I’ve brought countless warriors to their deaths during my cursed internment in this dungeon, and not a one of them has ever haunted me past the moment it happened. Kade Endry’s death is a different breed.

It’s neither guilt nor horror that lingers long after his body has faded to dust. It’s confusion. I’ve never seen a man face death so willingly. So eagerly. When the Rook Mage overtook the land, there were feudal lords who took their own lives as one final act of defiance, rather than seeing their people become subject to pure evil, but this was something different. It wasn’t a desperate act, it was a casual opt out of a world he seemed to hold no stake in.

What it means is beyond me, but his words have all come true so far. Not a single soul has trespassed in my dungeon since. The longest period of peace there’s ever been is an hour, perhaps two. Now they’re all simply gone and I’m left to wonder whether this lull is merely the calm before the storm.

At dawn, I receive my answer. The first group comes covered in blood, and I spot them from the entrance to the Catacombs, discussing strategy on the hillside. Before they can make it, a barrage of flaming arrows removes them from this world. Every subsequent group that attempts approach meets the same fate. I watch, mesmerized by the strange theatrics of the beings I understand even less now than I ever have.

Before long, I’ve isolated the position of the group shooting arrows. There are ten of them, maybe a few more. I only know because of the number of body parts that are strewn into the air once a barrage of enchanted canon fire hits the hillside and lays their barricade bare.

In a matter of minutes, the hillside is covered with warriors, teeming like ants. None of the first wave of attacks seem to be particularly organized. Perhaps this event is nothing more than all these idiots finally losing their minds and self-destructing.

With nothing else to do but watch, I begin to grow bored even though this is by far the most entertainment I’ve had in centuries. When the distant land blackens with another swarm, the sheer breadth of it takes me by shock. And they’re not alone. Two armies converge, making the groups still battling in clusters around the hillside seem pitiful.

The moment they meet, the roar is deafening. Sharp lines of arcane in every color, from blood red to black so deep it darkens the sky, form a lightning storm that comes from the ground. It’s an all-out war, and I can’t help but think I’m the one at the center of it.

Sooner or later, the front lines will break and those warriors who manage to cut through the steel and flesh barricades will be of a mettle even I can’t match without preparation. I retreat into the Catacombs, nicking my palm and running it along every wall I touch on my way to the core.

Enchantments must be placed. The guards must be rallied. This is, perhaps, the day I’ve been waiting for. The day that brings the death I have longed for, for as long as I can remember. If it is, I will go with dignity, but I will not go without a fight.

Once I reach the core, I utter the words to bring the enchantment to life while Cerberus paces anxiously around the room. He senses the old magic that can so easily turn against a foolish user. I hear the sound of commotion coming closer to the dungeon’s entrance now and my fur bristles, telling me that someone is close to breaching the perimeter.

Satisfied that the enchantment is properly laid, I go to meet the intruders knowing that my dogs will greet them first. Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.

The first band of victors is only three-men strong. Evidently, they lost one in the skirmish. The remaining three look badly injured enough, and the smallest one among them, a forest elf, is trying to heal the worst of their wounds.

The orc sees me first, but his distraction is enough to give the hellhound in the shadows time to strike. The beast descends on him with a snarl and tears a hunk of green flesh off his shoulder. The small elf raises his bow and arrow while the human paladin with them raises his warhammer. Holy steel layered with enchantment upon enchantment girds both weapons, and I’m not surprised.

I’ve swapped out my armor, even though I rarely bother to wear any, with a breastplate that hums with infernal magic. The first arrows are absorbed in the dark ether, and while I would normally go for the strongest member of a party first, I can’t take that risk today. The fewer weapons flying at me, the better. The others are expecting my usual tactics, so they fail to shield the forest elf and his thin, unprotected neck yields to my jaws with ease. I tear his head off in one quick strike, too guilt-ridden to draw it out, before I turn on the others. My hellhound strikes with me and in a flurry of tearing flesh and broken bones, the other two are gone so quickly that I have to wonder if their escape was nothing more than dumb luck.

The three massive groups that follow confirm that theory. There seems to be some cohesion to their efforts, but it quickly becomes clear which factions within the mega group are further divided into units of four. They turn on each other with a single stray arrow that ends the life of an elven mage. Soon, more blows are flying across friendly lines than at me, and I use the opportunity to retreat into the shadows and regroup.

I’m fully healed by the time I reappear and step out of the shadows in the next cove, but I know it won’t last long. The others are still fighting amongst themselves, but eventually, one of them will emerge victorious. I don’t like the idea of leaving so many in my Catacombs at once, but the most effective strategy may be to let them thin themselves out and save my energy.

The strategy proves itself when I hear a group of four coming down the cove. I wince as my hellhound’s cries split the stale air. The telepathic link I share with Cerberus allows me to issue commands without audible words, and he obediently lopes into the nearest tunnel to wait.

Two orcs, one shifter, and one halfling. An interesting combination, especially since two of them are mages. That also ups the chances that they’ll notice the trap my enchantment has laid. Not that I’m ready to use it yet. There are two other groups who’ve managed to breach the perimeter, and I can hear them fighting outside. I’d rather wait to use the enchantment until at least another couple of groups are caught inside my web, since it takes a while to recharge.

I close my eyes and project my thoughts to Cerberus as I hear the others grappling with the hellhound stationed at the first cove.

Lure them in…

The moment I hear an earsplitting howl that echoes through the Catacombs, I know the message was received. Each and every hellhound stationed within the outer coves abandons his post and retreats into the shadows, luring the startled adventurers deeper in. My muzzle wrinkles with a sneer as I hear them cry out in astonishment. Someone outside must have an enchantment that allows him to see within the outer perimeter of the dungeon, because more cries follow, interrupting the fights. I feel the energetic pulse that acts as a silent alarm as one fool after another breaches the outer cave.

Four, then seven, then twelve. Those who’ve risen to the top of the pack are about to be culled. I rush back to the center of the catacombs and kneel to touch the sigil carved in blood on the floor, connected to the trail that spirals out through every tunnel.

“Ithus lanosa,” I chant, repeating the ancient words louder each time. The cave begins to tremble, and I feel the old energy rising, but just as the enchantment reaches its zenith, the arcane fades.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

I frown at the sigil painted on black stone and try again, putting greater intent into its summoning. No matter what, it won’t activate. It’s as if there’s a leak somewhere in the enchantment itself, and every ounce of power I pour into it simply drains away.

The war cries fill the Catacombs now and the dry bones rattle and shake around me. They’re getting closer. All sixteen of them now. What was supposed to be a trap is quickly turning into an invasion. I close my eyes and watch Cerberus through the other sight as each head tears into a different limb. The hellhound in the nearest cove joins him, but the warriors immediately run him through and he vanishes in a black plume of smoke.

“No,” I snarl, prepared to meet him when I sense the sudden emergence of a group of four in the most populated tunnel.

Impossible! Through the eyes of the hellhound guarding that cove, I see the four invaders appear from a cloak of shadow I’ve never seen the likes of before. Teleportation is forbidden magic, and shadow enchantments more forbidden still. Only the Rook Mage has access to such power, and he guards it fiercely. Out from the cloak steps an orc, a giant, an elf and a human paladin. Two males, two females, all at full health and arcane. Somehow, they’ve bypassed the warfare outside to arrive right at my gate.

The other eight in the cove are just as shocked, but it doesn’t take long for them to realize their raid has been foiled by other opportunists. The newcomers waste no time launching a full-scale assault that is undoubtedly more planned out than any of the others I’ve witnessed so far. The female mage sends a blast of black flame at the group, targeting the two in front, while the orc and giant tear in with their broadswords. The paladin claims the goblin’s life with a deft swing of her mace that splits his head open.

The element of surprise is clearly on their side, as is the favor of whatever god bestowed that enchantment upon them. The giant tears a halfling’s head clean off its shoulders, and despite the two-to-one advantage on the side of the other party, the cove is being cleared out quickly.

I’m at a loss for what to do, but I decide to focus on dispatching the nuisances in the outer tunnels before they can join the others. By the time I’m finished, the group of four has vanquished the group of eight with zero casualties, and a few moderate wounds.

Time to deal with them. I rush into the shadows and reappear at the nearest cove, hoping it isn’t too late to stop them.

The paladin swings at my hellhound as he leaps to tear out her throat and her mace, made of solid holy steel, splits his skull open in one go.

Rage explodes from within me. If these four are so eager to meet their deaths, then it would be cruel to keep them waiting. With a cry of vengeance, I recall the arcane power I pushed into the useless sigil to my body through my hands and feet, allowing the black energy to swirl up my arms and legs until it disappears into the crest on my breastplate.

The giant is the first to meet me as I barrel into the dark cove and his broadsword is unsurprisingly made of the same holy steel as the paladin’s mace. He blocks me and the steel singes the fur on my forearms, but I push him back with another snarl.

For some reason, the others miss their chance to attack, and the orc looks like he’s ready to drop his blade and run. I turn to the elven mage in the back, perplexed by the light blue glow of healing flame around her hands. Dark magic hums within her, and there’s a halfway decent blade strapped to her back, yet she comes into battle ready to heal without even putting up a fight?

The paladin is of far more concern. I swipe at her right hand with my claws in an attempt to displace the weapon, and rather than strike back, she leaps out of range. “Ace!” she cries. “Use the binding!”

Binding? They think a spell meant to restrain low-level temper tantrums is going to save them? I ignore the mage and tear into the giant’s chest since he’s recovered enough to be a greater threat. He snarls and grips the fur on the side of my neck in an attempt to keep my fangs away from his jugular, but it’s a battle he’s going to lose.

“Hurry it up, will ya?” he bellows.

Loud, crackling energy makes my fur stand on end and wraps around my back and chest. At first, the weak enchantment is barely noticeable and I’m far less interested in breaking it than I am in breaking the giant’s thick neck, but the pressure gradually increases like the vice grip of a boa constrictor. By the time I realize it’s an escalation spell, it’s too late.

I stumble back and snarl, thrashing my bound arms in an attempt to break free, but it’s no use. The mage’s power is only growing and it seems to be feeding off my own somehow.

The moment I recognize the energy signature, I know it’s more than just a hunch. Somehow, she’s draining the energy I used to cast the ward around the cave, and she’s draining it fast.

The magic seems to take as much out of her and we both sink to our knees at once. A trickle of red-black blood travels down from her left nostril, but she keeps her green eyes locked on mine.

There’s something familiar about that particular shade of emerald. Something familiar about the orc, too. I just can’t…

My chest grows tighter and it’s enough of a struggle to breathe, let alone snarl. Has it really come to this? All the hordes I’ve killed with my bare hands, and a pathetic little mage and her band of followers are going to take me out with a binding spell.

“Get the artifact!” the mage cries in a strained, husky voice that sounds even more familiar than she looks.

I tell myself it’s just the lack of oxygen to my brain causing hallucinations. I don’t know these intruders. How could I? They’re children compared to me, and yet…

Determined to fight until my last breath, I try to call to Cerberus, but I’ve grown too weak even for the link to work. I can still feel it from my side, just enough to see him overwhelmed by the horde that’s broken into the Catacombs. I collapse onto my side as the Paladin rushes past me. It’s not necessary to see to know what she’s after. The Skull of Sir Marrok.

The giant and the orc appear above me, observing me with solemn, unreadable expressions. The orc has a blade in his hand, but he seems to want to observe his prey before making the finishing blow.

Coward.

I spit at him, snarling with my fading breath.

The orc frowns, but there’s more pity in his gaze than irritation. Insult to final injury.

“I’ve got it!” the paladin cries, clutching the chalk-white skull to her chest. She looks down at me and grips the glowing amulet around her neck. “How much longer can you hold him?”

“Not much longer,” the mage groans, wiping a thicker stream of blood from her nose.

I watch in confusion as the paladin chants some words in the forgotten language even I never mastered. A black light shoots out from the skull in her hand in all directions and blinds everyone in the cavern momentarily, until it begins siphoning into the amulet. With it, I feel my life force diminishing and even when the mage’s binding power releases its hold, I’m too weak to move.

The last thing I see is her standing over me, those green eyes full of inexplicable worry and gentleness. “Lucas?” she asks softly, reaching to brush her fingertips across the fur on my cheek.

Another name I feel like I should recognize, but I don’t. My eyes fall shut and I give in to the blackness I’ve always known would come for me. It, too, is familiar in a way that I don’t quite understand.