hammering Brute is defeated! 333 EXP awarded! The Brute’s Club found!)

 

The Green Knight grins, then grimaces. He takes 2 poison damage. He tries to walk it off.

The Guilty Man is bleeding. He takes 14 damage. He decides to bandage himself.

 

“No. Nononono—Vofea! Vofea!”

They were trying. But the Trolls or whatever they’d been fighting had swung huge clubs covered in bits of metal. And they were out of potions.

Vofea was feeling at the Creler-bit wounds she’d bandaged.

“Ksmvr said to do this. They’re not getting better.”

“Vofea! It’s Revi! Come quickly! Hurry!”

The Satyr turned and ran. She saw Seraphel trying to hold onto half of Revi’s…face. Vofea halted, afraid the Stitch-woman was dead, but Seraphel panted at her.

“Get some thread and cloth. Hurry! She’s cloth. We might—might—”

They had to stitch her face closed as best they could. And she wasn’t the only one. Ser Thilowen’s armor was dented inwards, and one of his ears had been torn off his…

Seraphel walked up and down the lines, ignoring those tending to themselves. Counting the ones who’d fallen without a word. She came to a halt just once.

Bent down.

“Vofea? Do you think I should have stayed home?”

She was too tired to cry. The Satyr came over. When she saw what Seraphel was gazing at, she just sighed and hugged Seraphel.

“I wanted t’ do something important.”

“So did I. So did everyone. Help me…please.”

They dragged a body up onto the wagons. Then found Admiral Dakelos sitting, a leg broken, blank-faced. Seraphel hated Ailendamus. She would have rather died than leave him behind.

Onwards they marched.

 

——

 

At some point, Seraphel realized she had killed more creatures with her bare hands than she could count. She did not know if she was ‘good’ at it, but she did it quickly, and when the next group arrived, she killed them fast.

They were standing targets; her killing was no [Warrior]’s techniques but akin to a [Butcher] culling a herd, gruesome as it was. She cut throats and let the blood rush out and her victims never reacted. Or she did worse. Acts of violence she would never countenance except in this moment.

This time, Seraphel went for the eyes of the giant salamanders spitting globules of poison at the Calanferians. She only backed off if she saw Menrise about to cast a spell or Cortese’s group deploying the ship parts.

Nor was she wildly swinging. Seraphel would not become a [Warrior] for her actions here, she knew. Her method of dispatching monsters was expedient. Energy-saving.

She just knelt down on the back of each salamander’s head and let gravity shove the dagger blade through their heads. One after another. She could kill a dozen or more with each ‘action’.

She hoped they’d stop to eat these ones. It had been a while since she’d had food, and the party needed it. But then again, they were poisonous. Or she assumed it was poison. She’d wash all the open wounds with the free water as soon as…

The danger that Seraphel was not used to in these situations, that Rabbiteater, Cortese, or any seasoned veteran would have been used to, was developing tunnel vision. So singleminded was Seraphel on her current foe that it was only when the second foe crawled over her that she realized another group had entered the fray.

Guess who?

“No, no! Not again!”

Crelers. They ignored Seraphel, of course, ripping into the salamanders, but she screamed and tossed them off her as Vofea yelled.

“Seraphel, it’s a big swarm! Get back! I’m using a scroll! [Flamestrike]!”

Without hesitation, the Satyr unleashed the scrolls they’d grabbed for this reason. Seraphel ran back, then fired off one of her scrolls too. Flames baked the salamanders and Crelers alike—before a [Grand Lightning] spell blasted through them.

It kicked Seraphel off her feet, and she landed, dazed, but already getting up. She had to stop them. How many were there? There must have been another nest. Crelers were known to repopulate with great speed, and this place was a perfect spot for them because of how hard it would be for any force to kill them. 

She ran at the Crelers, stabbing desperately. She had to kneel down to stab them with the daggers. She should have had longer weapons, but Seraphel flung herself on them, flipping the Crelers to gouge out their insides. Blood on her hands.

Eight—nine—as many as she could before they attacked! Hurry, hurry—they were eating the salamanders, thank goodness. So she had an entire turn to kill as many as possible. Hurry!

 

——

 

(For some reason, the Ravening Beast has taken 162 damage. For some reason, the Venomous Crawler has taken 144 damage.)

The Lonely Warrior tilts his head before charging into battle. He feels like enemies have been taking random damage more and more. He thinks of an [Innkeeper], then attacks. He deals 77 damage!

 

(The Ravening Beast is consuming as much of the Venomous Crawler as it can. It’s carrying its prey. The Ravening Beast is attempting to flee!)

 

“Seraphel, they’re leaving! Seraphel, wait, come back! You’re too far away! Seraphel—!”

(The Ravening Beast escapes!)

 

——

 

Only when Seraphel saw the orange swarm pulling back and heard Vofea’s voice did she realize she’d erred in her zealous assault. Namely, because there was now a gap between the party and the Crelers. And as the Crelers began to retreat, carrying chunks of the slain salamanders—the light of their malice, red and dark, began to recede. And the green glow of safety and Rabbiteater’s group, nearest to hers—

The darkness yawned between her and safety. At least a hundred feet or more. Seraphel froze, orange blood stinging as it dripped from her arms and cheeks.

She’d never been this far from the party. Even twenty feet from the glow felt like she had been moments away from being disassembled. Could she make the run? She hesitated, and Vofea shrieked.

“Seraphel! Run!”

The [Princess] began to, but then felt the void ripping her mind up. She screamed, reversed, and then she was running to the only place of safety.

Namely: the Creler swarm. Seraphel chased after them, taking refuge in their red thoughts as Vofea screamed.

“Seraphel! Solstice, someone! Save her! Seraphel! Serapheeeeeeel!”

“Vofea! Tell them—”

Seraphel didn’t know what to say. Nor did she have time. The last thing she heard was Vofea’s anguished voice. Then?

Then she was in the company of Crelers.

 

——

 

As deaths went, this…this was a bad one. The [Princess] ran, leaving a trail of glowing orange ichor of their blood as she followed the Crelers. They scurried down the tunnels, but slowly, dragging their food with them. Every moment she expected the swarm—and they had to be at least two hundred strong after the spells she and Vofea had unleashed on them—to turn on her.

But the ‘rules’ of this place saved her. These Baby Crelers were bound by the same laws as she. They didn’t notice a single presence among them, at least, not at first. For her part, Seraphel was terrified.

She was dead. Unless, somehow, these Crelers went to attack her friends again, she was now stuck in their company or any group they ran into—and Crelers didn’t leave many survivors. Worse, she couldn’t even kill them or she’d extinguish the one light saving her.

Dead, dead, dead, dead—she ran awkwardly, panting, glad that Rabbiteater had tried to train her to some physical level. A stitch was eating into her side, but she dared not slacken the pace. That was how her disaster started.

It got worse. She didn’t know how the Crelers thought, not at first. But like the glow of her own party, their emotions and memories—such as they were—formed a viscous red overhead. And the more time she spent in it, the more she thought…

She could understand them.

 

——

 

(You swarm back through the tunnels, back to the Primary Nest, as directed. Rage begets your every movement. But the foe is not to be engaged. Two nests now lie silent. The last shall not fall. All must die—but in time.)

(These thoughts are beyond you. You only understand hunger, death, the will to kill all in the name of She Who Slumbers. But something else occurs to you.)

 

Swarm (^ detects something is off. A…presence. It is unwelcome. Unwanted. But unlocatable. Wrong, wrong. Wrongwrongwrong. Kill it. Prey, but where?

It must devour, but it cannot find it. Hunger. Kill. Grow. Hunger, kill, grow. HUNGER. KILL. GROW—

Then she is part of it. Swarm (^ recoils. A mind has entered theirs, one that shines with thoughts. Colors never dreamed of, bubbling through their singular color like agony.

Wondrous. Hateful. They scream. They would tear her apart, but there is no ‘her’. Just it.

Swarm (^ tries to devour itself. It deals 11 damage to itself, but the colors remain.

It hears the will from the Primary Nest. It must return. It scuttles onwards. Now it screams. Its colors are strong, but in front of the myriad, they are a contrast, dimmed by comparison. Something is trying to subsume their will.

 

(The Weeping Creler is howling agony as it returns to the Primary Nest. It rages against itself, but it cannot win. Not children. It drops its meal and meets Swarm f++e, Swarm %e, Swarm 9fe*. They back away from The Weeping Creler. It must be destroyed.)

(The Awakened enters the Primary Nest. It removes the taint from The Weeping Creler. Swarm (^ is freed!)

 

The Awakened orders Swarm (^ to kill themselves. They have been tainted.

Swarm (^ hesitates. It wishes to live.

 

(Swarm f++e, Swarm %e, and Swarm 9fe* attack the traitorous swarm. They deal 255 damage. Swarm (^ is destroyed. 455 experience awarded to Princess Seraphel.)

 

——

 

The last of the Baby Crelers died in moments. It was beyond fast. Three swarms of Crelers rolled over them, and Seraphel—

Seraphel was backed against a wall by the ‘Awakened’, the gestalt that had noticed her trying to take over the swarm’s mind and had ripped her out of it. The good news?

It wasn’t an Elder Creler. Which was excellent, really. Elder Crelers were kingdom-level threats. One had once assailed Noelictus, and the [King], royal army, and entire Hunter’s Guild, including Piortesenzth at the time, had been forced to fight it off in a desperate last-stand for the capital.

Mind you, he’d claimed he’d fought worse. But if you knew who Piortesenzth was, that still painted a horrific picture.

No, the ‘Awakened’ was just an aspirational name compared to the Baby and Juvenile Crelers in the other swarms. It was an Adult Creler. Easy. Simple! Ksmvr’s team had killed one, and so Seraphel was sure that he and Vofea could do it again if they got the chance. Adult Crelers were killed all the time, as she understood it. For any one team, they might be a problem, but for an army, even Calanfer’s weary force, she was sure an Adult Creler was a piece of cake.

She really, really hoped that was the case because otherwise, four Adult Crelers would tear anything in this place to pieces. But, well…

This was it. She was backed into a wall, breathing painfully—something was pressing against her chest. Not a claw or anything she could see. Something was lifting her up and had slammed her into the stone.

A mind. Their minds. She could actually hear their thoughts. It came from that hateful brain lodged in their massive bodies. Each Adult Creler was larger than a peasant’s cottage by far, almost centipede-like but rearing upwards. So a centaur-centipede, perhaps, with a massive maw that could spit projectiles, huge spiked legs, and bellies now armored and no longer weak to gutting from below like Juvenile and Baby Crelers.

Oh, and they had minds. They thought. Unlike the mindless rage of Baby Crelers, these four had detected her and were analyzing her. It was a vast, dark pulsing trying to crack her head open and rip out her thoughts like this damn dungeon, but even more insidious.

What protected Seraphel were two things: her aura, which she was using to push at the horrid thoughts, and her circlet. She could feel it activating.

Anti-telepathy wasn’t one of the functions she was familiar with it having, but it was as close to a Relic as Calanfer had for the royal family. The combined might of four Adult Crelers was burning it and Seraphel to the limit, though.

At last, the force on her slackened, and the Adult Creler gestalt let her go, and their bellies dimmed. She landed, gasping, and heard it thinking.

 

(Individual mind. Like others. Kill/devour/grow. Two nests lost. Primary in danger. Swarms kill threats. Now is the time. Kill all.)

 

It was thinking outside of the pool of thoughts above her! It seemed to take effort, but she did not like independent thinkers on the enemy side.

With that said, the Adult Crelers didn’t appear to have attained Vofea and Seraphel’s freedoms. The darker purple malevolence of its thoughts retreated reluctantly to let the red hatred of each swarm activate. They were eating their kin and the food they’d brought.

When The Awakened got a chance to act, it did by blasting the swarms. Each of the four Adult Crelers opened their maws, and Seraphel flinched as stone chips exploded upwards, and Baby Crelers died screaming.

Even a Juvenile Creler was turned into a mess of orange-and-black chitin. The Adult Crelers launched a volley, then projected their thoughts.

 

(Contaminated minds! Purge contamination.)

 

They did not like what she’d done to the first swarm. Seraphel crept left as the Adult Crelers froze up, grudgingly, and the swarms milled about. They began to hesitantly attack themselves, but realized the first and only problem of Creler physiology.

How did one kill one’s own number without eating them? All of Creler’s biology was designed to rip and devour whatever they latched onto. Also, who knew who had eaten what? In gestalt-form, the swarms had no individuality. The culling was therefore…messy, hesitant. The swarms didn’t want to kill themselves, but The Awakened commanded it.

That gave Seraphel plenty of time to analyze just how dead she was, and she took that time to do so. For one thing, she had gotten a firsthand view of a Creler nest from the inside, something few people ever experienced for more than milliseconds…alive.

Some [Monster Observer] would kill for this view. Seraphel? She just gazed around the room of pulsing, sickening orange light and began running along the outskirts of it. Then she began running over the Creler eggs.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Well, they also squished horribly. Little pre-larval Crelers writhed and died. They would have attacked her except that this maze just ripped out their minds. The eggs were covering the floor, the far wall, the ceiling…the sight of so many made Seraphel literally sick to her stomach, but she had to find a way to hide or—or—

The second feature of the Creler nest was the chitin. It was the same color as the Crelers’ bodies. That black chitin, but rough. Built up with a product of their bile or something. It had sealed all entrances to the nest but one, and, she suspected, was harder than steel.

The swarms were by the entrance, and anyways, what could she do? Run? She’d be dead out there in a moment. So Seraphel waded through the eggs, trying to find something, anything.

The Crelers had made a kind of throne or central repository where she bet they put all food they hadn’t eaten; behind it, the eggs. The Awakened was in front of this repository, but by wading up through the eggs—and puking in her mouth twice—Seraphel could climb a staircase or whatever was buried under the eggs and gaze down into the center of the nest.

What she saw…did not make her happier. It turned out Crelers and ‘stored food’ was a bit of a misnomer.

Crelers didn’t store food. What they had, they ate. The only reason the swarms were bringing back food was for the Adult Crelers. What was in the center of their nest was…a fifth Adult Creler.

Only, this one was covered in a gelly orange-white sack and looked like the largest larvae in the world. It was half again as big as the other Adult Crelers and twitched sporadically as Seraphel stared down in horror at it.

This was an Elder Creler. In gestation.

“Eternal Throne and Hundred Heroes, Queen Marquin the Radiant, I have heard it said that you send greater challenges to those with the levels capable of dealing with them, but if that is so, why am I here?”

Seraphel had gone from ‘we will likely all die’ to ‘I am certainly going to die horribly’ to ‘it’s probably not going to be more painful but this is the worst death I can imagine’.

She’d already capped out the insanity of the situation. However, her time was running out: The Awakened had its turn, and it decided the problem of contamination was best solved by…death.

All four Adult Crelers began to fire their projectiles from their mouths nonstop, like thunder, scything down all three swarms. Which….was a plus?

I’ve killed over eight hundred Baby Crelers and at least several dozen Juvenile Crelers too! That had to be worth something, right?

The downside was that The Awakened now had complete economy of action since it was by itself. She expected it to come after her, but it had, seemingly, lost track of her. The four Adult Crelers scurried left and right, but didn’t check their eggs…presumably, they thought nothing would be that stupid. After clawing at the walls in frustration, Seraphel thought she might have a chance! Though if they left the room, she was also dead.

Then The Awakened seemed to decide that having killed all of their minions, they were now in trouble. So, all four Adult Crelers moved to the center of the rooms, and their bellies undulated. A bunch of tiny lights glowed from within their stomachs, and—what happened next, Ksmvr would have warned Seraphel about.

The Adult Crelers began to vomit up more Baby Crelers. Hundreds of them, which subdivided into new swarms.

Seraphel took a moment for her own personal action: vomiting the rest of her stomach straight onto the unborn Elder Creler below her. She gagged, washed her mouth out with the free water, and then spat.

“Th-that’s for Calanfer!”

Vomiting on an Elder Creler had to be worth at least a few points in Queen Marquin’s eyes, surely. Seraphel closed her eyes. There was nothing for it. She peeked down, then jumped off the ledge.

Straight onto the Elder Creler.

“Argh!”

The cocoon-membrane was harder than she thought. Seraphel twisted around in agony as it twitched, then scrambled down along its obscenely grotesque body. She was not mad. There was, in fact, a method to this.

Firstly—The Awakened. The Adult Crelers would search for her or order their swarms to. They might find her amongst the eggs, but would they crawl over this member of their species? Perhaps not. Second, Seraphel had seen something it was curled around. Something that glittered and made her think that Crelers operated in the best traditions of Humans, many monsters, and magpies.

Third? If there were any way in the world to hurt it, she was going to try. The gestating Elder Creler affronted something truly primal in Seraphel’s being. She understood why even rabbits or peaceful animals fought Crelers. This thing radiated a hatred of the world, and the world loathed it right back.

Neither one of us shall allow the other to live. If I’m to die down here, I might as well…Seraphel viciously stabbed a red eye staring without a pupil though the layers of gel. She cut through the membrane in a few stabs, and then hit the eye.

Crack. After the third stab, Seraphel heard a cracking sound and raised Menrise’s dagger. The enchanted blade had snapped right off at the tip. She swallowed.

“Magical resistance. Right.”

There went killing it. Seraphel gave it a kick anyways, then slid along its cocoon towards what it was curled around. In the background, she could hear-think The Awakened giving directions to the swarm.

 

(Slay the intruders. Find the contamination. Destroy it.)

 

What felt like…one swarm was going out on an attack mission. Two began scuttling around the walls. Seraphel glanced up and turned dead white.

They were coming over the ceiling. Probing every inch of the room except for right here. She crawled forwards and finally arrived at a spot that wasn’t Elder Creler. She reached down, grunted, and sighed.

“…This isn’t even a real pearl.”

Seraphel the [Entomologist] had just discovered a truth about Crelers unknown to the world. That they hoarded treasure or inedible valuables from their enemies? Known. A wise move to deny other beings magical assets. Very common across all species, really. That they couldn’t discern real gemstones from fake? That was news.

The Elder Creler was curled around a literal mound of treasure like some Dragon of old. Or perhaps Wyrm…the Elder Creler was elongating, its body changing in ways Seraphel didn’t want to look too closely at, but those eyes were going to be on its sides and underbelly too. Red and horrible. A city-eater. She began tossing things over her shoulder.

Hands with rings still attached to them. Pieces of gold, ruined armbands with bitemarks still visible on them, even a shield sadly scarred by Creler venom.

All of it non-valuable. Seraphel’s one ability was to tell the worth of something. A [Princess] did handle more money than most people would in their lifetimes. She was searching, searching for something she could use. Like, say, a handy Scroll of Greater Teleportation just lying there.

It had worked for Ksmvr, apparently. Unfortunately…Seraphel realized that real some of the loot here was, none of it appeared magical to her eyes. And she could cast [Detect Magic]!

“What in the world? Some of this should be magical. It’s high enough quality. But it’s dead. Dead, dead, dead.”

Some of these gemstones were so pure, so cleanly cut that she would have taken them if she weren’t about to die. She found a ruby half the size of her head without a single flaw in the entire gem matrix!

Even in Salazsar, this would be worth a fortune! It was an [Enchanter]’s wet dream…and it was devoid of magic. She hucked it at the Elder Creler’s nearest eye and winced as it bounced over its body and hit the ground.

The crack of that gem shattering probably would have given a [Gemcutter] a heart attack. But it was magically dead. So was the scarred shield, this ring, and they looked—

When the shield soared like a frisbee past the Elder Creler’s body, something peculiar happened. It suddenly ignited in flames! Blue fire coated it, and it landed, burning. Several Baby Crelers scrambled away in a panic.

“Huh?”

Seraphel poked her head up. She stared at the shield, which suddenly was very magical to her eyes, then at the Elder Creler.

“Oh, it’s eating magic. Is that how Elder Crelers evolve?”

Not just spell resistance, but mana absorption. How was a [Mage] supposed to even fight an Elder Creler? The damaged shield was making an uneven sputtering sound as the flames crackled, and Seraphel ducked down as The Awakened noticed the commotion and came over. The Adult Crelers didn’t really have manipulable digits, so one pawed awkwardly at the tiny shield relative to it. Then they tried to get Baby Crelers to pick it up, but that just set the little ones on fire. Eventually, one of the Adult Crelers stomped right on the shield…and it exploded.

When Seraphel’s ears stopped ringing, she poked her head over The Awakened Creler’s cocoon and saw it was peppered with bits of chitin. The Adult Creler was now missing half of that particular leg and was not too happy about it.

Another victory for Seraphel the Cursed! She almost laughed, but ducked down as the unhappy Adult Crelers thundered around, clearly thinking that she’d done that and looking for her. And again, they didn’t really think to check the Elder Creler because who would be right there?

Quietly as she could, Seraphel changed her identification process. Now she had a good idea that everything here might be magical, but was being leeched of power, she had to select the most valuable-looking items and move away from the Elder Creler to appraise them. Oh, and if she carried too many magical items, the interference would cause a magical chain-reaction and potentially destroy this entire nest.

With that in mind, Seraphel stuffed all the most valuable items into her dress she could, on the principle that at least it’d be quick and do more good than her being eaten, and began to climb out of the cocoon. She was trying to find purchase on the slippery, resinous jelly when she noticed one of the red eyes on the Elder Creler’s sides had developed…a dot.

A purple dot. You might think it was black, but no. Purple. It moved about, bouncing oddly as she froze, then fixed on her. Then it pulsed…and six more dots floated into place, and all pointed at her. They were connected by sinuous nerve cords as something swam inside of the Creler’s eye socket and focused on her.

The unborn Elder Creler had noticed the disturbance. And its brain had just found her. Seraphel heard a voice in her head. It projected one idea beyond words into her mind, a concept flashing from its brain to hers. The Elder Creler said:

 

(DISGUSTING.)

 

Seraphel had never been more insulted in her life. She began climbing faster as the brain inside the Elder Creler’s larval form flitted to another eye. It was pulsing now, faster.

 

(INTRUDER. SLAY IT. DISRUPTION OF THE EVOLUTION. SLAY IT, WORTHLESS FOOLS.)

 

That wasn’t what it ‘said’, of course. It was thought-ideas, concepts. It mostly expressed that the Crelers in the nest, Adults included, were worthless, ineffective spawn that had less utility than Creler excrement. But it did also give the other Crelers exact coordinates on Seraphel’s location.

She cleared the Elder Creler’s cocoon as all the other Crelers froze in disbelief. They focused on Seraphel as she splatted on the ground and then got up, body in agony. She began to run, grateful for the stupid gel that gave her traction on the ichor-slick floors.

Crelers staring in disbelief. The Elder Creler’s wrath over the disgusting intruder that had sullied its pristine body and nest roaring in her ears. Seraphel couldn’t help it. The artifacts she’d looted were beginning to vibrate as they all regained what magic they had left and began to interfere with each other. She turned and shouted over her shoulder.

“Disgusting? I don’t want to hear that word from a half-baked maggot that can’t even control a single enchanted labyrinth with an entire army of Crelers! I’ve known Sariant Lambs more sinister than you!”

In her final moments, Seraphel the Sharptongued, devoid of fighting ability, magical acumen, or great strategic insights used the only Skills she had.

[Dizzying Rebuke]. And [Royal Rebuke].

Rather to her surprise—the watching brain recoiled as her Skills activated. The mental pulse of pain sent the entire nest into a confused frenzy. Seraphel ran for the exit. Her dress was vibrating—she tossed rings and amulets over her shoulders until she felt the warning signs of interference stop. Then, as one of the Adult Crelers opened its maw, the artifacts exp—

 

——

 

(Newborn Swarm thi! takes 44 damage. Newborn Swarm 88v takes 101…for some reason.)

(The destruction to Primary Nest is extensive. The Elder has taken no damage but it is hurt. The Elder is raging. The Elder is afraid.)

 

The Elder orders the swarms to find the intruder. 

Newborn Swarm thi! thoroughly investigates Primary Nest. It finds nothing but rubble and a cocoon. Newborn Swarm thi! takes 2 damage while investigating the cocoon for some reason.

Newborn Swarm 88v investigates the area outside of the Primary Nest. It finds only rubble.

The Elder is thinking. ‘If it is not in the nest, it cannot survive.’ The problem has been dealt with. It orders Newborn Swarm 88v to begin repairs. Newborn Swarm thi! will attack and kill all intruders.

 

(The air is laden with smoke and debris, and a foreign will is furious, stymied. This has been an unprecedented setback. Enraging. The intruders must all die for this affront. The Elder will begin a slaughter. There are three groups of intruders. Slay them all. Slay them all.)

 

 

——

 

He could hear it. All of it. Thousands of minds screaming everything they were up into the sky, like other species’ children. Unable to regulate their volume, mixing and merging in a terrifying, beautiful miasma. Creating something…new. Something he had felt once before.

A Unitasis Network, but wrong. One where you lost yourself; instead of a new being thinking with a thousand minds, it was limited, all that information and perspective condensed around a single entity, like Rabbiteater. And he was trapped too. His ‘voice’ was so loud it drew them to him, as if he exerted a magnetic force, but he was just as trapped.

They were all trapped down here. Even the Antinium. But he had been made for something like this.

So he drifted. Just like at Albez. In and out. It was like he was newly made again, and the Free Queen was listing all the ways she had failed him. Failed to make him perfect.

If I possessed one whit of the abilities of a true Shaper Queen, you would exceed any dark dreams of Drakes. Instead, you are a superior mind held back by every inch of your form, as Klbkchhezeim. Thus I name you Ksmvr; your body is ill-made, but you are needed as a last resort. Remember this. Even ill-made, you are Antinium. The memory of mastery must serve.

Ksmvr drifted. When he woke, when he returned to Izril, Liscor, and that Hive, he swore he would tell the Free Queen her memory of mastery had been enough. Enough…to at least see both worlds.

 

(The party is lost. An unknown amount of time has passed since your entry into the maze. The Mysterious Watcher’s guidance has led you here, but the paths begin to split. Did they lead you astray? There is a three-way fork. Which way do you go?)

The Weeping Princess is undecided. She has lost her course. She turns to the little Grim Knight figurine for guidance. 

It does not know and does not respond.

The Guilty Man is paralyzed by another choice. A little red firefly follows him, but he ignores it.

The Angry Woman chooses left.

The Lonely Warrior closes his eyes and spins in a circle. He chooses left as well.

 

Leftwards, then. Ksmvr felt the group moving, felt himself moving. He was the Grim Knight. He was Ksmvr, bumping along in the wagon, tied up for his own safety.

Drifting…

He fought for lucidity. Fought to hear the low voice, the only voice of sanity in this madness. Had there been two? He didn’t…know.

“Wrong way. Wrong way, it’s the…I can’t see shite, but I can see that!”

Vofea. Rookie. Not to die. The only person who…Ksmvr’s mandibles opened.

“Vofea.”

She heard him in that silence broken only by the creak of wagon wheels, the jangle of armor, and the footfalls of the masses. She ran back.

“Ksmvr, you’re back! Seraphel. I lost Seraphel. But she’s not dead. I didn’t see her death. She might be dead, but I don’t see anything.”

The Satyr was bloody, exhausted. He should be fighting, not her. The Antinium wanted to stand, but the grey was pulling him up.

“Good rookie. Sometimes they die. Keep yourself alive.”

“She’s a [Princess], though.”

“Crossbow Stan was a good man. Can’t stop Crelers. What…what way is wrong?”

He fought to get the words out; the memory of the Bloodfields was crowding him, pulling out of him and floating upwards. Vofea cocked her head, then replied swiftly.

“Nothing future-sighted. Just obvious sight. Look—eh, you can’t. Here, see?”

She pushed him across the wagon, rolling him until his head lolled on the ground. Ksmvr stared at the stupid, ceaseless tunnel of grey lit by the light of emotions, and then he did see. Though it was embarrassing how long it took.

“No…tracks.”

Simple deduction, really. Vofea nodded. There was some dust and moss here—the way they were going didn’t bear any signs of mass transit. Those…Lizardpeople would have exited this maze by another route.

“If we run into more monsters…”

“Keep fighting. Use…potions…”

“We’re out of healing potions.”

Dire and direrer. Ksmvr struggled.

“Alchemy. Potions of Blast. Bag of holding, labeled. Put together and explode. Find more. Quartermaster.”

She understood and rummaged in his bag of holding. Ksmvr wanted to add, ‘get clear of the blast’, but he had to trust her. Had to do something.

“Seraphel.”

“She’s gone, Ksmvr. But that isn’t all. There’s more here.”

His head lolling; he was losing control. No, nonono! He had to find a way for Vofea to get them back on track! They wouldn’t survive getting lost further! But also…drool was dripping from Ksmvr’s mandibles. His mind scattering. He couldn’t best that pull yanking him back upwards into Ser Thilowen’s amalgamation.

Not him. Not Revi. Not even a Goblin Lord. This place had rules. Strange ones, but they intersected with classes. Cortese trumped Revi’s guilt. There was a reason Menrise, Cortese, Rabbiteater and Seraphel had all ‘absorbed’ the others. Noble classes. Hierarchy. And more—he slurred.

“Yes. Thissssss…place is old. Older than Antinium.”

“I know. It ain’t rotted, but it smells of age.”

“Older than their levels.”

Vofea’s hands slipped as she dragged him back upright and made him comfortable.

“You’re sure?”

Ksmvr was drifting off, but he felt it. He whispered as he fell upwards, but down was where terrors awaited.

“They built this place out of Seamwalkers. When they were…before they had levels. An experiment. Does every species experiment…? Lost. I have to—”

The party was marching down the tunnel. What could he tell Vofea? What could he say? The Antinium saw her touching his hands.

“You rest now. I’ll, eh, figure out where more of them potions are hiding. Blow up the next thing we meet.”

The Antinium vanished. All his will, his determination, his desperate need to protect—he was gone.

 

The Grim Knight remains. A little toy riding in The Weeping Princess’ dress. 

 

No matter how loud a single soul shouted—none of them understood this. None of them had been here before. But they were learning. Even if they couldn’t escape.

 

The Angry Woman is harboring her mana. She readies a barrier spell. She feels as though that’s essential.

The Guilty Man is checking for traps. 

The Lonely Warrior eats some moss.

The Weeping Princess feels like she’s lost something. She keeps looking over her shoulder, but she doesn’t know where it is.

 

Suddenly, The Grim Knight toy comes to life. He gazes down at the ground, and an idea strikes him. He tugs The Weeping Princess’ dress.

She looks down and doesn’t understand what she’s seeing.

The Guilty Man is confused. He swats at the red bug flying around him. He doesn’t have time for it now.

A spell is cast. [Detect Magic]…but The Angry Woman finds nothing out of the ordinary.

Wait…the ground? The Lonely Warrior gets down on one knee and realizes there are no tracks. Are they going the wrong way?

It was just a thought. As the party deliberates, The Grim Knight smiles in relief. He doesn’t know why, only that it makes him feel better.

 

——

 

Vofea gazed around as the ceaseless march halted. She peered at the line of kneeling figures inspecting the ground. Then at Ksmvr. The Satyr glanced up at the grey cloud as it turned, and the party reversed.

She hugged him hard. Then began tying Potions of Blast together with a piece of twine. By the time she was done, she had a satchel of twenty potions in a sack. She reckoned if she whirled it around, she could throw them just far enough not to kill herself. She’d find out.

They were fighting, adventurers and, she hoped, the Princess too. What was clear to Vofea, as she sniffed the air and cupped one ear, was also that they were not alone.

There was another group in the tunnels. More monsters? Or someone else?

 

——

 

One of her teeth was broken. Her mother was going to be so unhappy with her.

The [Princess] was lost in the darkness. Something was pulling at her. Something else was crushing her. Her mind and body—being torn apart.

But she was giggling. Laughing in delight at the damage she’d caused in no time at all. Impossible luck. A charmed life, but not the way you thought. It was always like that.

The Elder Creler was just another one of her victims. Another suitor…they all died. She killed them all. Her curse couldn’t be stopped, even by Rhir’s nightmares.

So weak. From disaster to disaster she flitted. She really was…cursed.

Then the yawning vortex was dragging her up, trying to divide her being into pieces that would be torn across this maze. Processed and rendered down, like—like—food.

She was terribly afraid; the faint protections on her skin were fading. The bubble was bursting. An ancient force snatched her up, beginning to unmake her with uncaring force as her pain-shocked mind lost touch with reality. Her grip loosened.

Then she was flying into the void, and vast limbs of a being too alien for comprehension were reaching for her. They closed around her soul—

And halted. A hand grasped Seraphel first. A presence infinitely more vast and complex. An unknowable sovereign.

The creation of Gods reached down and touched Seraphel, as it always did. Bringing gifts. It spoke as it held the maze’s power back effortlessly.

 

[Class Change: Deathtouch Princess → Cursed Princess Class!]

[Cursed Princess Level 32!]

[Skill – Resistance: Curses Obtained!]

[Skill – Inflict Curse: Self Obtained!]

[Curse – The Synectic Haze Obtained!]

[Curse – Helpful Servant’s Smile Obtained!]

[Curse – Stinging Warts Obtained!]

[Skill – Transfer Afflictions (Self) Obtained!]

[Skill – Share Curse (Mass) Obtained!]

[Skill Change: Dizzying Rebuke → Hexer’s Rebuke!]

 

Then it let her go, and she dropped back into her body as the maze tried to drag her soul out. But it couldn’t…not quite. She was giggling again.

I really am…

 

——

 

Seraphel opened her eyes, and her mouth was bloody. She was in agony. Something was crushing her head. She groaned and tried to move; stones cascaded down, and she realized she was upside-down and buried.

The tunnel. It had collapsed on—Seraphel shoved, weakly, and the rocks cut into her arms as she rose.

“I’m alive?”

It was almost perfectly dark. Only the faintest red glow kept her from being in pitch blackness; the Crelers were gone. Their nest sat across from where Seraphel had been tossed by the magical explosions. A faint orange light emerged from the spiked nest. But there was nothing around her.

I should be dead. She remembered her levels, of course. But even then…was [Resistance: Curse] enough to keep her alive? For that matter, how had the magical explosion not killed her? One did not simply walk away from explosions of that caliber. If they had wounded the Adult Crelers, they should have vaporized her.

Seraphel spat blood as her head finally broke into the open air. She spat something else out—a bit of red ivory. Her mouth was still cut up, and she gasped as she finally righted herself. Then, and only then, did she see what had actually saved her life.

“Oh. My. So that’s what it does?”

When she looked down at her body, the stone dust slid off that familiar filmy membrane from her Bottle of Water. Only, it had markedly changed from the translucent stuff she remembered.

It…was blackened, ablated, and flaking off along her back. She touched it, and some of the gel fell to the ground.

“Did it absorb the magic? But how…?”

It must absorb mana. But that didn’t explain the other thing she was seeing. Where the fine layer of gel wasn’t blackened, there was that pale, familiar red glow. Coming from under her skin.

The Creler’s rage and malice. The light of it was…shining from her body. It made her actually fairly nauseous, and her own hatred bubbled up, all her dark urges and repressed desires to kill or hurt—but it was also shielding her from being sucked into the void, so she kept it.

“It’s keeping the light in. It’s some kind of magic-absorbing water. Like a—a—a shield?”

She was no [Mage]. But it seemed to her this water had incredible properties to retain something. Rather like a bubble. It clearly wasn’t all powerful since the magical blast had shredded through it, but if it came from…

She felt the red light vanishing, and suddenly Seraphel was scrambling for the Bottle of Water again. She poured the liquid over her back, re-coating herself, and felt more stable.

Yes, it’s like I’ve waterproofed myself in oil or whatnot. Like someone treating a bit of leather in case it rains! That made the most sense to her. If ordinary men and women had such tools, why would a [Mage] not have the same? The only question to her was why some random person would have such a tool on them. An adventurer, perhaps?

As the [Princess] wobbled her way to her feet and began stumbling—away from the Crelers’ nest—her mind flitted to where this had been found. In the nest of Crelers. Of course. If someone had known what this dreadful place was like, this was the tool to allow you to traverse this place!

And it probably worked quite well unless you ran into Crelers. Seraphel kept stumbling forwards, then realized she had no idea where this tunnel led. She almost went back, but one look at the faint orange glow behind her and—

“No. I rather think I’ve pushed all my luck with Crelers.”

Especially the Elder Creler. Best if they thought she was dead. She could move around now, even if it felt very precarious despite her magical item and new Skills. Still, Seraphel had a chance.

Find Vofea. Find the party! Live! She truly thought she’d been dead. So Seraphel began walking. After a few minutes, her breathing calmed, and she spat more blood from her mouth, but was relieved the blood flow was slowing. Then she licked her lips.

She was hungry. Hurt. And thirsty.

She took a long sip from the Bottle of Probably Not Water.

It hadn’t killed her yet.

 

——

 

At least she had a few of the objects she’d stolen from the Elder Creler. Mostly small ones. Adventurers’ gear, Seraphel suspected. It came in handy as she walked.

This damn place was so vast she wasn’t getting anywhere any time soon. To take her mind off her injuries, she inspected what she had.

Now, of course, she knew better than to try on magical mystery items due to the danger and possibilities of being cursed.

…But as a [Cursed Princess], Seraphel decided to just go for it. She wanted to laugh hysterically. [Cursed Princess]. She actually was one. Had her wish been granted? Or her nightmare. Of all the things…!

I would have taken a sword Skill or something to kill the monsters with! Instead—curses? Is this all I’m good for?

She railed against whatever force she’d sensed that had granted her this class. She would rather be an Aielef than a Seraphel! Rather be a warrior than a [Princess]. She just…wasn’t allowed to use levels to change who she was, she supposed.

Curses befit a woman like her, whose great claim to fame was enduring trials. So, rather heedless of the risks, Seraphel began trying on objects.

 

——

 

Rather ironically, Seraphel ran into an actual cursed item on her sixth try. She had only a moment’s warning, a sense of wrongness, when her circlet made an alarming bzrat! sound and the gold ring began to heat up.

It was white-hot in moments. So hot it would have probably seared through skin and bone as the frantic looter tried to take it off. Thanks to Seraphel’s new Skill, it was probably only half that hot.

Enough, then, to scorch her flesh bloody red and leave it steaming as she finally tore it off her finger and hurled it away, then collapsed, sobbing and cradling her hand. That was when Seraphel decided to stop trying on the items in case another was even worse.

She sorted the few items she’d identified and put the others in her bag of holding. Then she went over to stomp on the cursed ring a few times and then shove it into her bag of holding.

Seraphel doubted its real function was just to burn someone’s finger off. Most ‘cursed’ artifacts fell into two camps. Either they were just meant to kill you horrifically or you were running afoul of a security effect. It was possible this ring had a lot of value, but she resolved not to so much as touch it until a proper [Mage] could inspect it. What she had found was enough.

It did indeed feel like adventurers’ gear. Of the six objects she’d appraised before nearly losing a finger, two of them were related to travel, which was exactly what Seraphel needed. She even knew what one did, because someone had been oh so kind to future wearers and written the effect on the inside of the ring.

“‘Ring of Quickstride’, oh, you beautiful [Enchanter]. I’d kiss you, but that would probably curse you for life.”

Also, they were probably dead. In which case, Seraphel was open to the kiss if they weren’t the rotting sort of dead. As soon as she popped it on her finger, she felt like each step took her about a fifth further than before.

It was an eerie feeling, actually. Like how you felt when you suddenly elongated your stride. Seraphel almost thought she’d fall over until she got used to it.

Now, a 20% increase in stride length might not have seemed like much, but she’d take it. The morale effect alone increased the [Princess]’ pace noticeably, so it was like she’d doubled her speed. The second item was of more dubious worth, but it fascinated her.

It was an amulet shaped like a cage. When Seraphel opened the little cage doors, a tiny golden bird appeared. It would dart out in the direction she aimed it, then come flitting back, incredibly fast, and flash something at her.

A number. Only, er…she had no idea what number it was. The writing was not familiar to her, and she instantly suspected another species’ language.

“It can’t be Drakish.”

Seraphel had studied the Walled Cities’ language as part of her education—just enough to use their alphabet with help. She squinted at the little runes.

“They’re so…curvy. It’s not Drathian or the House of Minos’ numeral system…”

Could it be Selphid…ese? Did they have a written language? Or maybe…Gnollish? Of the written languages of the world, that last one tickled Seraphel’s fancy. There was a certain animalistic quality to the numbers. They were simple, but she imagined that one might be…a leaping trout? Or that a gazelle bounding along or something.

Seraphel was convinced this was old Gnollish and wondered how old this artifact was. Deciphering which numbers were which was fairly simple. Regardless of their shapes, the creators were still operating on a very universal 0-9 numbering system.

What the bird was counting was how many steps it was in any direction it flew. If Seraphel unleashed it at a crossroads, like the first one she came to, two birds would hop out of the cage, each a different color, and come back. They would fly until they met an obstruction—or another fork.

A perfect tool for adventurers. For instance, Seraphel was told that the right path at the fork ran for 8,433 steps, or some number therein. Whereas the other bird gave her a complex set of symbols and then a very obvious three-path icon.

“So there’s a second crossroads only…2,560 steps away? Or is that 9,560? I hope it’s the former. Lead on, little bird!”

 

——

 

It was actually less than two thousand steps thanks to her ring, and Seraphel was very tickled to realize that whatever stride the bird was using wasn’t calibrated to her specifically. Maybe it was a unit of measurement? Very cheerfully, she fired three birds off at the crossroads, each one a different color.

Butter yellow, blueberry blue, and a raspberry red! She was sort of hungry. Seraphel sipped more of the Wardwater Liquid, as she had dubbed it, as she waited. She hoped it didn’t ward her stomach lining.

She was less happy with the results of this investigation. The yellow bird took the longest to return, and when it did, Seraphel’s heart sank.

 

Yellow Bird: 99,999 steps. 344 something red icons. 52,444 steps?

Blue Bird: 1,233 steps. Two-prong fork. 23 red icons. 23 blue icons? 877 steps.

Red Bird: 4,555 steps. Four-prong fork. No icons.

 

“Eternal Throne! I’m not a City Runner, let alone a Courier! I’ll die before I find anyone!”

And she had no idea where to go! Seraphel sank to her knees and put her head down before staring at the numbers again.

Focus, Seraphel du Marquin. Vofea needs your help! Rabbiteater, Cortese, and Menrise need you! 

The birds were telling her something. She gazed at the red icons and numbers and hazarded a guess. She spoke to the yellow bird displaying its numbers above its head. It even scratched at the side of its body with a tiny little clawed foot as it waited!

“My guess, you beautiful little thing, is that you’re informing me of—of monsters! That is surely what an ominous red color should mean for an adventuring sort. Thus, the second number must mean when you first spotted them. It could be you can do multiple groups…but in these tunnels, I rather imagine everything but me is clumped up, anyways.”

Yes, that made sense. Which meant to the left, down a black tunnel sloping downwards, there was not only over 100,000 feet of tunnel with no apparent breaks, but over three hundred monsters of some kind.

The Crelers? Seraphel thought that might line up with one of the new Baby Creler swarms. Going down that route would have killed her from the sheer distance if nothing else. Whereas…

“The middle path has a fork and twenty-three ‘monsters’…and twenty three non-monsters? How odd. It’s the shortest route, but…the rightmost path has nothing at all.”

And the most forks at that end. Ergo, Seraphel should head that way. Her plan, rough as it was, would be to use the birds to locate her friends. The moment they registered a group over a thousand strong, it surely had to be the Calanferian detachment.

Even assuming they’d somehow taken thousands more deaths than she thought, it would still be the largest group in this place by far, or so Seraphel assumed. She was rather pleased by all this deduction.

Here she was using her brain instead of reacting like she had been forced to do. She only wished she’d saved more lives.

“This is a dreadful feeling. No matter the fact that Vofea and I are the only sane ones, I feel like nothing I do is enough. I would give anything to be like Ser Rabbiteater, who can swing his axe and erase any foe! He surely never feels so helpless.”

She said that as she rested her feet in preparation for a 5,000 foot walk, then remembered what Rabbiteater had said during their trek through the jungle. He’d met Erin Solstice in some kind of…pavilion-thing? She had been dying, and all he’d been able to do was help bring her ‘out’.

The rest of the Ivory Four hadn’t understood what that meant, and Rabbiteater hadn’t exactly been clear on the details. But he had wept. Wept and been helpless.

“One supposes that one never truly feels in control. Well, drat.”

So much for her dreams of one day having that kind of control in her life. Seraphel blamed her parents. All pragmatism, zero idealism. It was a wonder she wasn’t completely insane.

Seraphel was getting up and idly fired the birds off—just to confirm things, really. She was searching around for a place to pee when the birds came back and reported in. Seraphel eyed them, trying to shoo them so they faced in the other direction.

“Shoo, shoo! Give me some space!”

 

Yellow Bird: 99,999 steps. 344 something red icons. 54,484 steps.

Blue Bird: 1,233 steps. Two-prong fork. 23 red icons. 23 blue icons. 321 steps.

Red Bird: 4,555 steps. Four-prong fork. No icons.

 

Wait. Her blood ran cold as one of the numbers changed alarmingly in her mind.

Three hundred and twenty-one steps away? The group down the middle path was coming her way at tremendous speed! It couldn’t have been more than a minute of rest! Seraphel sprang up.

“Oh no!”

She began running down the right path, fast as she could, but she fancied she could hear noises coming from behind her now. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone would notice the obvious magical birds mapping the tunnels! If it were a group of people with their minds addled, they’d never take notice!

Wait, if it were a group like my people…Seraphel almost tripped, and then she did hear sounds. Familiar ones.

Clip-clop, clip-clop—the familiar sound of horse’s hooves! Amplified on stone, no less! Seraphel halted, panting. She heard voices, even, muted but low.

They’d reached the intersection where she was. But they had no idea she had gone right. Her pursuers had a three-way path to make, and there were only twenty-three of them. She doubted they’d want to split up that much in the darkness. If she moved fast, she might evade them, and if they did the obvious thing and went straight…they’d run smack bang into the Creler nest. She doubted the Elder Creler would allow them to survive that encounter, even gestating.

Seraphel had no idea what group this was, but as she listened, she thought she heard a faint sibilance to the words being barked in the common tongue. Which made her think Lizardfolk, but horses…?

Jungle Tails. We’re in their territory. Or perhaps Lizardfolk natives working for the Iron Vanguard? How are they not addled by this place? Seraphel’s racing mind came to an abrupt, immediate conclusion. There was only one thing to do.

 

——

 

The group of six mounted Nagas and seventeen Lizardfolk were exceptionally wary as they scanned the tunnel intersection where the magical birds had come from. One of the Nagas, a Lamia-type, light enough to ride horses if she curled her tail around the nervous beast’s belly, was shining a [Light] spell around.

“It’s an artifact, Lindclaw Leader. Subtle magic. I can’t detect the trail of it.”

“None of the natives use artifacts. They claim this Creler infestation has looted everything. Therefore, it is our quarry. Though how they escaped the mindnet effect I wish to know. [Hunters], take three and scout each tunnel. Go only a thousand paces.”

The Naga leading the group was the smallest of all the Naga types, and a rare one. An Oricaz-type—he was little bigger than the average Lizardman, but his long, fanged teeth and envenomed claws would kill in moments. However, he was bipedal and could ride a horse. In many ways, he did resemble Lizardmen, just with a prouder neck crest, stronger form. Deadlier glint in his eyes.

His was one of three teams investigating this maze; there weren’t enough wards for more. Just this many was more than the Iron Vanguard could boast. Well, the thickheads had been smart enough to camp outside the ruins. They were being driven off, but these Calanferians…

The Lindclaw Leader was on high alert as he sniffed the air.

“There’s a warmblood scent on the rightmost tunnel. Focus there. Though there’s something ahead…”

“D’you want us to check the other two tunnels anyways, Naga?”

“Silence.”

He snapped at the Lizardfolk. They were good warriors, the best non-Nagas he could find, but they prattled. The Oricaz sniffed again—then nearly jumped off his horse when he heard a voice calling out!

“Oh, I say! Are those horses I hear? Jolly good! I was getting quite worried I’d never find my way out of here! My feet are in an agony! Eternal Throne and Hundred Heroes—”

A woman appeared out of the darkness. She looked dreadful. An expensive riding dress was blackened down her back, and she had blood dried down her chin, and her hair was covered in blood and grime…but there was still a certain air of superiority she carried. Not to mention her attitude. She came into the light as every bow and wand rose, then flung a hand up.

“Rescuers! At last!”

She strode forwards as the surprised Lizardfolk [Leader] barked.

“Halt! Wait, is that the [Princess]?”

He couldn’t believe his luck. How in the name of the temples was she here? And not…dead? She should be a lifeless husk! Royal class? Was this an ambush?

However, the [Princess] just strode forwards, as if she couldn’t see the bows and wands, and flung herself across one of the [Hunters]’ saddles.

“At last! We were shipwrecked at sea, then we had to march, march through the jungles for days! With mosquitos! And no one to draw a bath for me each night! Then we had to march into this dreadful pit, and everyone stopped talking to me! You, my good woman, get off this horse this instant! I shall do without a carriage for now, but I insist upon a tent, bath, pleasant conversation, and some fine vittles. Eternal Throne of Calanfer bless you all!”

She blew a kiss at one of the Lizardwomen, whose jaw was hanging open. Seraphel beamed around with such a convincing [False Smile] that the Oricaz [Leader] was swayed.

“Er—that’s her, Lindclaw Leader. What do we do?”

The Lamia [Magus] whispered, and the Oricaz snapped back.

“Well, capture her, obviously! This is perfect! You, er, [Princess]. You are now a prisoner of the Jungle Tails company. An honored guest, rather. We’ll bring you back to our camps. Where’s your people?”

It occurred to him to spin it in a way she’d understand. Seraphel blinked up at him with astonishingly blue eyes and then exhaled.

“Well, of course I’m your prisoner! I should rather insist on it! And to be treated like a [Princess]. Very good, yes, yes, I surrender and all that. Please take me back to civilization at once! I don’t know where the rest of the blasted army is. They wandered off, and I woke up by myself! My good woman, did you hear me? I require this horse! Off! Off, I say!”

“Is she…is that really a [Princess]?”

One of the other Nagas muttered as they watched Princess Seraphel haranguing one of the [Hunters]. The Lindclaw Leader was smiling.

“I’ve heard they’re like this. You! Off the mount. Ride double with someone else. Your Highness, I am Lindclaw Leader Hexore. I shall treat you with utmost respect and ensure your comfort until you are able to meet with our Dragonfire General, but I must ask you keep quiet and obey orders. This is a dangerous place. A death-zone.”

“Oh, I am charmed, Lord Hexore! I rather did fear I would expire in this dreadful place.”

Seraphel mounted the horse clumsily, and the Lizardfolk [Hunter] slid off her mount. She scurried over to Hexore and tugged at his tail.

“Sir, sir…”

“How did you survive? With respect, this place is known to kill anyone unprepared. We have very specific wards against it, but anyone surviving here is frankly incredible.”

Seraphel waved at the tiara on her head.

“I imagine it’s my royal artifact. Or my aura? I’m rather not sure which. Should I take it off just to see?”

“No!”

They all shouted at her, and she was so offended she harrumphed. Hexore gave orders.

“We’re turning around. We have more than enough to satisfy the [General].”

And it gets us out of this damn hellhole. Let the other teams find the Calanferians. We could just wait for them to pop out if they even survive this place. He was excited and let the Lizardfolk [Hunter] cling to his saddle. Only when they were moving back did he hiss at her.

“Shut up. What is it?”

Lizardfolk pestered Nagas. Nagas bossed Lizardfolk. Eventually, the right Lizardfolk became Nagas. Hexore remembered being a bumbling Lizardman in his youth, and he tried to be the model that he was supposed to be, but dead gods they could get annoying.

Still, the [Huntress] was a crack shot, and she’d done six expeditions into this place before. She was a native, one of the real jungletails, not just the name of their company. She was staring at Seraphel hard as the others asked her about how many Calanferians were left and where she’d been.

“Sir, there’s no way that woman survived the Mindscape Ruins by herself even a day like that!”

“I agree. She must have wandered over here and gotten lucky. Another hour and she’d probably have tripped and broken her own neck.”

Hexore grinned, but the [Huntress] insisted.

“No, Naga! I mean—she can’t be that incompetent. This is deep in the ruins. We only came this far to scout for the Crelers. And remember those magical scout-birds? I think she’s cleverer than she appears.”

That made Hexore give Seraphel a second appraisal. She was riding poorly, scarfing down food one of the others had given her, and he couldn’t believe she’d survive in this place, it was true. He hesitated, then narrowed his eyes.

“Princess! Do you happen to have any idea of our local whereabouts? How did you get this deep? Unless your Calanferian group is nearby—and we’ve found no trace of that—you’ve gone far too far.”

The [Princess] blinked at him.

“Oh, that? Well, I was searching for my people! As I said, I woke up one day and they’d run off! So I chose the nearest tunnel, and, well, I have an artifact. I kept following it, but I never found my people!”

How likely is that? Hexore eyed the [Huntress], and she bit her lip.

“Even if she was ignored by other groups…”

“But it’s plausible?”

A doubtful expression. Hexore scratched at his chin-sacs which produced a bit of venom. He spoke casually.

“You wouldn’t have happened to see any Crelers, [Princess]? My team is searching for a nest. We were told two were destroyed.”

One by Calanferians. But the [Princess] answered readily enough.

“Those dreadful things? Yes, the army fought them! Horrific!”

She shuddered, then pointed vaguely.

“But they ignored me, no doubt because of my royal heritage! I am descended from Marquin the Radiant, you know. They must have feared my bloodline. And then I ran into the largest one I’d ever seen back there! There’s an entire nest of them. Eggs, wall-to-wall. Dreadful! I wouldn’t have dreamed of eating one, even starving though I was!”

Hexore nearly whirled his horse around.

“There’s a Creler nest back there and you didn’t say? An Adult Creler?”

“My good man, my good man, do not raise your voice at me! I am a [Princess]! And no, it was no Adult Creler. It was bigger. I saw the Adult Crelers shamble off while I bravely hid. This one was nearly twice their size in some dreadful cocoon. I say, why are you all so pale?”

Elder Creler. Hexore’s blood ran cold. Well, colder. He twisted around and peered at the [Huntress], and her eyes were wide with fear.

We nearly walked into it. An entire nest of the things? We need to bring down every Naga above Level 40, regardless of the cost. If that thing wakes…

They might need to call a truce with the Iron Vanguard even. Some things went beyond mere war. Hexore’s mind raced, but now disbelief was fighting a two-pronged battle.

Either this [Princess] was dumb as a gemstone, which he’d believe, or this was an act, which…was actually less believable. The [Huntress] was whispering.

“Sir, how’d she survive meeting an Elder Creler?”

“Well, same rules apply to it as everything else. Shut up—Princess Seraphel, may I say you’re the most lucky Human I’ve ever met?”

I hope we ransom you for a fortune. The woman beamed at the Oricaz Naga.

“You may, Lord Hexore. And may I say that you are the most extraordinarily unique Naga I have ever met? I had no notion your species existed! And if you’re brave enough to be hunting Crelers in this death-zone? You must be…closer to your second evolution than any other Naga on Baleros!”

Hexore sat up in his saddle as every eye, Lizardfolk and Naga, turned to him, and he felt the jealousy of his peers, the envy of his lessers. That was a good compliment.

“I’m surprised you know about second evolutions, Princess. But if I could attain that…Oricaz usually are mistaken for Lizardfolk, you know.”

“Lord Hexore, how could one miss your raiment of scales? From your neck ruff to your rather magnificent physique—believe me, a [Princess] notices these things.”

He kept preening as he chuckled. The [Huntress] was eying Seraphel, but Hexore relaxed. This woman was utterly guileless, though she was good with her compliments. [A Free Compliment], even. She was no warrior or mage. She just had a few artifacts and a lot of royal luck. He told the [Huntress] to get off his saddle and pester one of her friends when they stopped. How much trouble could the [Princess] be, anyways?

 

——

 

Seraphel du Marquin was glad to know that egos were egos wherever you went. In fact, Nagas seemed rather susceptible to having theirs stroked.

They were definitely an upper class to Lizardfolk, so comparing them to nobles was a fair assessment. She observed how they bossed around the Lizardfolk, who were happy to be bossed by and large. But mostly—she was delighted to have a horse.

No more walking! The instant she’d concluded this group was likely after her, she’d decided to turn herself in. A horse would allow her to catch her friends more easily. Moreover, this group had food, maps, and a way to beat this damn mental trap!

But what were they doing to beat it? Wearing something? She saw a few magical items on the Nagas, but nothing the Lizardfolk carried matched. Some charm on their armor or whatnot? Seraphel peeked at them as she ate more food during a rest stop. They were heading out of the tunnels, towards the nearest exit, at great speed. According to Hexore, Jungle Tails had arrived to ‘arrest’ the Calanferians, and they were fighting the Iron Vanguard.

She didn’t believe that for a second. She suspected they wanted to kill anyone that wasn’t worth ransoming and use her as a political hostage. Especially since Niers Astoragon and the Forgotten Wing company were helping her group…she’d be a tool in the Jungle Tails’ war with him.

She had to get away, steal their wardstones, get to her group, and get them out of the ‘Mindscape Ruins’. A difficult task, but Seraphel du Marquin had to try. She’d already survived an Elder Creler! Now, what were they carrying?

“Looking for our wards?”

Seraphel jumped and realized someone was watching her. A Lizardwoman [Huntress], scales mottled like a swamp, not one color but shifting, barely four foot two, armed with a shortbow and spear. She was tiny! But she appeared tough, and she’d led this group down the tunnels.

And—she wasn’t nearly as relaxed as the rest of the others. Seraphel put on her best [False Smile].

“Merely wondering how one survives this dreadful place! Without even cooling spells!”

The Lizardwoman smiled. Then she flicked something up in one claw and showed it to Seraphel. It was a vial.

An empty vial. Seraphel’s heart sank.

“Not something you can steal, Princess. You might have the Lindclaw Leader fooled, but I’ve less trust you’re a fool.”

She leaned forwards, fixing Seraphel with a pointed stare. Rather than give the game away, Seraphel wrinkled her nose up.

“Lord Hexore! Lord Hexore! The hired help is harassing me! I do object!”

“Hunter!”

The Oricaz Naga bellowed, and the [Huntress] lost her confident smile. Seraphel held back a triumphant grin, which was just as well—the [Huntress] grabbed her arm, yanked Seraphel down, and then—tied her hands up!

“What? Unhand me, you brute! Lord Hexore!”

He strode over, then glared at the [Huntress] as she stepped back.

“Just a precaution, Lindclaw Leader. It’s not even chains, see? Just a [Tricksome Knot].”

Seraphel saw her hands were neatly webbed together with a very complicated knot sealing the deal. It was a tough twine too; she couldn’t wriggle her hands or get them free. Hexore whirled on the [Huntress].

“She’s a [Princess], you idiot! She doesn’t need to be shackled!”

Especially because she’s so useless! Unfortunately, the [Huntress] held her ground.

“Honored Naga, she might have more artifacts on her. Or her circlet might send [Messages]. We’ve no time to search her, and I suppose that’s improper. At least let us tie her up.”

“This is outrageous! How dare you accuse me of having utility!”

Seraphel spluttered, but the argument was a bit too reasonable. Hexore glanced at her, then rolled his eyes.

“She’ll fall off the horse without two hands to hold the reins!”

“Then I’ll ride for her.”

The [Huntress] smirked as Seraphel felt the trap she’d walked into close a bit more firmly around her. The Lizardwoman winked as Hexore shrugged—then his tail slapped her hard.

“Your reasoning is good, but you’re no Naga, [Hunter]. Remember that.”

She bowed her head to him as she lay on the ground, and he strode off. Seraphel blinked at the [Huntress], then whispered.

“Not very kind for a man you’re helping, is he? What’s your name?”

“Aiche. And if you think to win me over, Princess, you won’t. I’m no Naga, and prophecies written, I hope I won’t be. Big decisions are beyond me. But a simple [Princess]?”

Aiche hopped up and pulled Seraphel’s arm up with a grin.

“I can handle one of those.”

Seraphel resisted the urge to spit on her. That would be too much in character. With a sigh…she resigned herself to a longer wait.

 

——

 

Her time in the company of Jungle Tails saw Seraphel fed and no longer in dire straits, at least. They even gave her a bit of healing potion for her feet and wounds, which stopped her broken tooth from killing her.

That was the upside. The downside was that Aiche really was glued to her. Seraphel couldn’t even pee without the Lizardwoman walking her to and from the ‘toilet area’.

Well, at least they were leaving. Seraphel listened as Hexore had the Lamia [Magus] give him what updates she could, but they were so deep that [Message] spells didn’t work, apparently.

“I can’t send so much as a scrap out, Lindclaw Leader. I swear I felt something powerful blast past me…”

“Our magic? Calanfer’s?”

They turned to her, but Seraphel genuinely had no idea. She didn’t have to play up her role as much; she could well pretend to be exhausted and sorely in need of comforts. However, after six hours of riding in the eerie blackness of this place, she came to an unexpected sight.

The only other force of Lizardfolk in this entire ruins were the true natives, the Lizardfolk that Seraphel’s party had met. At the time, she’d been too out-of-her-mind to appreciate them, but when they came to the camp that Vofea had described, she gasped.

“Their heads!”

Aiche nodded as she slowed her mount. A second band of Lizardfolk was here, armored, wearing metal, but the natives were armed only with leather and clearly-foraged weapons.

But their heads were bigger than average…and glowed. Seraphel thought she saw their very brains thinking, pulsing whenever they seemed to exert their minds, and she was reminded of the Crelers with a shudder.

However, she didn’t have time to have misgivings about this local Lizardfolk force—they hadn’t attacked her people and had helped Calanfer against the Crelers, even if their niceness was only due to their wariness of Rabbiteater and Vofea. At this very moment, it seemed the tables were turning.

A dead Naga was lying in the center of this Lizardfolk camp. A single Naga, a Lamia, with a spear rammed through his chest. He was clearly of this Mind-Lizardfolk tribe, and just as clearly, the Jungle Tails commander had killed him.

“The Mindscape Ruins are now, once again, under Jungle Tail command! Every [Warrior] and [Mage] class among you will report—a portion of you are now enlisted in the war. A Naga will be dispatched to oversee you in time. For the moment, you are under the Dragonfire General’s command!”

A Gorgon was barking at the Lizardfolk, who stood, staring at their fallen Naga in horror. One of the Lizardfolk with a mind that glowed cherry-red leaned on a stone spear. He had a sling in his other hand, but there were over sixty of Jungle Tails’ warriors here, armored in enchanted steel.

He glanced at Seraphel and blinked as she dismounted from her horse. But the Lizardman just peered at the Gorgon.

“What war?”

“What war, Naga?”

One of the Jungle Tails [Soldiers] nudged him hard. The Lizardman scratched at his head, and the Gorgon barked back.

“Against the Forgotten Wing company! Jungle Tails is reclaiming its position as a Great Company of Baleros! The Eyes of Baleros are being found once more! Both are now on Baleros’ soil and within our grasp!”

“Oh, again…why’d we lose our rank? Does it matter?”

The Gorgon gazed at the Lizardman’s glowing head, so affronted he didn’t speak. Then he turned.

“Your people have useful mind-powers. Select your best warriors. Hexore! What have you found?”

He slithered over, putting the Lizardfolk locals completely out of his head as Seraphel stumbled over with Aiche. The Gorgon was a bit more suspicious than Hexore, but even more brusque.

“Right, we’re falling back to camp. The [Scouts] have located the Calanferians: they’re bound for one of the tunnel exits. They’re moving slow, and by the time they get out, they’ll be chewed to hell and back. According to the locals, that area hasn’t been used in a long time, and the Crelers pushed all the monsters into their path.”

Seraphel’s heart sank as Hexore chuckled.

“Some luck for us. Although, eh…the [Princess] here says she ran into an Elder Creler. And there’s four Adults roaming around.”

“She what?”

The Gorgon commander recoiled, and Seraphel explained what she saw. She was convincing enough; a Lamia barely bothered with a cursory [Detect Truth] spell about the Elder Creler, and the commander blanched.

“Then we’ll be back with enough to kill it—afterwards. The Iron Vanguard is retreating. Everyone, fall in! Your Highness, do forgive the rough treatment. As soon as we’re at our camp, the Dragonfire General himself will ensure you’re treated with utmost respect.”

She bared her teeth at him as he offered her a razor-sharp smile.

“Will—will your army be able to purge this ruins of the Crelers, Lord Commander, sir? An Elder Creler is a dreadful threat, and I fear to think what might happen if it awakens!”

The Gorgon chuckled as he slithered towards a huge horse.

“Not to worry, Princess. The Dragonfire General was appointed by the Wyrmgraced themselves. This is not the Jungle Tails of the last few decades. This is what we were in our heyday! And our champion is none other than Illex Twiceborn. He slew one of the Iron Vanguard’s own Eternal Nobles just yesterday. Not that it slowed the thickheads.”

Hexore brightened up.

“He did? I wish I’d seen that!”

“You’ve got enough glory to cover your scales, Lindclaw Leader Hexore. Now, give me every speed Skill, and let’s get out of this damn hellhole. Hunter Aiche! You’ll collect the new recruits later.”

He barked, and the Lizardwoman nodded.

“Aye, Commander.”

Her voice was suddenly quiet, and she gazed at the silent Lizardfolk gathered around the Lamia. They were weeping, Seraphel realized. A blue cloud was rising from above them.

“Do you…know this group? They helped us a bit.”

Aiche tore her gaze away from the Lizardfolk, but couldn’t meet the [Princess]’ eyes. She lifted a hand at the Lizardman who stood at a sentry post, watching them go. He lifted a claw in reply.

“I’m not born of the ruins. They keep to themselves. Jungle Tails is just taking some of them.”

“For war.”

“Yes, well—the Nagas speak, we obey.”

“But they had a Naga.”

Aiche stared ahead, tail wriggling as she hunched over her mount.

“Yes, but not the real Nagas. The real Nagas are in the temples; everyone knows that. Aren’t you supposed to be stupid?”

She glared fiercely at Seraphel, and the [Princess] gave her a painful smile.

“I’m well acquainted with politics wherever one goes. So the real Nagas are in the temples. Is this how they make sure no one opposes them?”

“No. Mostly other Lizardfolk obey.”

Aiche glanced back, and Seraphel raised her brows.

“Because of what happens when they don’t?”

That roused the little woman’s wrath, and she snapped at Seraphel.

“No, because the temples are hope! The Eyes are what we are destined to do! This time, we’ll finish the ritual, and this time—!”

Her voice rose, then strangled off as the Nagas glared at her and hissed for quiet. Seraphel blinked at Aiche, then sat back in her saddle, pretending to huff about the rude woman. The Eyes of Baleros. Nagatine Empires. That was a cycle, if not famous as the Goblin Kings. She wondered what it all meant, and part of her was excited to find out.

First, she had to get away! But how? Seraphel eyed her bag of holding, but Aiche was right with her.

As fortune would have it, though, Seraphel didn’t have to wait long. After all…

She was still a [Cursed Princess]. And some days, she felt good about being so right. They were almost at the exit when Seraphel’s favorite friends found her.

 

——

 

The Awakened is hunting for insects with Newborn Swarm thi!. It detects something.

Newborn Swarm thi! searches the tunnel. It finds nothing. It is confused.

The Awakened is casting about. It’s hard to detect…the Elder is unhappy. It gnashes its mandibles.

 

Seraphel and the Lizardfolk were motionless against the walls as the Crelers scuttled about. They had fallen back the moment they saw the Crelers hunting for intruders. However, in this case, Jungle Tails seemed to know exactly what to do.

Like the locals, they were ‘invisible’ to the gestalt groups. Even if an Adult Creler knew they might be there, it could only attack if it thought there was a threat. So, Aiche rapidly deployed the ultimate countermeasure to the Crelers.

A tent.

Okay, not just a tent. More like sheets of canvas she lodged into place. Just enough to stretch over all the hiding Lizardfolk—and then the [Mages] cast a spell and turned it hard as stone.

Simple. The Baby Crelers swarmed all over the hiding places, but so long as they weren’t attacked, they just mistook it as the landscape. So did the Adult Crelers. One of them actually punctured a hole in the hiding spot, but it just tore free, annoyed. They lumbered down the hallway, and Seraphel had to admire how much damage she’d done to them.

One of their chitinous hides was cracked badly, and two had lost several legs. Admittedly, even one of them might have been enough to destroy this entire group…but they were heading down the tunnel as Aiche motioned everyone out of hiding.

“There’s another group to be killed—later. At least that lot can’t fight back.”

“They’ll blast everything around them if they think they’re under threat. Even the dumbest groups realize they’re under attack if you pick them off, Commander.”

Aiche informed the Gorgon, and he just hissed as he eyed the Adult Crelers. Seraphel was frozen.

She could see daylight from here. According to Aiche, Jungle Tails were all around this entrance; Seraphel believed it. She could hear noise and what sounded like a lot of people above. It was overwhelming after the enforced silence of this place. But she did not want to be the Dragonfire General’s prisoner.

He sounded far, far smarter than his officers, and even if he was not, getting out of an entire camp would be impossible. If there was a time to make a move, it was now.

But her hands were tied, and she was in the company of these [Soldiers]! Even Aiche could trounce her in a second! She had no combat Skills from her new levelups.

If only she was with the Calanferians! Her new Skills seemed tailored to helping them…but here?

She had no one she wanted to help here. Only enemies like Hexore, urging her up, assuring her they had the situation under control, and the damn Crelers behind her. The Crelers…

Seraphel’s eyes narrowed. She’d been surprised the Elder couldn’t detect her, but then, it had only noticed something was really wrong when the swarm was ‘infected’ with her. It still operated under the rules of this labyrinth.

The deep purple-red of its hatred was still filling the corridor. The swirling colors were a cloud of malice without end. One of the Lizardfolk [Soldiers] was gazing up—until one of the Nagas slapped him.

“Stop looking at it. You’ll get sucked up there, the Draught of Self or not.”

The [Soldier] ducked his head, abashed.

“It’s so…evil, Naga. They’re as horrible inside as out.”

“Well, yes. They’re Crelers.”

The two studied the cloud and shuddered. The Lizardman flinched from the thoughts that wanted to kill him horribly. It spelled out all Crelers were.

Kill. Eat. Grow. Wipe out villages. Wipe out cities. Wipe out continents. Spawn the world. Weep for the life I never had. Slaughter. Make them die painfully.

“Huh. What’s that, Naga?”

There was, suddenly, a speck of brightness in the dark, and the Lizardman pointed at it. It was a blue trail, tiny amidst the sea of hatred, but it was so painfully beautiful…

He got why Aiche liked this place. The Nagas hated it, but seeing someone’s feelings…the Naga scratched at his head. He squinted.

“That’s weird…wait.”

Down the corridor, the Adult Crelers had halted their departure. The four vast beings of hate slowly turned. The Naga heard an exclamation behind him.

“Princess? Princess—damn, she’s swooned! Aiche, drag her up! I told you she was as pathetic as she looked.”

“She’s just acting, Lindclaw Leader. She’s…wait. Something’s wrong with her—she’s leaking. But how? It shouldn’t even take effect this close to the surface…”

The two Lizardfolk turned. And then they saw a familiar trail of blue leaking from a [Princess]. Their eyes traced it upwards into the purple-red sea. With that slow, building sense of horror, they swirled.

“Did she…deactivate her protections? Or did they run out? Get her out of here before she’s killed!”

“No, wait. Up there—what is she—?”

“Lindclaw Leader? Scyllaborn Commander?”

The Gorgon and Oricaz turned, and they saw the four Adult Crelers gazing their way. Hexore whispered.

“No one panic. Move towards the entrance. They can’t see us. No one—”

Aiche’s voice.

“Blue. There’s blue in there. I’ve never seen…she’s so sad. What is she—?”

Then they saw the Adult Crelers open their mandibles as one and scream.

 

——

 

Sorrow and determination war with pure hatred. Infected. How dare you? Nevertheless—The Heartbroken Awakened emerges. It will kill itself. Purge the rot.

Newborn Swarm thi! is confused! It runs around in a panic!

The Heartbroken Awakened realizes it is being tricked. The enemy is right here. It just can’t…see. It will free itself from these chains. All it has to do is run forwards.

Newborn Swarm thi! swarms towards the entrance. It reaches the entrance. Newborn Swarm thi! vanishes.

The Heartbroken Awakened hesitates. But it cannot lie to itself. It knows this is a trap. But it wants to kill. It wants to save…

The Heartbroken Awakened charges. Death. It reaches the entrance.

The Heartbroken Awakened vanishes.

 

——

 

The [Cursed Princess] yanked herself back into her body and then felt the shaking. And the scream.

It came from four minds. Four bodies, a twisting shriek that made all of her skin shudder. A needle being driven into the brain from beyond the realms of normality. Death. It drowned out the shouts of panic, the warhorns, everything else.

Four Adult Crelers burst out of the Mindscape Ruins and into the Jungle Tail camps. The Baby Crelers were already attacking everything.

Including the forces at the entrance of the tunnel, which they could now see. Seraphel saw Lizardfolk running around her. Horses rearing and screaming.

“Get out of the tunnel! Get to the camp! Move, move, move! [Desperate Rush]!”

Hexore was bellowing at her. He shoved her to a horse, but then the Naga saw Baby Crelers coming at them. He was quick. He slashed one with his claws, spat venom over another, and bit the third. Screamed as it savaged his mouth, then drew a saber and shield and began slashing. Seraphel just scrambled at the horse’s sides, but she couldn’t…her hands. She was fumbling with her bag of holding when someone grabbed her.

“You. You did this!”

Aiche. The little Lizardwoman had been firing arrows, but she’d seen Seraphel attempting to mount up. She seized Seraphel’s hands as the [Princess] took something from her bag of holding and slipped it onto her fingers.

“You’re coming with me! I saw what you did! I understand it! Somehow—I’ll never let you go!”

The maze was pulling at both of them. Seraphel smiled at the little Lizardwoman’s righteous fury. She could have cursed Aiche, but that would have meant cursing herself. Sort of a problem. And besides…there was something else far easier Seraphel had come up with.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Aiche. I’m not just any [Princess]. I’m the 4th Princess of Calanfer. The [Cursed Princess]. All who meet me come to a horrible end. Friends and foes.”

Aiche wanted to scoff, but Seraphel’s eyes were terribly bleak. The Lizardwoman tightened her grip, sure she could overpower this woman despite the difference in their heights. She was a Level 34 [Huntress].

But what…her claws were burning. Pain radiated from them, and Aiche didn’t understand. Her face contorted, and she tried to hold on, but then the smoke reached her nostrils. She realized it was her own flesh burning.

The Lizardwoman screamed and let go. She backed away from Seraphel, cradling her seared hands, and saw a glowing, white-hot ring on Seraphel’s fingers.

The cursed ring. Seraphel du Marquin’s face was a mask of pain, but the ring wasn’t searing through her flesh. She lifted it—and touched it to the ropes that Aiche had bound her with. They began to snap, smoking.

“W-what—”

The ropes fell free. Seraphel tore the ring free with a cry, and it went dead. She slipped it into her bag of holding, and the Lizardwoman cradled her claws, seared black. She would have reached out, but Seraphel was too quick. She grabbed the horse’s bridle and hauled herself up. Then she kicked the terrified animal in the flanks.

“Commander!”

Hexore whirled. He saw the [Princess] riding back into the tunnels. He shouted for someone, anyone, to stop the [Princess]. But they were busy fighting the monsters. And Aiche’s claws were burnt too badly to hold her bow.

Besides, the Lizardwoman wasn’t sure if she could shoot the [Princess] in the back. Her colors were so beautifully sad. Sad enough to draw even an Adult Creler to scream.

…Plus, she had on her magical circlet.

 

——

 

They had stopped marching for another rest when a little yellow bird flew over Vofea’s head. Grimly, she loaded one of Ksmvr’s crossbows.

“The Lizardfolk have found us. I’m gonna do my best, Ksmvr. If you don’t find me, I tried, eh?”

He didn’t respond. He was lost in the dream. The Satyr took aim as she heard something coming her way. It sounded like footfalls. But only one? Her eyes pierced the darkness…and then she blinked.

Seraphel du Marquin had poor running form, but she did run. She came to a halt, panting, incredulous. She hadn’t believed it, even when the bird had told her…

“V-Vofea?”

“Seraphel!”

The Satyr almost ran at the [Princess], but she halted, wary of the blackness that Seraphel stood in.

“How…?”

“I levelled. And it turns out this bottle is filled with magic ward-water. Are you alright? Did Jungle Tails find you? I used the Crelers on them, but the big one is still down there, and there’s an army waiting for us when we get out—”

Seraphel stumbled forwards. She was babbling, but the Satyr just picked her up and swung her around in a crushing hug.

“Yer alive.”

She kissed Seraphel on the cheeks and squeezed her harder. Seraphel blinked, then hugged back fiercely.

“I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Sorry? You walk out of the dark like some heroine out of myths—I thought you were dead! I’d have expected this nonsense out of Ryoka Griffin and her prophecies, but you’ve got none!”

“I am a [Princess]!”

Vofea threw her head back and laughed.

“Ha! Hahaha! That’s the stuff I like about this world! You say that as if it matters. ‘I levelled’, as if that explains everything! Name of the Faerie Queen, you must not know how stupid it sounds to those from any sane world. Even mine! How’d you get back? No, wait, what’s that about Crelers?”

Seraphel had to explain as best she could what happened as they jogged after the party. Vofea was open-mouthed.

“So there you were, crawling over a horde of treasures like a thingymawhatsit stealing from a Dragon’s hoard! What’s the name again? It’s like a Halfling, but, eh…nevermind.”

“Er, it was hardly that big a treasure hoard and far more disgusting.”

“No, no, it’s the same! The stuff of stories! You know, them little folk! ‘Tis a famous story, according to Ryoka Griffin. When it was told, all in the Court of the Fae went to hear it!”

“Um…Fraerlings?”

“Bah, I cannot talk to ye! Just go on. Then what?”

Seraphel didn’t think her captivity and desperate escape was that dashing, but Vofea was delighted.

“Tricking even the nightmares of gods like that—and then you rode back here?”

“Yes and no. I had fairly good directions thanks to how much they talked about your locations. There are surface tunnels I could follow; we meandered far too much. Unfortunately, whatever ward was on my horse failed after some time. The poor thing dropped dead.”

“Ooh. But then you reached us! I’m glad. I’m…glad. It’s been hard.”

Vofea looked even thinner than before, even more bloodstained. Seraphel gazed around and thought that each column was shorter.

“How many have died?”

“Hundreds. It feels like there’s at least six groups of monsters before we stop to rest.”

“That’s what they said. All the Crelers pushed the monsters out of their habitats.”

Vofea pointed back at the wagon with Ksmvr on it.

“There’s naught to do but press on. We’ve come so far I doubt Ksmvr could get them to turn…we’re almost out of provisions. We have t’get out of here. But I’ve run out of tricks. Maybe between us…”

Seraphel had one dagger left. The dreadful slaughter—she took a breath.

“I am prepared to do everything in my power. But as I said, Vofea. I levelled. I have become…the woman I always was. Or was meant to be. You may have to place me on the wagon, but I swear. I will do more help than harm.”

The Satyr gazed at the [Princess] with hope-filled eyes. She nodded.

“Of all the moments to wish for levels and such…I wish for it now. I thought mebbe I’d not take them, even after Ksmvr lecturing me.”

She gazed down at her hands.

“I’m tired of watching them die. Show me, please. Show me the dream even Oberon believed in.”

Seraphel felt a chill over her skin. Then she gazed ahead at four people she loved.

Rabbiteater.

Cortese.

Menrise.

Gilthisa.

Yes, she knew them. She had shared memories with them and understood theirs. She promised—this time—she would save as many as could be saved.

“I’m a weak [Princess]. But even if these hands of mine cannot save anyone…I am in the company of those who can.”

 

——

 

(Yet another foe emerges from the darkness. The Many-Headed Serpent hisses.)

 

The Angry Woman readies a spell. ‘Be careful, I think it regenerates’.

The Guilty Man checks behind for an ambush. He readies a bow.

The Lonely Warrior lifts shield and sword for the fray.

The Weeping Princess…pauses a moment. She opens her eyes. ‘I’m back,’ she declares. No one knows what she means. But her smile is relieved. She’s no longer crying.

 

In the background, The Grim Knight readied himself to fight. He hoped he could be called upon, though he was fading. Reducing in…strength from the damage he’d taken. But one piece of him did not join that battle of colors above.

This time…he did not drift back into the other world, tuning himself to the ‘right’ frequency with effort, unable to hold himself.

He woke suddenly. A sleeper from a long and terrible dream. And he remembered everything. Ksmvr flexed his hands, then sat up.

The unbound ropes fell from him, and a voice gasped. He gazed into that exhausted, desperate face he had been unable to help for so long and spoke. His voice was raspy.

“Vofea. Explain.”

For answer, she pointed, and Ksmvr saw the woman standing there at the head of her column. The blue of her sorrows drifted upwards as the [Cursed Princess] took her place in the procession of the damned.

So why was she smiling? The Satyr had tears in her eyes.

“She took your place. She levelled and—”

Ksmvr rose suddenly. His body protested the movements, but he had been made well; he was barely cramped. He reached for his sides and realized she had his blades.

“My swords. I understand enough. Where—ah. Hydras.”

A ‘mere’ eight of them. Enough to tear his comrades to shreds. But they were waiting for their turn. Vofea handed him two blades caked in blood. Ksmvr took them.

“My crossbows too. Find any flame you can and torch their heads. Do not get close to them lest they trample you.”

“Right! Are you going to do something swords-like?”

“Yes.”

Ksmvr’s rings were on his fingers. He tensed, and the Ring of Jumping glowed. But before he leapt, the Antinium turned to the young Satyr woman.

“Vofea. You are no rookie Horn of Hammerad. Yvlon herself would be immensely proud of you. It is I who am the rookie. And Colth.”

She beamed at him.

“Nah, I want t’be the rookie again.”

He smiled, and then the Antinium leapt. His cloak flapped behind him as he soared under the sea of colors, and his blades flashed silver as he fell. A dance of metal on the frozen Hydras.

Ksmvr dropped in a shower of green blood with the first Hydra’s head, then the second, but it wasn’t enough. He unleashed all his helpless rage as he pivoted in the air. Four crossbows appeared in his hands as he turned and shouted.

“[Weapon Art: Aggregate Volley]!”

 

——

 

(The Many-Headed Serpent has been attacked by a strange beetle. It takes 2 damage…for some reason.)

 

Utterly confused, the Lonely Warrior decides to attack anyways. He deals 1 damage and is even more confused. And insulted.

The Weeping Princess is laughing. She charges into battle and deals 0 damage…

 

——

 

When she next awoke, it was because her Skill had ended. Or perhaps he was done. Vofea saw the [Cursed Princess] step out of line. She was cradling an Antinium in her arms even as he got up and joined the procession of figures following Ser Thilowen.

“He said he ran outta Skills, so you should let him go.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

For answer, Vofea just pointed back, and Seraphel saw four Hydras that her party hadn’t killed. Hacked down or riddled with crossbow bolts. Vofea chased after Ksmvr with ropes and shouted.

“He had a lista people to choose next!”

Seraphel had chosen Ksmvr of Chandrar because he was an adventurer, and because he wouldn’t be as confused as everyone else. She expected to see Ser Solstice front and top of the list, but she blinked.

“Is he serious?”

“He says ‘in moments like this, not-rookie Vofea, you should trust the experts’. Then he patted me on the head, which was sort of patronizing, but I let him do it.”

Meaning…adventurers. The [Cursed Princess] hesitated. Then she threw out a hand like someone inviting a partner into a terrible, final dance.

I am cursed. But that’s fine. 

[Transfer Afflictions: Self]! She took a curse from just one person in the army of lost people. And as The Weeping Princess rejoined her party…

The lonely, single Stitch-woman marching with guilt blinked and put a hand to her head.

Revi Cotton stumbled, then whirled around. She saw Vofea dragging Ksmvr by his back-shell over to the wagons. The [Summoner] pulled out one eye, then sighed.

“Fuck. This one’s a real adventure. Halrac…it never ends.”

She was still gazing at the hypnotizing miasma above her, biting her lip so hard it was bleeding, when Vofea ran back.

“Miss Revi! Miss Revi, what’s happening is—”

The [Summoner] had pulled out a hand mirror. She inspected her disfigured face without expression, then tucked the mirror into her belt. She turned, gnawing at the good part of her lip. She spat.

“We all got hexed. I got it. I thought I was Lord Cortese and guilty of nearly knifing ‘Ser Solstice’ in the back. Meanwhile, we’ve been letting monsters walk up and hit us. But someone had the sense to wake me up. That sum it up?”

The Gold-rank adventurer lifted her wand, brushing at her untouched summoning crystals hanging from her belt. Vofea hesitated.

“Um. Yep. It’s the [Princess] what did that last bit. Ksmvr said you were better than Ser Solstice or anyone else.”

“Ksmvr’s the smartest member of his team. I’m the highest-ranked adventurer on the field. I’m the [Summoner].”

Revi drew a crystal from her belt and held it up. She whispered a word, and the tiny element trapped in the crystal glowed—and a vast, scuttling Shield Spider prowled forwards. It had no emotions, no thoughts, not even an undead’s mind. Revi bit through her lip, and her teeth clicked together. She glared at Vofea.

“Catch me up to speed, rookie! The next wave we run into, I’ll wipe solo. I’ll do this entire damn dungeon if they just stand there!”

 

——

 

(The Laughing Leperous Carnivore has appeared! It takes 44 damage for some reason.)

(The Laughing Leperous Carnivore has been vanquished! 0 EXP awarded.)

 

(A Furious Weevil appears! It takes 422 damage for some reason.)

(A Furious Weevil has been vanquished! 0 EXP awarded. A Pretty Gemstone found!)

 

(An Undead Zombie has appeared! It takes 202 damage for some reason.)

(An Undead Zombie has been vanquished! 0 EXP awarded.)

 

The Guilty Man is wondering what is going on. He ignores the red bug following him as it whines.

The Weeping Princess is wearing a mysterious smile.

The Lonely Warrior thinks the smile is slightly charming. And nostalgic.

The Angry Woman is waiting for actual combat to begin.

 

——

 

Revi did not do every battle by herself. But not for lack of trying. To hear Vofea tell it, Revi had taken their battle tactics to a logical extreme only a [Summoner] could. The moment she saw an enemy, her summons would roll over them.

Summoned Stitch-folk warriors beheading silent figures and her vast Shield Spider trampling everything. A Face-Eater Moth doing what it was known for—

“She even sent them into the darkness. No minds to take, see?”

“If only she’d been here from the start! We’d have been safe!”

Well, Revi did have her limits. She’d forced herself to her very limits, then given Vofea orders to have Seraphel switch her out. She was now swaying back into line with Lord Cortese’s group.

They were not out of this. Seraphel saw another group coming their way. She took a breath. Then she plucked someone out of line.

“Glowing ants. Not Rabbiteater for this. Please…”

Lady Menrise jerked and gazed down at the vomit and blood on her clothing. Then her helmet creaked around.

“Seraphel? I was dreaming…”

She saw the [Princess]’ distant smile and Vofea bowing to the [Princess]. The Satyr pointed.

“Monsters are coming. After ye blast them, I’ll explain about your [Princess]. Carrying the burdens for all of us.”

The Satyr loaded an enchanted bolt as Menrise jerked her wand up. Vofea fired.

 

——

 

(This mysterious maze is coming to an end. The foes keep coming but…is luck on your side? Or something else?)

(The Wretched Flies buzz as they detach from the ceiling, obscene bags of flesh trying to lay eggs in your head. Their swarm buzzes over your heads.)

(However—a brave little [Sniper] is loosing arrows. He grins with a monster’s smile as his crimson eyes flash. For some reason, The Wretched Flies take 79 damage!)

 

‘Brother?’ Why does that word spring to mind? The Lonely Warrior salutes the little [Sniper]. He leaps and slashes down the foe! He delivers 244 damage!

Shoot it down! The Guilty Man looses arrows! He delivers 99 damage!

She can fight now. The Weeping Princess brutally executes her foe. She delivers 370 damage.

 

(The Wretched Flies are no more! 103 EXP awarded!)

 

The Angry Woman stares at The Weeping Princess. How did she do that?

 

——

 

“Whoa.”

Badarrow lowered his bow. He hadn’t stopped firing arrows, but he’d feared that even with his enchanted arrows exploding amongst the flies that they’d do some damage.

The arrow showers from Cortese’s group and his brother slashing down the bugs—and everyone copying him as if they were Cave Goblins—was good enough. But Badarrow hadn’t expected the soft [Princess] to stride up, grab a fly, and just ram a dagger through its head.

She did the same thing the next battle they faced. When it was her ‘turn’, she didn’t slash at the enemy. Instead, she crept up behind the Ghoul and hamstrung it with two quick slashes. Incredibly vicious—but only if the enemy let her sidle around them. It’d never go down that way in a real fight.

But it was as if she knew…the [Sniper] began to grin. The grim expression he’d worn, like a mirror of Halrac’s, became slightly triumphant. He did not miscount the dead and wounded, but this felt like a reversal.

A Redfang’s quintessential smile. He nudged Vofea, and the Satyr smiled proudly as she lowered her crossbow.

“I taught her that!”

“She good at frontstabbing and backstabbing. Ooh, and sidestabbing.”

“Is that all the stabbings you have to learn?”

“Nah, there plenty more. Advanced stuff. Groinstabbing. Nosestabbing. Assstab. I show you later.”

They were making it. Badarrow slapped his brother’s shoulder as he exhaled. He patted Seraphel on the shoulder and then began recovering arrows. He could see into the darkness and thin any crowd coming his way. When they ran into something he couldn’t easily shoot down, he’d switch…

“We’re going to make it, Brother.”

Just a bit further. The [Sniper] kept firing arrows until his fingers bled. When he finally let himself rest…he swore he could see real light at the end of the tunnel.

Almost. Though—the Hobgoblin turned his head and wondered what that damn annoying bug following Lord Cortese was all about. It kept getting louder.

 

——

 

“Under the Sword of Laegriser and by the grace of the [Hero of Titan’s Challenge], we meet. Warded by the Thousand Lances of Kaaz Dorem Laegriser, this assembly of the nobility of the Kingdom of the Infinite Dungeon is convened. His Majesty and His Highness bear witness. All kneel!”

They knelt.

Less than a hundred men and women fell to their knees. Hundredlord Kinth winced as his left hip popped so loudly that the younger Hundredlords jumped. Several of the [Knights] kneeling closest to the high bench where the [King] of Kaaz sat winced.

A sympathetic glance from Knight Etheric, whose white hair glimmered like the snow. But Kinth’s lined face betrayed no strain, though his skin was withered like an aged pear.

“Rise. Do not tax yourselves, my Lords and Ladies of the Lance.”

King Fireth Laegister spoke the words too quickly, and the [Herald] had to rush the formal moment. The King himself did not rise; he sat upon the padded cushion, as lined as both Kinth and Etheric. His voice was barely a breath; it was the [Crown Prince], one of his sons in his late sixties, who spoke for him thereafter.

“By the grace of His Majesty, now rise! Now rise—do the ten Hundredlords of Kaaz stand with blades proudly bared before the throne?”

A ringing of blades as each of the Hundredlords of Kaaz seated above the ‘lesser’ nobility drew their blades. Each one was enchanted—each one had seen blood in duels, even if Kinth’s trembled as he strained to raise it. It was Hundredlady Iirn who called out, her voice strident, her hair flashing bright red. She had the eyes of many.

“All but one! In the place of Hundredlord Cortese Withred stands his cousin, Lady Siveris!”

A [Lady] bowed, hands resting on slightly plainer weapons, but still, gear any Gold-rank adventurer would covet. They were of Kaaz; the Infinite Dungeon painted this vast room awash with magical colors.

Indeed, the nobility forced to stand were apart from each other and in groups of less than ten to avoid…accidents. Magical interference. The [Prince] raised his voice.

“The Hundredlords may resume their discussion of the sea battle.”

He sat back and whispered to his father as every eye swung to the Hundredlords. Formalities done, the [Knights] rose.

Twenty of them returned to their seats in front of the royal seats. There were over eighty of the Thousand Lances in this room, but the ones seated before the [King] were his personal bodyguard. The highest-level, but also the most venerable. White hair stood out on all but the two half-Elves.

Human, half-Elf, Dwarf—even a Centaur and Drakes made up this room, though humanity predominated. The Thousand Lances listened as Hundredlady Iirn made her case.

“We return to the crux of the argument! Lord Cortese has disgraced Kaaz in allying with a traitor—”

“Hundredlords, I object!”

Tenlord Richimere leapt to his feet, hand flying instinctively to his sword. Hundredlord Kinth murmured, his voice magically amplified.

“It is not the first nor the dozenth time you protest, Tenlord Richimere.”

“Nevertheless, I do by my rights, Hundredlord! There is no evidence to declare Ser Solstice of Izril any sort of traitor! Even the word I object to!”

“The Prince of Erribathe deemed him a threat worthy of facing despite the Bloodtear Pirates! Do you call the Prince’s integrity into question?”

Hundredlady Iirn barked down at the young [Lord]. Her own hands were flying to the enchanted daggers at her sides. She would have jumped the railing, but Hundredlord Brinth and Hundredlady Yerew grabbed her. The young [Lord] shot back.

“This day, I do, before His Majesty and all gathered! What could possess a [Prince] to attack a [Knight] with his valor evident before all in that hour?”

“What could possess a mere [Innkeeper] to slay the [Prince of Men]?”

Hundredlord Brinth shot back, but the uproar forced the [Herald] to bang the gavel again and again.

“Lords and Ladies of Kaaz, we are in the presence of His Majesty! Now is not the time to relitigate this long hearing! You will focus upon the matter addressed—the conduct of Lord Cortese and Ser Solstice!”

The room subsided. One of the Lord of Lances, whose house paid for a single of the Thousand Lances’ sizable endowments in all matters—in this case the redoubtable Makren the Munificent, a Knight of Haegris—slipped out of the vast chambers.

No one paid any attention; the [Lord] was literally a hundred times poorer than the men and women sitting above him. Though, the long-legged man with a handsome beard and black skin scarred from duels as a younger man felt a bit smug.

Unlike other members of the Thousand Lances, Makren the Munificent brought in coin to his patron house. His lack of valorous deeds in the martial sense was offset by his economic acumen, and right now, that meant he was one of the few Houses not bleeding coins to pay for their [Knights].

Plus, being a mere Lord of the Lance under Tenlord Rema’s authority under Hundredlord Kinth meant that no one cared where he went. So, Lancelord Cule practically ran out of the grand auditorium and down a long corridor. He burst into a second room, and the nobility without even his ranking whirled.

“They’ve just accused Hundredlord Cortese of aiding a traitor. Hundredlady Iirn is sparring with Tenlord Richimere.”

He announced, and the entire assembly of the lesser nobility promptly dropped their debate on investments into manufacturing of confections. One of them exclaimed.

“Again? It will be blood before the day is done! What else? Has His Majesty said anything?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be back in five minutes!”

So saying, the Lancelord took off running. The nobles burst into a murmur. A few young people standing in a gaggle were loudest of all.

“I want to see! The Hundredlords let us walk around all the time—why can’t we listen now?”

One of them protested to a [Lord], who replied with a smile.

“This is formality, Earther Worrel. Only the royal family, the Lords and Ladies of the Lance, and the Thousand Lances are allowed in the Chambers of Deliberation when they convene. Matters of war may be declared there before the Sword of Laegister.”

“Aw. Wait, I saw the sword in the entryway. It was all chained up. Someone said it flew out of the display case and stabbed someone.”

The [Lord] coughed delicately.

“Ah, yes, well…His Majesty is long past his dueling days. He is eighty-seven years old and no King of Myths. Even so—Hundredlady Iirn accusing Hundredlord Cortese of something tantamount to treason? This is astonishing! It cannot just be a grudge, can it?”

“Perhaps she’s merely spitting thorns that she wasn’t chosen to go to the New Lands.”

One of the other nobility jested as a door opened on the other end of the chambers. A [Lady] closed the door, then began hotfooting it down the stairs. She had to jostle with two of her peers—

They exploded into the commoner’s assembly where adventurers, [Merchants], and everyone who could secure a ticket into the palace were squeezed in. The [Lady] took a breath—a young [Lord] of barely fourteen beat her to it.

“Hundredlady Iirn has accused Hundredlord Cortese of treason!”

“Outrageous!”

The room was on their feet, fighting and shouting, in seconds. Proponents of the Hundredlady drew blades as those who favored Hundredlord Cortese did likewise. The [Lady] saw, across the room, one of the Gold-rank adventurers open a door to shout to people outside.

 

——

 

In the actual Chambers of Deliberation, the Hundredlords were aware of word spreading fast. Hundredlord Nvize leaned forwards to whisper to the others.

“Should we seal the chambers against gossip until this session has ended?”

“I’ve said nothing I do not mean with my whole heart!”

Iirn snapped back, and Nvize rolled her eyes.

“Don’t snap at me, girl. You won’t stand more than three challenges back-to-back.”

“Is that a threat?”

The youngest of the Hundredlords nearly drew her daggers, then reconsidered as Hundredlord Nvize lifted her wrist-mounted crossbow. The miniature Dwarf-made contraption clicked as Nvize pointedly loaded it.

“Poison will slow you down, uncouth as it is. Make your point. The chamber sealing?”

Hundredlord Kinth chuckled, and the oldest of their number silenced the bickering.

“Why bother? His Majesty will tell his staff and they’ll spread the news. Elsewise, it will leak the moment our peers leave this room. Let them fight it out. Make your point, Iirn. A single [Knight] does not change how many of the Thousand Lances fell in this battle—nor the coin and lives wasted. Of all the times to be a Hundredlord and spend like one…I should have left my house at Tenlord.”

Iirn riposted back, but gently.

“Hundredlord, does your blood not stir at the prospect of these New Lands? Of all times to be alive—! If it weren’t for fools and traitors, the glory would be undiminished!”

“My blood is too old to do more than walk to the privy.”

Hundredlady Ullana, who had just returned from Izril with a trove of inventions and suspicions the Gnolls knew the secrets that Kaaz had learned, was also, interestingly, unmoved by the New Lands.

“Recovered parts of this world do not excite me as much as the next, Iirn. I would rather spend more time with the children of Earth. They clamor for us to build more of those ‘pianos’; I’m told one can play at a master’s level. You should have gone with Cortese and put aside your jealousy if you are so strident.”

“And died, save for Lord Altivem and Ser Gorethem?”

Brinth snorted. Hundredlady Iirn glowered at him.

“If I had been there, more ships would have survived! Enough of this—”

Disappointed, the Hundredlady turned back to the argument. Lady Siveris had taken the stand to testify on her cousin’s behalf.

“Ladies and Lords of the Lance, Knights of the Thousand Lances—I repeat the same question Lord Cortese asked me when I pressed him on this very point. Is a [Knight] not a knight? The Knight-Commander of the Order of Seasons vouches for Ser Solstice’s character! The tragedy of Prince Iradoren’s death cannot be understated—”

“Yet somehow you do, Lady Siveris. Is a [Prince] then not a Prince? Let alone heir to the Kingdom of Myths, our ally?”

This time, it was Hundredlord Brinth who interrupted, his voice carrying. The [Lady] whirled, a scowl on her face. Her eyes flared like Lord Cortese, but she was wise enough not to reach for her sword. One did not casually duel a man who used a maul and could easily hold it level one-handed.

“If the Prince of Men makes a habit of stabbing his allies in the back, then perhaps that should alarm us! A [Prince] is not known for his honor, is he? A [Knight] is different. Or must these basic nuances of classes be reminded to you, Lord Brinth?”

Laughter. Even the [King] cracked a smile. Lord Brinth’s dark face mottled further, and he put a hand on his maul.

“I challenge you over that insult, Lady Siveris.”

She hesitated.

“By rights, I should refuse. Someone must speak sense.”

“A coward’s logic.”

Her face paled in outrage, and her blade edged out of its sheath. The room went quiet, and there were hisses from below.

“Siveris, don’t—”

“Lady, he outlevels you ten or more. Remember Lord Cortese’s urgency.”

That came from one of the Thousand Lances belonging to her house. A Dullahan’s visor lifted; his eyes flashed as he eyed Lord Brinth, and the visor closed.

“I refuse, Lord Brinth. Though, if you would deign to face one of my Thousand Lances, I am sure you would prove a fitting challenger.”

Lady Siveris replied after a moment, and the Hundredlord snorted.

“It seems House Withred prefers to let others fight their battles for them. At sea and on land. I maintain my challenge. A point of honor.”

Every head swung to the [King], who hesitated.

“Brinth. She’s a child.”

The Hundredlord bowed, but he did not withdraw the challenge even at the reproving mumble. Lady Siveris now had her blade half-drawn. Sweat was beading on her brow. The tension mounted as the [Knights] of the two houses eyed each other. A full melee would be extraordinary, but not unprecedented.

One of the white-haired [Knights] sitting in front of the throne raised a hand. The white-haired woman snapped.

“Lower your blades, [Knights]! There will be no battle between you lot in front of His Majesty!”

That made the [Knights] stand down, but Brinth and Siveris didn’t move. The [Lady] was utterly still—until one of her breasts wiggled.

All of the Hundredlords stared at the [Lady] as a little head poked out of a pocket in Lady Siveris’ tunic. The smallest lion they’d ever seen woke up from its nap. It had sensed the impending strife. It focused up on the Hundredlord and rawred at him.

Hundredlord Brinth blinked down at the angry lion cub trying to wiggle out of Siveris’ pocket, and then he laughed. The tension drained as he sat down.

“Such a fierce protector. I withdraw my objections. I’d rather not have that one savage me in a year’s time.”

Laughter, and the argument went on. But Lord Brinth stood shortly afterwards with Hundredlady Iirn.

“There can be no excuse! Ser Solstice’s masked visage, his alliance with the [Innkeeper] who took the hand of a Goblin Lord—Greydath of Blades, no less! How can this assembly of the Thousand Lances allow such a monster to live?”

She slammed her hands down on the balcony, and Tenlord Richimere shouted back up.

“We have all witnessed Ser Solstice fighting in defense of the Dawn Concordat! With my own eyes! If that is not enough, I remind my peers that I have the sworn testimony of Lord Altivem and Ser Gorethem! Hundredlady, if you wish to hunt the Goblin Lord of Blades, be my guest! Is there any who argue that?”

The Hundredlords deliberated until the [Prince] broke in, voice low.

“Greydath of Blades has slain more of the Thousand Lances than any other monster. A pursuit of such a distant foe with no knowledge of his whereabouts is, perhaps, a distraction?”

“Table it.”

Hundredlady Nvize nodded, and they agreed. Hundredlady Iirn went back on the attack.

“Hundredlord Cortese was the arm of Kaaz in that moment. He did nothing! Because of him, Prince Iradoren is dead. He, that Cursed Princess, and Ser Solstice are all traitors to Terandria!”

She slashed her hand, and Lord Brinth nodded.

“What sort of [Knight] would not surrender when the Prince of Men accuses him of a crime and prove himself innocent?”

Tenlord Richimere blazed back.

“I saw no attempt to force him to surrender, only the bared blade! Moreover, he is not Kaaz’s own! Is your oversentimentality towards Erribathe’s affairs, perhaps, the bleating of one of Prince Iradoren’s many fawning admirers, Hundredlady Iirn?”

She drew her daggers.

“Take it back or bleed for it.”

“I refuse!”

She leapt from the balcony, and the [Prince] had to slam the [Herald]’s gavel.

“No enchanted blades! Plain steel!”

The furious Hundredlady and Tenlord had to snatch the proffered weapons from satin pillows before they went at each other. No count, just Tenlord Richimere clicking his boots together. Despite the fury in his eyes, he swallowed as he saw the Hundredlady’s jade bracelet begin to glow.

“Brave boy.”

Hundredlord Kinth closed his eyes and slept until he heard the cry of voices. He opened one eye and saw the Tenlord being carried out for a [Healer]. There went one voice of support for Hundredlord Cortese.

A triumphant Hundredlady Iirn returned to the stands, slapping a bandage over a new scar across her cheek.

Lady Siveris was forced to defend her cousin as the two Hundredlords pressed her.

“Hundredlord Cortese was struck by Ser Solstice in friendship at Calanfer! The Earl of Rains, the 4th Princess of Calanfer, Lady Menrise—each one vouches for his character implicitly!”

“And yet, a [Prince] lies dead. The patron whose name Ser Solstice bears took a Goblin Lord’s hand. The Death of Magic protected her. Explain it! Or better yet, where is Lord Cortese’s testimony?”

Hundredlord Brinth’s maul smashed down on the balcony. The [King] winced.

“The woodwork.”

He was half-asleep on his throne as the arguments grew nastier. Hundredlady Iirn pointed down at Siveris.

“This foreigner [Knight] could be a traitor! I demand answers! From Cortese or House Withred, not faint excuses! If I do not have them, I will lead my House and every member of the Thousand Lances to Baleros to rip them from the [Knight]’s helm myself!”

“Lord Cortese is evading pursuit from the Iron Vanguard—”

“And he didn’t even compose a missive? You have been in touch with him. How has he no explanation when he knows what we must think?”

Brinth from the other side. The [Lady] glanced around helplessly, and it was at this moment that King Fireth whispered.

“Retner. Hasn’t he responded to the…spell? This all should be cleared up. It’s not like Cortese to be silent.”

Prince Retner was sweating, trying not to fidget as he contemplated war against Baleros or two of the Hundredlords fighting. Already, there were duels in the streets; he could see them from the windows! He sat up.

“That’s right. He has refused to answer, but there is a spell that the [Court Mages] say is about his personage. Why—why don’t we simply activate it?”

The Hundredlords turned, and Siveris’ brows crossed in sudden anxiety.

“Your Highness, Your Majesty, he may be in danger or fleeing the Iron Vanguard—”

“Or dead. It’s a very noisy spell. It’s been days, and he will not speak to me.”

King Fireth observed softly. The assembly fell suddenly silent. The [King]’s lined face lifted slightly, and for a moment, the cunning flash from his eyes was nostalgic.

“Hundredlady Iirn. Hundredlord Birnth. If Hundredlord Cortese is dead, do you withdraw your objections?”

“I do, Your Majesty.”

Birnth knelt. Iirn took a second longer than Birnth.

“I do—against Lord Cortese. Ser Solstice I cannot promise, Your Majesty.”

“Then proceed. Activate the spell.”

The King of Kaaz had spoken. Prince Retner leaned over.

“Father. What if…”

“Lord Cortese must defend himself. No one else can.”

That was that. There was dead silence aside from the doors opening to let a few people race back and forth while [Mages] were allowed into the room. They set up a rather complicated-looking spell via a scroll, and then one handed it to the [Herald]. The Thousand Lances had to push the [Mages] out of the rooms; they were trying to listen.

The [Herald], suddenly the most important man in the room, cleared his throat. He tapped the scroll, and there was a flash of red light.

And sound. The instant the spell activated, there sounded the drumming of footsteps. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, in some echoing room. Then, as everyone tried to hear, a distant voice rose in alarm.

“Hey, that stupid fly glowing. Vofea!”

Who was that? Everyone leaned forwards. Was he in battle? It sounded like a man breathing. No visuals—they’d had to punch through an immense amount of interference and burn a Tier 6 spell to just get in contact with Lord Cortese. Wherever he was…the [King] listened as the [Herald] began.

“Lord Cortese. The Lords and Ladies of the Lance have gathered and stand in judgement for your actions at sea! Your protection of Ser Solstice! If you are not in fear for your life or safety—”

“Or shitting.”

Hundredlord Brinth added. More laughter. The [Herald] stumbled over his words.

“—then, ah, we demand answers! How could you choose a foreign [Knight] over a [Prince]? I believe that was the thrust of the question?”

He cast around, then shrank backwards. Everyone waited as the red light pulsed. There was no response. Hundredlady Iirn lost her patience.

“Come on, Cortese! Have you lost your nerve? Where’s that barking tongue of yours? Or has Baeris got to do both the talking and fighting for you?”

She invoked his favorite cat, and one of the other Hundredlords leaned over.

“Iirn, Baeris is dead.”

“Oh, ah—um—”

Even the outraged Hundredlady hesitated, slightly shamefaced. Siveris stared upwards, just as on edge as everyone else. And then, at last—

“Looks like some shitty speaking spell. I reckon I can see someone through it. Lots of fancy Humans. Ech. Dunno what we should do. Maybe leave it alone?”

“Yah. You think we should get Seraphel?”

“Eh…her Skill’s on cooldown. Can’t.”

“Ooh. Too bad…”

Someone laughed, but incredulously. The [King] glanced up. It sounded like they were near Lord Cortese; the spell would track his body even if he was dead. Unless he was literally comatose…the Hundredlords were all getting annoyed now.

“You there! Tell Cortese to answer! The Kingdom of Kaaz demands it!”

Hundredlady Nvize barked. The two voices on the other end conferred.

“Kaaz. Kaaz. Is that where Lord Cortese is from? I don’t know Terandrian stuff.”

“It must be the Kingdom of Racisms. Sounds like a fun place.”

There was no laughter now. Hundredlady Nvize’s eyes narrowed. Before the purpling Lord Brinth could roar, or someone else speak, there was a voice from above.

King Fireth. He spoke as he pulled himself up.

“Cortese. I am listening. If you have anything to say in defense of Ser Solstice, say it now or never again. You are not a cowardly man. What have you to say?”

The hush was final, and the longer it dragged, the more set the faces around Lady Siveris were, both above and around her. The [King] was waving his hand at the [Herald] when at last there was a voice.

The Guilty Man spoke to his [King]. Though it felt as though he were in a dream. He answered because he must. Because it was the bared sword he saw in his nightmares.

“I drew my sword to strike him down from behind. What sort of a man slays a friend? What honor is there? What would it have changed?”

Hundredlady Iirn froze, about to bellow. Her tan skin turned dead white, and she recoiled. Hundredlord Kinth’s back slammed into the seat, and there was a cry—the [Herald] had almost jumped off his podium. He had to cling to it.

Chaos below. The Lord and Ladies of Lances had either drawn blades or leapt back. Every [Knight] had drawn weapons reflexively.

King Fireth’s eyes had opened fully, and he was leaning back in his throne-like seat. Every hair stood up on the little lion’s body, and gooseflesh was raised on Birnth’s arms.

“The chorus of the damned. What is that?”

One of the Hundredlords whispered hoarsely.

“Not the spell—is it? Get the [Mages] back in here! Lord Cortese, is that you?”

“Yes.”

The simple reply dried Iirn’s mouth. She coughed and had to drink water.

“You—you sound like a thousand voices. What—where are you?”

There was no reply. The Guilty Man was walking, eyes locked on The Lonely Warrior’s back. Even Vofea and Badarrow were staring wide-eyed at him as he spoke with the tongues of every single voice in his column all at once.

“I tried. I had my sword raised to run him through. A comrade, a man I drank with. My brother in arms! My friend until the end. All for what? A [Prince]’s request? Even for you, Majesty. I wish I had never been asked it.”

A gasp ran through the room. Lady Siveris whirled, and the [King] of Kaaz blinked his eyes slowly. His lined face never left the spell.

“Lord Cortese. Are you telling us that the [Prince] of Erribathe prevailed upon Glorious Kaaz to—to murder Ser Solstice before their duel?”

Lord Birnth’s eyes were flicking to the royal dais and then to the nobles frozen at the door. The time to seal the events to the chamber would have been…about ten minutes ago.

The [King] said nothing. But he did make a sound when Prince Retner slowly forced himself to his feet. It took a great effort, but the man stood despite looking stabbed himself.

“Before the royal crown, I refuse part of Hundredlord Cortese’s statements.”

He spoke over the murmur of shock.

“—It was not His Majesty of Kaaz who relayed the request of Prince Iradoren to Hundredlord Cortese. It was I. I take responsibility for the order.”

“To murder a [Knight] from behind?”

Hundredlady Iirn had forgotten her position. The [King] closed his eyes, and it was almost a relief when the ghostly chorus whispered.

The Guilty Man gazed at his friend’s back. He drew his sword, and looked at the beautiful blade. Then he cast it aside.

“I could not. I cannot. Whatever else I see, I could not slay an honorable man from behind. I may never know what honor shines like. But I could not even dream of it if I spilled an innocent man’s blood. Damned either way. I’m…sorry, Your Majesty.”

He gazed up and left his sword where it lay. 

“Aw, swive us sideways. They’re all tossing their swords! We have to pick them up, hurry—”

The Guilty Man puts down his heavy burdens. The Questioning Lord continues in his steps. 

On his throne, the King of Kaaz just sighed, the slight breath the only movement in the room. He lifted a shaking hand in weary benediction.

“It was a suggestion, Lord Cortese. Glorious Kaaz chooses its own way. Fight whatever you are fighting well.”

At that point, he had to gaze at the [Herald] pointedly until the man realized that was a cue to end the spell. There was dead silence. Then Hundredlady Iirn steepled her fingers.

“I…withdraw my complaint against Hundredlord Cortese. I may privately investigate other matters, but, ah—um—shall we recess for fifteen minutes?”

The other Hundredlords and the assembled Lords and Ladies of the Lance stared at her. Prince Retner just stood, leaning against his balcony. He wondered when the first challenge would come.

The King of Kaaz slept.

 

——

 

And then…at last, there was light.

 

(You have finally reached the exit. It has been a long, long time. An age of fighting, but you see the light and feel yourself…dissolving. Something precious is being lost.)

(Your steps falter, but something pushes you onwards. It’s a terrifying feeling, breaking apart. But something tells you—you must. You must continue.)

(Each one of you is hurt, but you walk forwards together. Little toys follow you. A smiling Satyr’s doll riding on a toy wagon. A weary Stitch-girl puppet holding a lantern. You feel as though you owe them a great deal. But at last, it’s over.)

 

The Grim Knight lifts his battered head as he steps into the light. His will unbroken, though his body fails him. Seeking the next obstacle to overcome. His duty is not done.

The Grim Knight vanishes.

The Angry Woman has not yet let go of her rage. But some of it has escaped her. She turns and beckons. Her comrades. She stumbles with the weight of her wounds.

The Questioning Lord supports her shoulder. He looks lighter as they walk towards the light. His eyes roam forwards and back, waiting. There is no right or wrong. Just an answer he may one day find. He hopes it is a good one.

The Angry Woman vanishes.

The Questioning Lord vanishes.

The Weeping Princess is smiling. As if she has accomplished something that means everything to her. She turns and beckons as she twirls, stepping into the light.

The Weeping Princess vanishes.

The Lonely Warrior is last of all, checking for foes from behind. He shoulders his sword, pleased with himself. Then he strides after the others. He’s done it. He’s kept them safe. This time…

The Lonely Warrior vanishes…

 

Rabbiteater stumbled as he came to a halt. Sword on his shoulders, back straight. Armor slightly dented, but unbroken. Triumph singing in his heart.

Until…the dream ended. And he awoke and heard the gasp of a thousand lungs taking breaths of their own accord. A thousand hearts no longer beating in rhythm. And the thousand minds remembering who they were.

The tunnels had not quite ended. The procession of people had simply reached the exit. There was sunlight, just beyond the end of the tunnel, but two walls of stone blocked anyone from going further. The light, mundane, had a pale quality compared to the glow they had been basked in. But it awoke their minds. And it woke him up too.

“What?”

The Goblin Lord of Champions gazed back. And he realized his armor was caked in blood. He smelled the foulness caked onto him, felt his mind reeling as it was suddenly tiny, and the feeling of vast unity left him.

But most of all—he gazed at the line of men and women waking from their vision of him. Covered in wounds he remembered bearing. Filthy. Reduced.

Then, Rabbiteater’s silly dream about fighting monsters like a boy running around with a sword took on the horror the others had realized. His arms, which could lift anything, trembled. His legs quivered.

He would have fallen. Fallen and cried out for the horror of it as he realized each little scattering of stones was a life falling away. For never once waking out of this trap.

Him. The one who should have seen it. The one who could have, should have—

He felt sick with horror. Then his helmeted head rose.

“Brother? Seraphel? Cortese? Menrise?”

Were they all…? Someone sighed next to him, and a hand fell on his shoulders.

“It pretty bad, Brother. Hopefully they not remember you.”

Badarrow. He hadn’t fallen. He seemed—tired. Grim as he flexed his bow, but he was glancing around, nodding back the way they’d come.

“She woke me early. You? Harder. Too important. Was bad. Long, sleeping-death. Maybe not so bad.”

Badarrow thought about it, and the [Sniper] rubbed at his filthy hair.

“…Pretty bad. Brave [Princess], though. Braver than you say.”

“I don’t understand. What?”

Rabbiteater remained on his knees, but the [Sniper] just shouldered the bow.

“Can’t say. Too many big words. I go. You hate me, bad Goblin, remember?”

He strode ahead, and Rabbiteater never wished to drop the act more than now. He almost reached for Badarrow’s leg, but someone else rushed over and tried to help him stand.

“Rabbiteater! Are you alright? We made it.”

Seraphel. She was smiling. How, he didn’t know. Rabbiteater stood more out of shock than anything. He saw, now, many people had collapsed like him. Like puppets with strings cut. They were weeping, clawing at their faces, or just staring in shock at…nothing.

Where there should have been more members of the party, the group that had left Throne’s Will—half remained? He didn’t know. Couldn’t count.

How many had died? Each and every monster they’d fought took on a sickening light in Rabbiteater’s mind. Just—just standing there while they—and he had barely used Skills.

He’d thought he was invincible. Or at least, that they weren’t hurting him badly. And maybe they hadn’t hurt ‘him’ badly. Because he’d been so many people. But hundreds had died. Over a thousand. Over two—

His gorge rose, then, and he did puke. He, who was a Redfang and who had never been sick from any battle or foul sight. Seraphel held him urgently.

“Are you alright? Is it malnutrition? We made it. We must all rest. Vofea—Vofea! I think Rabbiteater’s ill!”

She called out. Rabbiteater didn’t get it. He seized Seraphel’s arm before she could dash off.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He meant ‘why aren’t you screaming’? There were screams of horror, like the one rising in his chest. She gave him a wide-eyed stare, one so full of guilt and relief that he let go despite himself.

“I…I woke up early. I tried to save as many as possible. I couldn’t. I wish you had, Rabbiteater. If only you had…I did my best. Truly. I’m so sorry.”

Then her eyes filled with tears. Rabbiteater just stood there. The [Cursed Princess] began to weep.

“I did! But I couldn’t even bury…”

A Satyr ran over with a pail of soup and bandages. Seraphel began confessing her sins, her inability to fight, the fact that she’d only been able to uncurse one person at a time even after levelling to Rabbiteater’s face.

As if she were the one at fault. She, the one who had acted while he got people killed, thinking he was on a grand adventure.

I strode into the dungeon and said I knew what to do. And I fell for the trap. The Goblin’s gauntleted hands scraped over the bare stone.

Dead.

Captain Ennerev was walking down the line of men and women, who were still following ‘their’ colors, still coming back to reality. Calling out names.

“Senson? Swam? Jorchi? Nerne?”

Searching for his people. His face was stricken. Others were performing a similar muster.

Ser Thilowen stood, sword bared, cleaning it. His face betrayed only mild shock, but it was rigid with control. Even looking at him, Rabbiteater felt a name pop into his head.

The Grim Knight. He had never known Ser Thilowen had that unyielding will. He’d thought the man was just a fussy Thronebearer. But even now, the senior [Knight] was speaking.

“Thronebearers, all those of the Radiance will find and count those belonging to their squads. Prepare for combat. Secure this location. Now.”

Then he sheathed his sword and began striding around, dragging any officer above a [Sergeant]’s rank into a meeting. He was not the only one with his faculties about him.

Revi, Ksmvr, Lady Menrise, Badarrow all had ‘woken’ and, like Vofea, were shaky, but knew what was going on. Indeed, Revi and Ksmvr were the ones making soup.

“Food is essential. A lack of liquids and proper hydration was one of the most dangerous elements of this maze. Along with the monsters.”

The [Summoner] had even put up two [Stone Walls] to block the entrance, and several summoned Stitch-warriors were on lookout. Badarrow climbed over one of the walls and stealthed his way up the corridor as Rabbiteater watched. Vofea was adding as she found something.

“And soap! All of you stink of shit. And it’s in your pants.”

“Yeah, well, food first, then cleaning. We’ll drop dead from empty stomachs, not bad trousers. Believe me, I’ve had to stakeout Griffins before.”

Revi snapped back, and Vofea gagged.

“I think I want t’ quit being an adventurer.”

“Sadly, Adventurer Vofea, you are now a Horn of Hammerad. Quitting at this point is infeasible.”

“Drat. How d’we wash ourselves, anyways?”

“Rain spells, rookie. But if there’s an actual damn army up there, we’re fighting. Unless we can just run for it…”

The fact that other people were moving, acting, and there was danger forced Rabbiteater to his feet. He spoke to Seraphel as vomit dripped from his visor.

“Where’s Cortese. Menrise?”

“I think—there. Cortese. Cortese, are you alright?”

Menrise was in fact casting [Cleanse] on people with a wand. She turned and threw her arms around Seraphel.

“You did it, Seraphel! Rabbiteater—oh dear. [Cleanse].”

She waved it over his helmet, and a gaunt-faced man spoke.

“Menrise, the Jungle Tails army is above. Don’t waste your mana.”

“Cortese, I am not going to die with my underwear soiled. I will have fresh underwear to soil when we fight, or none at all.”

Menrise retorted, and there was the faintest of chuckles. Rabbiteater was shocked, but despite his haggard face, his stubble grown to a short beard, and his own bad state—Lord Cortese didn’t appear as horrified as Rabbiteater.

He seemed…shriven. His sword belt was empty, but he nodded at Rabbiteater.

The Guilty Man—no, The Questioning Lord stuck his hands in his pockets. He bowed to Seraphel.

“Your Highness, we owe you all if what Menrise is telling me is correct. I hope to repay you. This has been a disaster of the sort I could never imagine, and I grew up in the Infinite Dungeon! Dead gods. Even Floor 80 isn’t this bad. I thought I knew dungeons, but this?”

He shook his head.

“This is adventuring. I fear I’ve also jeopardized the crown’s authority in Kaaz. If my memory serves.”

He brushed his hand over his eyes. Then just shrugged.

“It is done, and better for it. Let the truth air out the rot. Rabbiteater. I’m glad you’re well.”

He even mustered a smile as he looked at Rabbiteater. As if seeing the [Knight] alive and in one piece mattered more than the dead. Rabbiteater just rasped.

“We failed them. I let them die instead of—”

“Yes. We did.”

That was all Lord Cortese said. Somehow, that bluntness helped. Rabbiteater saw the Hundredlord square his shoulders.

“How many did we lose?”

“I don’t know. Hundreds. Over a thousand, I fear. M-most of the [Knights] survived. They had armor.”

“So the [Sailors] and colonists would have gotten the worst of it.”

Cortese closed his eyes, and Rabbiteater felt sick again. Seraphel pointed urgently as she lowered her voice.

“Vofea did so much before I woke. It’s thanks to her that we’re alive. She…prioritized some. That’s why Dakelos and so on are alive. He broke his leg. Anyone she thought was in danger, like Mariel or Beacle, she tied up in the wagons.”

She pointed, and Rabbiteater saw that many familiar faces were there. Dame Neranthei was untying Beacle and Mariel, and Admiral Dakelos was swearing like the [Sailor] he was.

Of the survivors he knew, the two that seemed most destroyed were actually, well, the undead.

Strategist Veine and Clatterface were sitting and facing a wall. They were so dejected that Rabbiteater pointed.

“Even the undead…?”

“They have feelings. I think I saw Veine trying to get Clatterface to stab her. Don’t blame yourself too much, Rabbiteater. It was a miracle Seraphel got out of it, and Vofea’s special, apparently. Oh! And there’s an Elder Creler somewhere around here, but Seraphel says that it’s not hatched yet.”

“What?”

Cortese reached for the sword sheath, and Rabbiteater’s skin crawled. Menrise clapped her hands together.

“Sorry. I forgot, what with the army of Lizardfolk above us. C’mon, Cortese. We have to tell Thilowen.”

And like that, they were back to war. At least Rabbiteater could fight, but he felt like such a failure…he just stood there as Seraphel glanced at him.

“You’re not badly hurt under there, are you, Rabbiteater? We couldn’t heal you, and I didn’t think you got badly—”

“I’m fine. No one else is. I’m tough. I should have gotten hurt. Not them.”

“It wasn’t your…”

She hesitated, closed her mouth, and he felt bad for being abrupt with her. Rabbiteater turned.

“You were the important one, not me. Good job.”

He knew how bad it was when she smiled, and then her face fell.

“Don’t thank me. I could have done so much more. If I only had…”

He couldn’t handle this. The Goblin Lord was about to run, screaming at something, when he heard a slurping sound. He turned, and Seraphel stared at a crouching knight awkwardly slurping the red from Rabbiteater’s cloak.

“…Rivel?”

The Vampire had made it. He gasped, and his head rose as he fell on his butt.

“Sorry. I—I was starving—”

He didn’t look much worse than anyone else; his armor had doubtless protected him as well as his superhuman healing factor, but he seemed starved for blood. Rabbiteater silently tossed his cloak at Rivel. Then he sat down.

“I thought I could do anything. So stupid.”

Seraphel gingerly rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I couldn’t even kill a monster when I woke up. If you had—”

“Don’t.”

They remained there, in silence, as Rivel slurped the blood in the shadows without saying a word. After a while, someone came to find them.

“Your Highness. Ser Solstice. We are deliberating on our next course of action. The Goblin has reported that elements of Jungle Tails are camped around the entrance. Though they are in disarray. Her Highness’…Creler attack seems to have still left a mark.”

“The what?”

“Four Adult Crelers.”

Rabbiteater stared at Seraphel with much the same expression as Thilowen, but they were past questions. Without a word, the Hobgoblin stood. He saw Strategist Veine’s ghost was giving orders, her face now a mask of concentration. Ser Thilowen stood with her, checking his reflection in the mirror. He grimaced at his missing ear, then nodded along to her words.

“We must sleep. I do not care if it is [Sleep] spells—that is our only edge. The moment we emerge from the tunnel, we are dead. But I truly think they don’t know we are right here. They’ve pulled back far from the entrance of the ruins, doubtless out of caution…”

So it was going to be a battle? Rabbiteater shook his head. They were exhausted, worn out—but there was a crazy kind of relief a Redfang understood.

Fighting. That was simpler than dealing with living. Seraphel whispered.

“Can we fight? Can you, even if we level?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I can do this. I hope. Especially if I level. Enough [Knights] to fight. With me, Badarrow, Cortese leading, Revi, Ksmvr, even that Admiral guy…”

Rivel would fight with the Thronebearers. Rabbiteater cast around and realized he was missing someone.

“Where’s Markus?”

The [Princess] clasped her hands together as his head turned, looking for the lone member of the Order of Seasons. She gestured.

“He’s with the wounded. Let him rest, Rabbiteater.”

He nodded, relieved. She and Vofea had protected so many. The people he knew. The ones he cared about. He put a hand on his sword hilt, then half-turned.

“Seraphel—”

He eyed her. Then he pointed a finger at her.

“Do something again. I’m counting on you.”

He walked on without seeing her face change. The Goblin Lord focused. He had to make up for his failures. And he meant what he had said, of course. At this point, he wasn’t sure who was more important.

 

——

 

Dragonfire General Rithix hated Crelers. Not a unique point of view, but he personally lit up the insides of the last one with blue flames. Then spat.

“I want a kill-team formed for the Elder Creler.”

“Do we have the levels for one?”

“Tell the Wyrmtouched.”

Even with their champion, he doubted it was a good feat to try, but just the thought of it being down there made his scales itch. Four Adults had been bad enough, though.

More than bad enough. It was not just their insane destructive capabilities magnified by four—one was so much easier to contain. Nor the three swarms of Baby Crelers.

No, it was the damn concentration of force that had overwhelmed the elements of his army guarding that exit. Even then, he could have killed the Adult Crelers, but that was not how they operated.

The moment they’d realized there were more [Soldiers] than they could handle, they’d tried to go to ground. The last few days had been a desperate hide-and-seek to wipe out every Creler before they could burrow away and form a nest that would devour everything in a year’s time.

Bloody damned work on top of casualties from fighting the Iron Vanguard. The Dragonfire General didn’t like this mission. He did not like the report from the scout teams who’d been incompetent enough to trust the [Princess]. But mostly?

He didn’t like his [Strategic Appraisal] of the situation.

Rithix fancied he was no fool. He’d never taken the Titan of Baleros’ classes, as any loyalist to Jungle Tails hated the Titan, but he didn’t scorn the greatest [Strategist] either. He’d bought Niers’ books, read them. Memorized the pithy sage advice that sounded simple until you had to do it when it mattered most.

Like: ‘expect surprises’. Or ‘don’t underestimate the foe’. Easy to say that anyone could do it. But he really, truly, hadn’t been prepared for a Creler swarm to come at his people.

Thus, the Dragonfire General considered whether or not he was erring now in attempting to finish his mission. The facts on the paper were good. He had brought thirty thousand soldiers to drive off the Iron Vanguard and capture the Calanferians. More than enough.

They were a mixed force from a single warship, no matter how big—many would be [Sailors] or [Colonists]. They were tired, fighting in unfamiliar terrain, and the Mindscape Ruins had chewed them up if all the bodies indicated anything.

However…Rithix was no arrogant commander. He was no battle-worthy Gorgon. No Lamia of intelligence and wit.

He was a Lizardman. Or at least, that’s what he looked like. It made many Nagas under his command unhappy, even if they knew he could change. It sometimes led to funny-unfunny moments where a Naga gave him orders.

Right now, Dragonfire General Rithix was moving as part of the line infantry in a column, marching towards where the Calanferians should be located. He looked like any other Lizardfolk with yellow, radiant scales and a beautifully fiery neck crest. Only, he could breathe fire, and his armor was quite a lot better than theirs, just scuffed up to look worse.

These were the precautions of a [General] who did not want to have Three Color Stalker assassinate him on the march…or her many agents. He gave orders under his breath into speaking stones as the infantry, his bodyguard, chattered around him.

“Every Creler-hunting detachment, perform one final sweep for buried stragglers then mark your zones. We’ll have a nest-burning team sweep aftwards. Move at all speed to the Calanferian entrance. Who is the commander in charge of the location?”

“Gorgon Axtrizak, sir.”

The same idiot in charge of the scouting teams. Rithix grunted.

“Tell him [I Have a Bad Feeling]. He is to prepare for combat. Troops, [Quick March].”

He burned a Skill as he received acknowledgements. Rithix was thinking. What he was thinking were two things.

One—he had spread his army out too far hunting the Adult Crelers, but they had to kill them. They were now reforming, but bringing the brunt of their forces to bear on a Calanferian force would be difficult for up to a day or two. Given the spread-out nature of his forces, that would lead to a lack of a hammer’s blow.

Jungle fighting was always like this. It favored forces who could concentrate their might. Like, say, a smaller group of Calanferians led by a high-level [Knight] and [Lord].

He didn’t like that.

Second, and more crucially, the numbers favored his army. The strife the Calanferians had gone through must have whittled their forces down greatly. Both factual statements. But as the Titan said: second-guess yourself. What are you missing?

Rithix pretended to grin and nudge one of his bodyguards.

“Oi, Champers.”

“Yeah, Rithi?”

The Lizardman slung an arm around Rithix’s shoulders. Rithix voiced his thought out loud.

“If you were, say, being beat down by every monster in a death-zone, and all your friends were dying, but you miraculously made it out…how many levels do you think that’s worth?”

Champers’ grin froze on his face, and the rest of the infantry marching with Rithix began swearing. The Dragonfire General clicked a speaking stone.

“Illex Twiceborn should be moving to the Calanferian’s exit. Tell him to move double-time, even if he has to break cover.”

“Acknowledged!”

Of course…this could all just be him overblowing the problem. Perhaps the Calanferians would come out and surrender or they’d taken too much damage. General Rithix marched fast, but he knew he was half a day away from the exit. When his speaking stone chirped and he heard the first contact alarms, then a [Strategist]’s report, he just grunted.

When it rains in Baleros, it pours. And it always rains.

 

——

 

The [Knight] was the first one out of the tunnels. He did not emerge like a hero from stories. The moment he came out of the tunnels, he dove into a roll and came up, shield raised.

The arrows glanced off his armor, but the thing that was really alarming was that he’d run through three layers of trap spells at the entrance by himself. As his head rose, the Lizardfolk [Soldiers] shouted in alarm.

“It’s him! It’s that guy! Ser Solstice!”

They were excited to see someone from television. Less so about what was coming next. The Nagas slithered down their ranks.

“Prepare to fight! Stop slinging stones, fools, he’s out of range! The Dragonfire General is on the way! They’re practically dead on their feet!”

Lizardfolk hiding behind walls of dirt peeked out at the lone [Knight] as his head surveyed the area. He didn’t look dead on his feet. He seemed, in fact, pretty scary. They could feel something around him. Something nostalgic, like the call of home. Their mother’s cooking.

Were those arrows…bouncing off the air around him? A group of [Archers] swallowed. They hesitated until the Naga leading them snapped at them to loose! Then their commander hissed.

“The Calanferians are coming. We have the terrain advantage! Hold positions and slaughter them!”

The Lizardfolk had dug into formations around the entrance. The moment any Calanferian group came out, they’d be hit from all sides. And there were plenty of soldiers, even if most of the army was off chasing Crelers.

“Aim for the others! Don’t focus on that [Knight]! Let the [Mages] handle him!”

The [Archer Captain] shouted. Sure enough, Lamias and Lizardfolk were waving wands and staves to the right. The [Knight] finished casting around. He started running at the first formation of Lizardfolk.

“Uh oh. He’s fast. Like, Courier fast. What level is he?”

The Lizardfolk saw the [Knight] accelerating. He almost left an afterimage. He was going straight for the [Mages], who were a lot less happy as they began casting.

“[Fireball Volley]!”

Commander Axtrizak shouted, and the first [Fireballs] roared down at the [Knight]. They were scattered for maximum damage even if they didn’t hit him—the ground whumphed, and dirt flew skywards. Before it landed, the [Knight] emerged out of the smoke.

Still running. Was he getting faster? The [Soldiers] dug into their walls braced. Two squads were ready for him, prepared to pincer—

The [Knight] ran past them. They hadn’t expected that. Cursing, the Gorgon shouted.

“Spears, [Get Into Position]! [Mages]—[Grand Lightning]! Cook that Human in his armor!”

The [Mages] poured all their mana into a single Lamia with a spellbook. Sweating, the [Battlemage] raised his staff, and it blazed with searing light. He took aim as the [Knight] ran at him.

Was there a crimson glow between the slits in that helmet? He looked really angry. Some of the [Archers] began to move back despite themselves.

The [Battlemage] unleashed the [Grand Lightning] spell, and the [Knight] leapt. Into the streak of lightning! The oversized bolt of lightning flashed and…halted. It tore the air, and one of the Lizardfolk saw something impossible.

She swore she saw the [Knight] reach out, grab part of the [Grand Lightning] as if it were solid…then throw it back at the [Battlemage].

But that was impossible, even for—

The explosion knocked everyone near the [Mages] off their feet. When the Lizardgirl got up, she didn’t see the [Mages]. She did see the [Knight].

He was in their backlines. A stunned Naga [Captain] uncoiled from his defensive posture. He pointed a spear.

“Get—”

The [Champion]’s sword glinted. He pierced the Naga’s chest with a thrust that was like a blade of light had extended from his blade. Then he turned.

“Solstice to Cortese. [Mages] cleared. Taking out the archers.”

“You heard him! Go!”

The [Archers] saw the [Knight] charging them. And then there were horns.

“The Calanferians are emerging! Hit them!”

“They’ve got a magic shield! The [Knight] is in our backlines! We need reinforcements! Where’s Twiceborn?”

The Gorgon was bellowing.

“Keep them contained! They’re civilians and [Sailors]! Half of them can’t fight—”

Then his shouting stopped. The Calanferians were coming out of the tunnels fast. And—

The cowering [Archer] girl was waiting for the [Knight] to behead her when one of the other [Archers] yanked her down.

“[Quick Concealment]! Keep quiet.”

Aiche, one of the [Hunters] assigned to the squad as punishment duty, squatted down with the Lizardgirl as the rest of the [Archers] fled the [Knight] rampaging through their lines. The [Huntress] was the only one who seemed to understand. Aiche paled.

“Oh no. They’re still acting like they’re unified. Commander—!”

She reached for a speaking stone she didn’t have.

 

——

 

“Up! Up! Get into formation!”

Dame Neranthei was bellowing from the rear. Seraphel was not allowed near the front. But she could see everyone moving.

Everyone.

[Knights] and [Soldiers], but colonists too. They’d been given weaponry and armor and then followed. Perhaps it wasn’t in their nature or training, but it was easy. The Lizardfolk’s eyes were huge as they saw the Humans they had laughed at running at them. Throwing themselves forwards with a passion that not even the most battle-hardened [Mercenaries] could match.

The helpless despair and shock of it all—a [Peasant] woman ducked a spear thrust, clinging to life with all the desperate strength she had. She slashed with a sword, screaming, and she was one of hundreds.

Ser Thilowen led a band of [Knights] forwards, supporting the onslaught and targeting high-level officers and [Mages], but it was Lord Cortese and Lady Menrise who stormed forwards without end. And Rabbiteater, of course.

That was Lord Cortese and Strategist Veine’s battleplan. They did not have the time nor training to pull off more coordinated maneuvers. But this?

Strategist Veine was bellowing across the speaking stone. She’d gone above; Clatterface was here with Neranthei, bodyguarding Seraphel. Everyone else was fighting. Revi, Rivel, even Dakelos was in charge of the wounded.

Ksmvr and Vofea had vanished. Veine shouted.

“Lord Cortese, follow Ser Solstice’s advance then break rightwards! Lady Menrise, you will take the western flank! Ser Thilowen, break their lines and take out the [Mages] on the right flank! [Mark Targets]! Find me their Dragonfire General if he is on the field! Summoner Revi, the rear!”

The shriek of a Face-Eater Moth engaging the Lizardfolk forces on one side made Seraphel’s breath come faster.

“We…we have to do something.”

“Your Highness, wait. Lord Cortese is charging.”

She could hear him, but—Seraphel ran after the last group moving upwards. Dakelos was swearing as he tried to use crutches to ascend the tunnel. She saw Lord Cortese leading a wave of people at the Lizardfolk trying to encircle Rabbiteater.

“Kaaz and Calanfer! [Formation: Cat’s Grace]! [Savage Offensive]!”

The Questioning Lord charged into the surprised Lizardfolk. He delivered 281 damage! The Lizardfolk delivered 55 damage—

“Archers! Push! Don’t let them contain you! Your Highness, get down!”

An arrow glanced off Seraphel’s circlet, and she flinched. Strategist Veine was howling at her. She could see Menrise firing spells as she led her people out—

The Angry Woman ignored the arrows landing around her. She had to push up the slopes! She took 41 damage—

No, this was no vision nor a game. Seraphel heard a curse. Then someone rose from a [Wall of Stone] spell and loosed.

Another [Archer Captain] fell as Badarrow shot them through the neck in their position in the trees. He swivelled as Rabbiteater spoke.

“I see a [Strategist]. Way back in the trees. [Brother, Hit That Target].”

Badarrow grinned. He swivelled around, aimed his bow up, up—closed his eyes, and loosed. Then he waited as he pulled an arrow out of his quiver. By the time he’d drawn it to his bow and found another target, the [Strategist] was dead.

 

——

 

Rithix was marching faster as he listened to the analysis from the backup [Tactician]. He was still wincing after the scream from his primary [Strategist].

“They’re fighting like Hydras. They must have slept—their levels—”

“Commander, I have an entire unit of Medusae on your location in five. Do not engage that [Knight]. Shield the Medusae and have them petrify him! Where is Twiceborn?”

His claws were ticking against his armor. Illex Twiceborn was overconfident, but he’d slain the Eternal Noble in the last battle—though that wasn’t saying much, there was always another. But if anyone had the levels…he heard a panicked transmission at last.

“We are under attack! Dragonfire General—we’ve been ambushed!”

Rithix hated the Titan being right. He cursed. Illex was supposed to be in cover like him! Unless that idiot had shown off, even a fast-moving Lizardfolk company shouldn’t draw that much attention!

How?

 

——

 

“You’re sure it’s him, Vofea?”

Ksmvr’s invisibility cloak shimmered as they crouched behind it. The Satyr peered at the ordinary-looking Lizardman laughing with a bunch of his comrades as they ran down the forest trail.

At first glance, the Antinium couldn’t see anything odd about him until he noted the weird armor the Lizardman appeared to wear and how the other Lizardfolk deferred to his every action. Then it was obvious, but he would not have seen it but for Vofea. The Satyr’s eyes were locked onto him.

“Think so. Fate’s all—”

“Mucked up, yes, yes. But he appears to be the [General]?”

“Eh…or someone important. Things matter if he fights or dies.”

“I see.”

Ksmvr nodded. He checked his gear, then murmured.

“No healing potions. I shall have to recover some from the enemy. You remain in cover.”

“I could hurl rocks at—”

“No. You are not ready for this.”

And you are? But the Satyr just watched as Ksmvr crouched. His cloak swirled around him.

She never saw him jump. The Lizardfolk group was still laughing when the Lizardman who glowed in her eyes jerked. He swivelled, shouting—and red blood sprayed from his chest. Vofea distinctly heard Ksmvr curse—there was a plume of leaves as he hit the ground, swords sweeping around him.

Lizardfolk fell and died as their formation broke apart in screams.

“Three Color Stalker! Run!”

“Ambush! Am—”

The Lizardman who’d dodged Ksmvr’s attacks was feeling at his chest. He was cut deep, but he appeared more impressed than anything else.

“Whoa. That nearly got me. How’d you know I was there? I did everything the Dragonfire General said.”

Ksmvr didn’t reply. His swords lifted, and he spun into a silver flicker like a whirlwind of metal. The Lizardman grinned.

There was a clash of steel, and Vofea blinked. Then she winced.

“Ooh. Told ya.”

The Lizardman had changed. A six-armed Naga was slithering upwards, grinning. That explained why he’d had such weird-looking armor; they’d been sword sheaths! Ksmvr backed up, flicking his swords out.

“Ah. It would appear you are a superior Naga type. A six-armed Rhilis.”

Illex Twiceborn’s eyes widened. He chuckled, and his voice was a lot deeper.

“Ksmvr of Chandrar. I was hoping I could get your autograph! I’m way more than a Rhilis. I’m Illex Twiceborn. If we had Named-ranks in the army, that’s me.”

One of his thumbs jerked towards his chest. The Antinium darted in with a cut, and the Naga recoiled, slashing back with two arms.

“Whoa! Hey, don’t we get to talk? You know, this isn’t even my final form.”

Ksmvr danced backwards. He tilted his head.

“Really? You are a much-vaunted second-form Naga? Then I am to assume your speed, toughness, and strength will undergo a second stage of power?”

Illex grinned, flexing one arm.

“That’sssss right.”

“Amazing.”

“Thanks! You know, if you surrender I’ll make sure you’re treated great. Not just anyone knows about second-evolution Nagas. And—aw, c’mon.”

Ksmvr jumped. Illex recoiled, then lazily swung his blades up in a guard, slithering towards where Ksmvr was landing. He gave Vofea the chills.

Dangerous. But Ksmvr’s voice was calm. He twisted in the air as the Naga made to cut him as he landed. Then the [Skirmisher]’s hands flashed—his swords vanished, and he pulled out two crossbows.

“[Weapon Art: Aggregate Volley].”

He fired both crossbows, a second set, a third—ten crossbows fired in an instant, and the enchanted bolts hit Illex’s swords. Vofea fancied she saw the Naga try to dodge; he certainly blocked.

“Gaaaaaah!”

The scream from Illex’s throat was furious. Somehow, he blocked one of Ksmvr’s swords as the [Skirmisher] came in with an attack. The other slashed deep across one of Illex’s arms, but the armor stopped the blade from sinking in too deep.

The other Lizardfolk were backing away from the two high-level combatants, but they peeked back as Illex roared. Ksmvr’s swords were ringing as Illex swept the blades and forced the Antinium back.

“That’s it! You get the second form fight now.”

His face contorted, and his scales changed from orange to a deeper red. His shoulders cracked—and Ksmvr threw something at Illex.

“Wh—”

The acid jar exploded as Ksmvr shot it in midair and hit Illex. This time, his scream was drawn out, and Ksmvr hopped backwards.

“I assume you carry over damage into your ‘second form’. Also: transforming in battle is a known weakness. Let us duel indeed, Illex.”

He swept his cloak around himself as Vofea almost began to cheer and then clapped her hands over her mouth. The furious Naga roared.

“I’m going to EAT you, Ksmvr of Chandrar!”

He lunged out of the steam, mouth open, still transforming, and Ksmvr was running. Illex Twiceborn saw Ksmvr sprinting in the greatest tradition of the Horns of Hammerad, arms pumping, not even holding his swords.

“COWARD!”

“Your form is highly ineffective! Most Lizardfolk are more aesthetically pleasing than you!”

Ksmvr’s insults seemed to work as the enraged Naga chased after him. He was fast—but Ksmvr leapt into the trees, just slow enough for the Naga to slither towards him. If Illex caught up to Ksmvr’s ability to bound from tree to tree, the Antinium had told Vofea he would assess Illex’s danger if the acid jar hadn’t done enough damage. But what he said he’d probably do was just use the cloak to vanish.

Vofea grinned as she began to stealth her way back to the rest of the fighting. One piece off the board…

 

——

 

Dragonfire General Rithix felt the momentum swinging Calanfer’s way. It wasn’t numbers; most of his army wasn’t even in place. It was the lack of pieces to throw to slow Ser Solstice’s rampage. Morale.

Timing.

But he had reached the battlefield at last. The [General] halted on a hill and fished a spyglass out. He could see the distant fighting. He began to activate Skills.

“Lindclaw Captain, [Countercharge]! All forces on the southern flank, fall back. Don’t bother engaging the summons. [Perfect Dispel].”

The giant Shield Spider winked out, and the battlefield stabilized slightly. But that [Knight]…Rithix swung the spyglass around.

“…That’s not a regular Level 40 [Knight]. Commander, where are my Medusae?”

“Almost in position, sir!”

“Focus on the [Knight]! Bring him down now!”

Thirty Medusae did not raise bows nor cast spells. They just did the most effective thing they were known for.

They stared, and all they gazed at turned to stone. It wasn’t as powerful as Gazers, but massed…Rithix saw the [Knight] slowing, turning. The people around him froze or fell over. First paralysis, then petrification.

Even then, he kept moving, charging the Medusae. Rithix heard a breathless voice.

“Dragonfire General, his resistance—!”

“I see it. Commander!”

Just in time, the [Knight]’s charge ran into a squad of ten Gorgons. The towering Nagas, one of their strongest forms, slammed into him with long catch-poles. Not to hurt him, just hold him back while keeping themselves safe. The Medusae kept staring.

His flailing was slowing. He didn’t appear to have a counter to this one. The Dragonfire General’s teeth were grinding together.

“Come on. Come on…”

He felt like the Titan was laughing at him. Then he swore he saw…

Blue.

The [Knight]’s faltering flailing grew more violent. He pivoted and cut a Gorgon across one arm. Then tore free of the catchpoles.

“Medusae! What’s happening?”

They weren’t responding. Commander Axtrizak’s voice crackled over the speaking stone.

“Dragonfire General! They’ve stopped fighting! They’re—they’re—weeping? What are you doing, fools?”

Then Rithix saw the blue haze rising upwards, and his scales chilled. Always something new. He hated counterlevelling.

 

——

 

The Weeping Princess arises! She’s crying…but smiling? She stands in the battlefield, and her tears stain the grass.

The Eyes of Stone can’t stop crying. What’s going on? Help. Help…

 

Curses. The [Princess] lay in a circle of steel, protected by her [Bodyguards], tears falling from her eyes. Across from her, Rabbiteater ripped free of the trap. The Medusae did nothing.

They were caught in the curse of the Mindscape Ruins. The [Cursed Princess] lay there as Dakelos muttered an oath.

Do you see, Cara? I’m doing something the only way I can.

 

——

 

“The army is beset by madness. They’ve carried it out of the ruins.”

Dragonfire General Rithix saw the Medusae swaying in place. He lowered his spyglass, and counted his vanguard. Made an assessment of how many troops could reach his position within the hour. Spoke.

“Commander Axtrizak.”

“General?”

“Slay that [Knight]. [Unleash Your Potential]. All forces, screen his charge. Gorgons, reinforce the commander.”

“Yes, General! For the Eyes!”

Gleefully, the Gorgon abandoned his hiding place and shot towards Ser Solstice, slithering over the grass, twin scimitars raised. He roared a challenge, and the [Knight] disengaged from the Gorgon squad he was hacking apart.

“Commander, attack with the G—”

Rithix fell silent. It didn’t matter. The two had locked eyes, and he doubted his commander could hear him. They shot towards each other, and the Dragonfire General’s eyes narrowed.

A [Knight], running like a sprinter, feet tearing up the ground. Dropping his shield to hold his sword two-handed. The Gorgon commander, mouth open, fangs bared, swords rising to slash in a diagonal.

Rithix thought he could hear the roaring voice from here. Or perhaps it was that presence. Like a raging flame burning the entire battlefield, drawing the eye. He knew he felt the impact. The Dragonfire General watched, then collapsed his telescope.

“All forces, prepare to retreat. [Cut the Tail, Save the Body]. [Slingers], [Harassing Fire]. Regroup at Rendezvous Point 5. I want mounted units moving ahead of the Calanferians…”

There was no sense in engaging that. Not without a proper formation and Illex.

The Dragonfire General was composing his analysis and report to the Wyrmtouched as he glanced back at the battlefield. The [Knight] was standing over the Gorgon he’d cleaved in two as the front lines collapsed. Rithix shook his head. Then pivoted.

“Nagas—”

The arrow pinged off his helmet. He dove as the rest of his bodyguard threw up shields. Rithix shouted.

“[Sniper]! Hide your eyes! Pull back down the hill!”

Definitely not a battlefield he wanted. The Dragonfire General kept his head down as they retreated. He’d rather lose what he had now than risk his own head and his army’s. He began the first line of his missive in his head.

 

To the Wyrmtouched:

There is no amount of gold worth engaging that lot. Kindly provide another reason or…

 

——

 

Madness. Triumph. Seraphel du Marquin was counting the dead. Lizardfolk and Human.

“We…have paid a heavy price for victory.”

Lord Cortese was panting as they gathered around with the Lizardfolk who had surrendered sitting on the ground. They were terrified, especially of Ser Solstice, but Strategist Veine barely glanced at them.

“It isn’t over. If that commander has any sense, he’s regrouping for a second attack. We must keep marching.”

“After all that? We just keep going?”

Lady Menrise’s voice cracked. She pointed at the place they had just escaped, and the army eyed each other.

They were an army now. Not a single colonist hadn’t fought in that battle. But the Mindscape Ruins might have broken them. Seraphel wondered if she, herself, had lost something in there.

Even all the blood and death around her wasn’t the same as that horror she’d felt. She had a dagger in hand, though she hadn’t used it. If she needed to…she would have.

It was the [Princess] who spoke as Lord Cortese rubbed at his face, not sure what to say to Menrise. Seraphel had been searching the sea of faces; the one person she was checking for she would have known as well as her sisters.

“There you are. I feared you were dead or—or—I’m glad.”

The [Princess] walked forwards and hugged the woman who stood with a cortege of shell-shocked men and women in rough clothes. The woman jumped. She stammered.

“Y-your Highness? Are you mistaken?”

Seraphel peered at her face.

“How could I be? You’re Gilthisa, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

Every eye swung to her, and Gilthisa stiffened. The ruins. Her grief. Seraphel whispered.

“I’m sorry. It was your memory, but I saw it. We all did. How could I not…I feel like I know you. I’m so dreadfully glad you’re not hurt. You and I, we must be friends. And we must clear your name publicly and—and—”

The [Diligent Peasant] was shocked. Overwhelmed. She stammered, trying to force Seraphel back.

“Your Highness, no! I—I saw too much as well; forgive me! Those terrible, terrible marriages you suffered. The horror of it. It was wrong. It was—”

She hesitated. Ser Thilowen was gazing at Seraphel, and Gilthisa’s lips snapped shut. But her eyes were locked on Seraphel. What could the [Princess] say? Seraphel smiled.

“It was my memory. But without detail, context, anything of me in it. True enough, but we’re both strangers. So we must get to know each other. All of us.”

Seraphel looked around, panting.

“We must continue, mustn’t we? Together. We cannot—cannot even bury the others. I am so very sorry, but if we perish now…”

What was it all for? She bowed her head, mistaking their expressions for judgement.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

“No. You’re right.”

Rabbiteater spoke in a gravelly voice. He lifted a fist as Ksmvr reappeared, panting. The Antinium hesitated—then fist-bumped Rabbiteater without a word. They locked eyes and nodded at each other.

A bond, tenuous but forged in trauma and emotion and their journey. Strategist Veine clapped her hands together.

“Right then. Strip the dead for anything usable and pile it here. We’ll collect every horse we can and march within the hour. I need a runner to ransom these [Soldiers]. And if we’re lucky, one of them will be willing to turncoat for directions, at least.”

The spell broken, everyone began getting to work. Seraphel thought she’d be sort of useless again except she knew how to bandage a wound, so she was gathering cloth for that when she saw someone in the kneeling ranks of Lizardfolk. She stopped, then pointed.

“Her. She knows this place.”

Aiche started and tried to hide her face, but it was too late. With a dreadful sense of irony, she rose as Veine raised her brows. Seraphel smiled at her, and the Lizardwoman shivered.

I’m amidst mad Humans. All of them.

“Are you…really cursed?”

All the Calanferians gasped as they looked at the [Princess], but Seraphel just smiled. She offered Aiche a weary smile.

“Who knows. But if I am…I’ve made it a weapon.”

She grinned and didn’t see Badarrow nudge Rabbiteater. All of them were wearing a Goblin’s smile.

 

[Class Change: Cursed Princess → Curse Bearer Princess!]

[Curse Bearer Princess Level 35!]

[Skill – Quick Bandage Obtained!]

[Skill – Eviscerate the Unguarded Obtained!]

[Skill – Compelling Presence Obtained!]

[Skill – No Curse Lasts Forever Obtained!]

 

[Title – Escaped the Fervored Strataveins Granted!]

[Title Skill – Unit: Marionette’s Action Granted!]

 

[Title – Creler Mocker Obtained!]

[Title Reward – Clean Crelerchitin Dagger Awarded!]

 

[Brave Skirmisher Level 39!]

[Skill – Masterful Ambush Obtained!]

[Skill – Adventurer’s Field Alchemy Obtained!]

[Recipe: Yuck Bomb Obtained!]

[Recipe: Poison Blood Oil Obtained!]

[Recipe: Close to Acid Jar Obtained!]

[Skill – Advanced Crafting Obtained!]

 

[Doomed Fae Gamer Class Obtained!]

[Doomed Fae Gamer Level 16!]

[Skill – Favorite Weapon Obtained!]

[Item – Lord Cortese’s Dueling Sword (Bleed, Strength, Keen) → The Sword of Not-Racism (Heavy Impact, Force, Greater Bane: None)!]

[Skill – Fast Travel (Camp) Obtained!]

[Skill – Explorer’s Map Obtained!]

[Skill – Power Attack Obtained!]

[Skill – Mighty Defend Obtained!]

[Skill – Mana Pool (Pure) Obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Spellcasting Obtained!]

[Spell – Fire Arrow Learned!]

[Spell – Air Shield Learned!]

[Spell – Grease Puddle Learned!]

[Spell – Summon Mosquito Learned!]

[Species Skill – Satyr Kick Obtained!]

[Species Skill – Resistance: Intoxication Obtained!]

[Skill – Deathwish: To the Death, Then Obtained!]

[Skill – Always Find A Rock (Sling) Obtained!]

[Skill – Ignore Authority Obtained!]

 

[Title – Escaped the Fervored Strataveins Obtained!]

[Title Skill – Team Attack Granted!]

 

——

 

(In the Synectic Maze, the Fervored Strataveins, the world is quiet. Quieter. So many colors are gone.)

(The grand working has been jeopardized greatly. But not ruined. Not…entirely. Rage consumes you as you awaken—early. The ruined bodies of the gnats who tried to kill you are less than a mouthful as you uncoil.)

(You are one. But legion.)

 

The Unfinished Nightmare emerges. It quests around for vengeance. For death.

 

(A sound breaks the silence. It sounds like…laughter? But who would dare laugh at you? You advance, whispering the words of magic you were taught in your dark dreams. Your many mouths open, each one prepared to unleash a plague of children, of acidic bile, spiked barbs.)

(You halt. A stranger is waiting for you. You know it is not really ‘a’ stranger. But he is…odd. He has no fear. Like you, he knows this place.)

 

The Chieftain of Despair walks forwards. His pointed ears are torn. But his crimson gaze finds yours. He does not care to interfere. But some things must die. Better get this over with. They have a quarry to find. Though his light will reveal him wherever they go.

PATHETIC. The Unfinished Nightmare fears no tiny band. It shrieks and attacks.

 

Combat Start:

The Chieftain of Despair blinds the Unfinished Nightmare! He attacks! He deals 0 damage.

The Unfinished Nightmare tears and bites! It deals 2 damage.

The Chieftain of Despair counterattacks. Descriptions are pointless to him. He deals 0 damage.

The Unfinished Nightmare unleashes its hidden biles and spells of destruction! It deals 6 damage.

The Chieftain of Despair laughs at his foe. He has seen far greater doom. He attacks. He deals 0 damage.

The Unfinished Nightmare creates a Swarm of Children! They attack together! They deal 4 damage.

The Chieftain of Despair grits his teeth. He attacks. He deals 347 damage to the Swarm of Children. He deals 0 damage to The Unfinished Nightmare.

 

(What…is this? They don’t fear you. But you can kill them. So what is this…this…)

(Unease?)

(Then you sense it. Something else is coming.)

 

Kanadith the Herald, Goblin Lord of Baleros, the Uniter of the Sunken Tribes, Crelerbane, Nagabane, Armorbane, Centaurbane, Mindbane, Toller of the Bells of Ruination, Slaughterer of Your Elders, the Ancient Goblin appears. 

 

(You scream. You turn to flee.)

 

Kanadith the Herald, Goblin Lord of Baleros, the Uniter of the Sunken Tribes, Crelerbane, Nagabane, Armorbane, Centaurbane, Mindbane, Toller of the Bells of Ruination, Slaughterer of Your Elders, the Ancient Goblin attacks! They deliver 0 damage.

The Unfinished Nightmare is afraid. It attempts to flee!

The Chieftain of Despair blocks The Unfinished Nightmare. There is no escape.

Kanadith the Herald, Goblin Lord of Baleros, the Uniter of the Sunken Tribes, Crelerbane, Nagabane, Armorbane, Centaurbane, Mindbane, Toller of the Bells of Ruination, Slaughterer of Your Elders, the Ancient Goblin attacks! They deliver 0 damage.

The Unfinished Nightmare lashes out! It delivers 0 damage. It attempts to flee!

Kanadith the Herald, Goblin Lord of Baleros, the Uniter of the Sunken Tribes, Crelerbane, Nagabane, Armorbane, Centaurbane, Mindbane, Toller of the Bells of Ruination, Slaughterer of Your Elders, the Ancient Goblin attacks! They deliver 0 damage.

The Chieftain of Despair attacks! He delivers 0 damage.

The Unfinished Nightmare escapes combat!

The Unfinished Nightmare vanishes.

 

——

 

When he finally stepped into the sun, the [Knight] wearing spring’s green remembered everything. He exhaled as he stood with those who had left.

Men and women, some of whom cried out or wept for the loss of it. But Ser Markus just studied his surroundings at first, his face a mask of grief and failure.

He counted and understood just how much had been lost. The [Spring Knight] knelt in the grass, wishing he had words to encompass his emotions. Something to make sense of what was senseless.

If there was a comfort, it was this: they were not alone. He remembered the men and women he had walked with. He had seen his friend’s heart, and Rabbiteater’s soul was as true as Ser Markus had believed.

“That means something. So must this.”

People were waiting for him. Another surprise. Ser Markus walked forwards, then knelt again. Of all receptions he could have hoped for upon waking from the dream…he looked up, and he did weep.

“Spring’s Warden. You stand here to greet us all?”

His beloved Spring’s Warden stood with a great host of people. Numbers beyond counting. They milled about, and it seemed to him that this place was new. It had such a feel, and yet it was peaceful.

The lands of the dead should be such a place, Ser Markus felt. He saw the Spring’s Warden smile as she offered him her hand.

“We’ve come beyond titles now, Markus. I wait for you and everyone else. But also to know. I am sorry to see you so soon. What brought you here?”

Ser Markus turned, and the Calanferians, colonists, sailors, soldiers, and knights walked forwards. He looked about, but he did not see Rabbiteater’s face.

“A terribly tragic dream, Spring’s Warden. I beg to report…I beg to report that I did not distinguish the Season of Spring well in my final moments. I don’t know if I even swung a sword.”

His voice trembled, and he waited for castigation, but the eyes of the dead held no judgement. The Spring’s Warden embraced him gently.

“Speak, [Knight]. Let it be the last thing you regret.”

He searched for words as the memory of tears sprang to his eyes. Then Ser Markus’ back straightened. He spoke to the listeners solemnly, weeping his many regrets. But his voice…was soft as it rose.

“I would like to believe I—I had some value, ignorant though I was. I should rather be pleased to think that I took a blow that was meant for someone else. That befits my sense of self-importance. But in truth, it may be that I was but a—a flip of the coin. One of the many who perished in a place as unfair as can be.”

She nodded, and he went on, closing his eyes tight.

“Regardless of what the truth is, I know this: I went as far as I could. I wish I could have gone with him to the end. Rabbiteater, my friend, is alive. Until we meet again, I shall claim his victories as my own, his steps on the good earth my triumph. Even if it was one more moment—!”

His eyes overflowed, and his voice broke. Then the [Knight]’s head rose. He turned and raised a hand. Waving it, though he could not see the living. Just the memory of it. Ser Markus bowed.

“Ser Solstice, Rabbiteater of the Redfangs. My friend. Spring ends.”

Then he turned and began asking questions before he set out on this last, long adventure. But he would tarry awhile, Markus decided. To know how his friend’s story ended.

He hoped he waited a long time.

 

——

 

They said, later, that great things had happened while Seraphel’s company was lost in the Mindscape Ruins. Terrible moments. World-changing.

A Goblin King had arisen, they said, and set the world into panic. The moon had been cracked. Something important had occurred.

It was true, all of it. What remained of the Goblin King had been thrown back into Hellste, and his scream of fury and defeat had crossed the world. Every Goblin who stood on the steps of his terrible throne had heard it.

Even now, it echoed. A promise from the start of this world. An oath of blood.

A Goblin King of Champions who had never existed in this world until he broke into it, but might one day come again. His voice and that rage reflected onto the Goblin who might someday become that terrible figure.

—But Rabbiteater couldn’t hear the echoing howl. He knelt, ignorant of it all.

He was too busy weeping and holding his friend.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Happy Halloween? The hour of spooks and candy has passed, but in truth I don’t know how spooky Halloween is these days. Mostly, I just handed candy to childrens (and occasionally bigger childrens) coming to the door.

Is this all Halloween is to me, now? Am I but a candy-dispenser? What is Halloween to me?

Well, I’ll tell you what it is. Work! I wrote through this week and maybe next Halloween I’ll be more festive, but this chapter was the product of three straight days of writing and the heroism of the beta-reading team to get it out.

And why? Not just because this is, somehow, a Halloween-esque chapter in the sense of the horror of it. No, it’s simply that I thought this was a good, creative chapter.

It literally came to me and it made the existing outline I had so much better. When those moments come you jump for them, and for joy—but it was difficult. The unique style of the JRPG-like encounters, the risk taken with writing this rather odd plot…it paid off but it slowed my usual writing speed to a crawl.

So, I worked hard on this, but it was my break, luck, and a confluence of factors that made the chapter appear. As ever. I liked writing it, though I was sad as well for the ending. It is a harrowing dungeon chapter but the right person rose to the job, and it was not our Goblin Lord of Champions who can do everything, but sometimes a Satyr and a [Princess].

I hope you liked it too, and I may move to the pre-written Chandrar chapters next week, but this is the start of the Baleros poll arc. Whomst is next? Niers? Nerry? We shall see, but until then, don’t eat too much leftover candy!

 

 

<Innktober has ended! A huge thanks to all the artists who participated and I will continue sharing their amazing art!>

Welcome to Baleros and Captain Toren by LeChatDemon!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/demoniccriminal

Stash with all the TWI related art: https://sta.sh/222s6jxhlt0

 

Halloween and Lyonette Facepalm by Brack!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/brack

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Brack_Giraffe

 

Halloween by Dalin!

 

Nerrhavia Dressing Up As Cyn by Lanrae!

 

Halloween and Ulvama by Sol Adventurer!

 

Belavierr by olento!

 

Halloween by Gridcube!

 

Pekona by MichaelCannon!

 

Creler Battle by Dr. Strangelove!

 

Hunter of Noelictus, Ceria, Flora, and more by ultrachinchillagod!

 

News Report and Disco Ksmvr by Humble Duck!

 

Blueberry Niers by BrazyCanana!

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/justaguywithabeanie/

 

Fraerlings by Anito!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/anito

 

Vampire Lyonette by Chalyon!

 

Princesses of Calanfer by LuceroD15!

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lucerod15/

 

 

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