One mile. Not so very far, by most people’s reckoning. It looks a little farther when seen from beyond the too sharp edge of a magic lamp light, over a sandstone paving cut block road that looked like something from Egypt.

The stone was foreign, gritty, and made lower pitched sounds when an armored boot clacked over it than was typical of Gaian substrate.

When the party had walked this new addition to the woods for a ways and begun to notice sign of heavy traffic, they halted and Alexander left his team to verify what might be waiting for them. He couldn’t help but shake his head at the stone road, and at what lay to either side of it.

Had the vampires brought the stuff over from their world? Had the dungeon interposed part of that reality onto this weird dungeon space directly? Alexander couldn’t know the truth of it.

What he did know was that, looking down the double wagon width slabs of grey on grey, both in the lamp’s illumination and beyond, in the night, trouble awaited. Bad vibes had the hair on his neck raised. Not just for the pyramid that loomed tall compared to the trees, at least four hundred feet high, and big as that ridiculous stadium for the Cowboys football franchise.

Where only wilderness should be, signs of civilization abounded. Clusters of longhouses, of dressed stone, and freshly cut timber, the sap still running from the grain, dotted the road. Capillary paths of dirt, well worn, trod by many feet, both booted and pawed, led away into the dark, where rings of buildings circled around a central feature that appeared to be an altar of some heinous god of the unknown. Alexander knew it was an altar, because offerings were upon it. Mostly large beasts. All with their throats slashed open and their life drained into a basin around the edge of the blood ritual site. A cultural crossroads, this place.

Waddle fences penned animals. Three eyed goats, their eyes grotesquely large and round, with two sets of spiraling horns were in some. In others, chuffing creatures that grazed on grass that grew despite never knowing sunlight, and which resembled a hippopotamus cross bred to warthogs, the bumpy protrusions and tusks married to a fat body on dainty feet. There were other alien creatures, livestock.

Alexander felt a sliver of dread at this scene, this iron age village sprung up in a mirror of the Maine woodland. Unlike the goblins, these night creatures had brought food with them. They would not be starving and wretched. They were fed. Strong. That the combats so far had been so one sided was thanks entirely to having a weapon unlike anything that could be found in their realm: the pure light of a yellow star.

Speaking of, something fed the grass that grew here. Some force animated the trees, though the young hunter could not have said what or how. Magic, probably. Perhaps, here, in this strange land, there was a kind of energy harnessed from the darkness, an inversion of the natural order of his realm. More useless speculation, Alexander warned himself.

Focus.

He had reason to be concerned and realized what had him uneasy. On racks stretched tight by expert hands, were the whole hides of numerous creatures. They were celebratory skinnings, placed alongside the blood alters. An exchange of twisted culture. Now, as the party stood distant, waiting for their darkvision possessing scout to verify what lay ahead, Alexander saw forms mixed among the now familiar Dracul and werewolf and he held his breath a moment when he realized what he saw. In addition to the enemy that had been faced so far, just Dracul and their werewolf minions, Alexander spied a threat that he had very much hoped they would not face: Skin Peelers.

Humanoid forms, taller, skinnier, with a strange, floating gait, and always robed thickly, skulked from one cluster of buildings to the next. Sometimes a shorter form, batlike features distinct to Alexander’s enhanced vision, would accompany, although they seemed mostly to remain separate. Here and there, a canine form werewolf would patrol or trail a vampire, but never near the eyeless monsters that approximated humanity. Even the bestial werewolves were skittish around these creatures, a verification of the horrific rumors Alexander had recorded earlier.

The young man withdrew silently from the bush and tree underneath which he’d lain, spying the terrain.

Stalk, its enhancement to his stealthy half crouched steps facilitating a gliding retrace of his path, took him back to the small hollow inside a thicket a couple of hundred feet off the road, in which his party huddled, their lamp shaded. They lay flat on the ground and made barely more noise than the slow, tidal necessity of breathing.

A soft dove’s coo was Alexander’s warning that he was coming, lest he accidentally sneak up on them and get accidentally bisected by Ben.

Joining his comrades, Alexander reported the scope and scale of the situation into which they were headed.

“It’s bad.” He summarized, after describing what he’d seen.

Melinda played her fingers idly over the hilt of her estoc, deep in thought but unafraid. Mark had his serious hero frown, and Alexander could hear his brain grinding trying to come up with ways to make certain no one died. Ben, as usual was unphased by the news, it was like telling him the target was two hundred meters away instead of one fifty, he just went *click* *click* in his mind to recalculate the dials of his scope to get the shot on target. Non Getsome members reacted more overtly.

“Blessed Christ! What we needed was more to deal with.” Cervantes whispered harshly, a sliver of Mark’s lantern casting a faint light into their hidden thicket.

Georgia, using her shield as a ground pad, rapped her knuckles across her comrade’s pauldron, and said with a calm but emphatic, “Tighten up Mozart! We’re fine, the reports say they’re less a threat against armored fighters and we’re all wrapped in Alexander’s super steel and dragon scale.”

Which was true, the reports did say that. They didn’t say anything about a covenant between Skin Peelers and Nosferatu. What else hadn’t they mentioned?

“Commmodore Pillow, what would you suggest in this instance?” the time warping knight addressed him.

He hadn’t had long to think on the matter, but he directed his stare toward Georgia and said what he felt.

“We go aggressive. Hit them like a fucking brush hog and mow a path up that pyramid. The dungeon heart is there, I can feel it in my bones.” Alexander answered.

“What guards it though?” Mark asked, his expression still grim.

Mark had come about as close to dying to the dragon as anybody. If this dungeon was a tier higher than the Muspelheim volcano, and also a closed one, which meant its boss was likely to be particularly nasty, then what awaited them at the top of that megastructure?

Alexander had no good answers to that.

“Doesn’t matter.” Ben replied in Alexander’s place, “Whatever sits between us and that heart has to go. I know you want better intel before we take it on Mark, but sometimes you don’t get that luxury. I’m with our spooky kid on this one.”

A grin set in an intensely predatory expression on the warrior’s face instilled some measure of confidence in the Adventurers when he followed that statement up by saying, “Put that lantern on full blast, get your asses on my ass, and follow me to the promised land ladies. I’ll be your Moses and part this motherfucking sea.”

Melinda’s quiet chuckle muted by the armored glove covering her mouth, and added, “That’s two battle junkies out of three, Mark. You know what Brig would say. Let’s go get some.”

With that, the raid team ate a light snack from their ration pouches, drank their fill of water, and crawled from the thicket back to the road. One mile. A mile up the main causeway through a viking era sprawling village of vampires, werewolves, and Skin Peelers. It sounded crazy, and yet, it was the best way. They didn’t know what numbers awaited them, or what the actual abilities of the eyeless monsters were, given that precious few people had met them and lived, but what they had was Melinda and the Sun Lantern to blast the vampires and blind the werewolves. And, most of all, the Adventurers had an advantage that couldn’t be underestimated: They had Benjamin Grisham on their side, and those assholes on the other didn’t.

They stood under a moonless night sky, heavy with dampness, and the road under their feet was solid. Not as solid as the men and women on top of it, but it would speed them along to their objective nevertheless.

“Press formation. Alexander, you want to stay outside the lantern or hang back and cover from the flank?” Mark asked.

Alexander looked at the assembled team and decided in only a second of thought, “I’ll stay out front. I can put arrows in cores, now that I know where they are, and, any strong points I’ll wrap in my Entropic field so they can meet you glorious bastards without their Soak.”

Press formation was what Getsome called it when they let Ben and Brig take point to drive like a wedge through the monsters, with the Dame, replaced here by Cervantes, and Mark next, with Melinda and Shiv, now Georgia, behind to clean up whatever might be left. Alexander was replacing Brig, big ass Amazon warrior shoes to fill, so he had to be on top of his game or the party would bog down.

The young man took a deep breath to steady himself. This was his idea. He wasn’t the fighter Brig was, wasn’t as front loaded with power as she was. His gifts lent themselves to more hit and run tactics. However, he hadn’t spent the last three months idle. Ben had whipped him into shape, taught him how to fight. The other Adventurers had gone through the same fierce training with each other, mostly with Shiv there to repair the damage so they went hard.

“No turning back, Little Falcon.” He reminded himself.

At a signal from Mark, the team advanced at a light jog, their fitted gear making remarkably little sound, their lantern forming a beacon in the darkness, a full forty feet of radius covered by the sunstone powered light.

One hundred yards later, Alexander saw a Dracul scout with a werewolf sidekick and he focused his Gaia infused eyes, the Outsider’s powers pulling at reality to manifest the black edges that mapped to their motions, motions unconsciously printed into their mana, like a reading of their future.

Alexander paused in his jog and drew back Singer, a long spear point arrow with fletching to his ear, a breath, and then a release and the arrow traced an arc sixty yards and hit the vampire in the chest, just above the heart. The arrow dove through the top of the breast bone, shredded the ascending aorta, and pulverized the crystal core of the monster before punching out through the cervical vertebrae. He hadn’t waited for the first arrow’s flight to end before putting a second in flight. The vampire folded like a puppet with strings cut and the werewolf turned to its dead master. His follow up shot hit it in the neck and exited somewhere behind its thigh, mauling everything on its path through. Both targets dropped, and core destruction confirmed itself to be the answer for powerfully regenerative entities.

Without the nexus to control their magic, they couldn’t manipulate the aether to power their restorative abilities.

The raid team had run on, having passed Alexander by while he took his shots, and he double timed to resume his place. The party couldn’t see outside the light, he could, even if it was a strain, so he needed to stay ahead to forewarn the team should their enemies rally toward the kills. None did, fortunately.

They reached the bodies a few seconds later, both frozen in a mercifully quick death. Alexander’s Singer was clean.

Ben nodded his respect for the archery, but they spared no words. There was no reason, or time, to attempt salvage from the bodies. Especially not ones absent a core, or having used sun light to make vampire dust. He just took a moment to retrieve his arrows and they were off again at an aggressive jog.

As satisfying as the kills had been, the tension between his shoulders remained high. For all that the shots were good, he’d have to replicate them many, many times before the task was done. Worse, it was a high probability that the sentient dungeon spawn would not be caught unawares for very long. This raid was a blitzkrieg, relying on the sheer momentum of the assault to prevent a coordinated response.

The next obstacle was a cloaked group of Skin Peelers. Two were in attendance before a rack, where a brown bear was splayed out, limbs bound to gnarled tight grained wood that creaked from the live animal’s efforts to escape. A third monstrosity was plying a cruel knife to the bear that drew muted growls and jerks from the beast’s tightly tied muzzle, and another two gazed on in eyeless rapture at the torture. Alexander Gerifalte wanted to vomit, but he summoned the Venator’s mantle and Ruthless settled over him.

From the peaceful island of calm the hunter pulled at Gaia’s gift of knowledge to examine in detail what resistance his prey had to offer.

Xiptotec Acolyte of the Flayed One

Status:

Zealous

Soak: 28%

LifeForce/Armor

Head

Mana: 100%

Might

12(+5)

Length

7’2”

LifeForce/Armor

Left Arms

27/15

LifeForce/Armor

Right Arms

Grace

17(+5)

Weight

183lbs

26/15

Yeti Hide Acolyte Cowl

26/15

Impetus

17(+5)

Age

105 years

Yeti Hide Acolyte Cowl

LifeForce/Armor

Chest

Yeti Hide Acolyte Cowl

Cogitation

19

Core

Tiger’s eye Agate, marquise

Dark Mana Sanctified Flaying Knife

30/18

Yeti Hide Acolyte Cowl

Wisdom

16

Origin

Nut

LifeForce/Armor

Left Legs

LifeForce/Armor

Right Legs

Ingenuity

19

Monster Race:

Rakshasa-3nd Tier

28/18

LifeForce/Armor

Abdomen

28/18

Durability

18(+5)

Yeti Hide Acolyte Cowl

20/15

Yeti Hide Acolyte Cowl

Valor

13(+15)

Yeti Hide Acolyte Cowl

Traits

Flayed one’s favor, Cruel, Zealot,

Skills

Sight unseeing, Greater mortal wounding

Arcana

Greater dark spear, Essence rip, Lesser maddening aura, Lesser summon dark sprite

Xiptotec, they had a name for the monsters now. And the abominations were cultists of some evil entity that accepted pain as its worship. A tier three monster, Rakshasa, a new monster race of demonic things, was not great news. Nor were the creature’s abilities, which were far more potent than the lesser vampires encountered so far. The fanatical worshipper torturing the bear was very much a threat, with magic fed by the darkness mana pervading the Nut dungeon.

“Skin Peelers ahead, forty yards, five of them. They have offensive magic, Dark spear, and its greater version. A mana and life draining power, an aura that creates madness, and it looks like some kind of dark mana elemental of a minor variety that they can summon and control.” Alexander reported as the party ran.

Rather than permit the creature’s to respond at range with their powers, Alexander called his own entropic magic, funneling it into the arrow on his bowstring.

“Alpha strike, teammates. Gonna shred their Soak and cripple their magics, you guys finish them before they respond!” He suggested.

“Copy. Full send.” Mark confirmed the plan, and the team broke out into a sprint.

Alexander focused on his aim, drew to his cheek for the knife wielding acolyte, and sent the envenomed arrow over his party’s heads, where it hit the taller monster under the arm pit, where a Gaian organism’s heart would be. The arrow passed through and the Skin Peeler screeched, its knife stabbing deeply into the bear as its ritual was broken.

Ground Mandrake root produced a toxin called Mindflayer tears that coated his broad head this time, rather than the hemorrhagic poison made from that plant’s leaves. The awful shrills sounds coming from the creature halted abruptly under the poison’s action, the Mindflayer tears exerted the effect of a Mandrake’s killing shriek within the Skinpeeler’s nerves, chasing axons up into its brain to scramble it.

Alexander spared it no more attention; he was concentrating on his next shot and saw the eyeless stare of the targeted Skin Peeler lock onto the arrow aimed for it. His target’s maggot pale face locked in concentration bending its will against his and the embattled hunter felt a pressure a tickling at the edges of his mind. Whatever it tried must have involved delving into his thoughtscape, and Fractal mind made it flinch, a grimace alien for how closely it paralleled a human expression. A moment, no more, but the shared quarter second was enough for the point of the arrow he aimed to cross the creature’s body, and he released his hold on the metal string of the bow. The Skin Peeler’s confounded thoughts failed to untangle, its weighted steps too slow to evade a whistling arrow coated with black-grey chaos flame.

The meaty thud of the stilleto tipped arrow coupled to fletchings standing proud just below the collarbone of the evil bastard gave Alexander a thrill. Its shriek joined its brethren, died away under the assault of poison and magic alike, and Alexander knew a third arrow wouldn’t be needed when it slumped to the ground, limbs splayed haphazard.

Humanity’s first Entropic Venator was two for two in his opening salvo against the monsters and now the full might of the Adventurers was in play, riding the momentum of his archery, his teammates were now engaged. Unfortunately, the brilliance of the Sun Lanterns was completely ineffective against the demonic creatures, who saw without the use of eyes. More fortunately, it didn’t matter, because the aces of Falcon’s Rest were going to work with a vengeance.

A third cultist monster tried to use Greater Dark Spear and the black, crimson, and violet swirl of magic came together and fell apart with a hissing sputter, before reforming. Either it had panicked and flubbed the spell or Melinda’s sphere of light interfered. Whichever, such lapse in control cost the creature, because Ben arrived in time to bury his naginata in its forehead.

The untouched by chaos magic and standing in the shadow of its brethren, although those three were now falling to the stones dead, the fourth Xiptotec pain god priest summoned a Dark Sprite, an almost impish creature with tiny wings that carried it into the air easily, where it started trying to dive bomb the party. Trying, because when it manifested within the Sun Lantern’s globe it immediately began to smoke, its energies being unraveled. That didn’t stop it for long and it tried to rip at Melinda’s face with dagger like claws, howling and gibbering like a fucked up little winged monkey of Oz.

A golden light infused crossbow bolt from the sun wielding Adventurer took the wind out of its sails, bringing the sprite low, where Georgia creased its skull with her bastard sword. Black blood hissed onto the paving stones brightened by a sphere of daylight.

The last creature struck at Ben, its knife glimmering dangerously, and it stabbed with a long, heavily robed arm. Ben twisted away and dragged the impaled Skin Peeler, remarkably still alive, on the end of his spear between them, using it to block. Kicking legs, arms scrabbling, the still living Xiptotec howled with sharpened teeth frothing deeply green ichor.

Cervantes came from the flank of the outnumbered demons and struck an overhead blow at it. The monster, caught up in its efforts to shiv Ben couldn’t evade and got hit on its hip, the burst of sonic magic vibrating it, and the tuning fork great sword caught on the bones of its pelvis. Cervantes wasted no time pulling the creature down to the ground while it struggled, and he hit it again with a pulse of sound at a different pitch. The demon arched its back from whatever the sonic magic did to it, but Melinda was there with her estoc, driving it down repeatedly into the upper body of the monster.

While Ben, Cervantes, and Melinda dealt with the fanatical monsters, the fourth creature, the one that called the imp, having evaded two strokes of Mark’s shorter sword, used Dark Spear, the black, crimson, and violet magic coming together despite the lamp on his hip. It flung the spear at Ben, ignoring Mark, and the spell hit him in the back while he’d been fending off his stabbing opponent.

Dark mana hammered into Ben and he hissed from the splash of magic that managed to damage him through his armor and Soak, the skin above his kidney feeling like it had been frozen and boiled at the same time.

The Steel Heavy Knight turned and gathered the strength of his armor’s metal into himself and he jerked the spasming acolyte from his spear before he threw it like a harpoon into the breast of the magic slinging Xiptotec, trading a blow for a blow. Golem high steel drove deep into the creature’s flesh, but its Soak, and the armor of the Yeti hide, kept the naginata blade from completely passing through it. It staggered under the impact, however, and Alexander watched Mark take the opportunity, flanked by Georgia, to step into a hard stroke with a white-hot dragon fang sword. The blade burned through the monster’s Soak and hacked into its shoulder, removing the arm and biting deep into its side.

It clawed at Mark with the other, tainted magic forming hooking claws of black and violet that tried to rip into the Incandescent Triarii, to steal his life and mana. The anchor tank’s own Soak resisted that effort, and he punched his kite shield into the creature’s face to break its focus. Georgia Stephens drove her sword in a two-handed hammer fist down through the robed figure’s back. Its Soak was depleted by the rapid attacks and the flaming sword in its body, and Georgia’s attack proved lethal, causing the Rakshasa to sag to the ground.

Alexander had readied another arrow while the battle raged, but had found no clean shot through the furious movements of his squad mates. He’d been sprinting in a circle around them to get an angle when Georgia put an end to the fight. Or, almost. Ben reached down to the creature that was twitching as if it might have survived having its brain skewered and the professional monster hunter twisted its head around a few times, the breaking of bones declaring that it wouldn’t be bothering anyone.

Eyes scanning ahead into the perpetual gloom as he rejoined his team, Alexander saw nothing in the village of evil things to declare an immediate threat. So far, so good, and he cursed himself for jinxing them as soon as the thought cross his consciousness.

They were behind a huddle of buildings, the light of the lantern blocked by huts and the stone alter within this ring of structures.

“How are we?” Alexander asked, a hushed whisper slightly broken up by his fast breaths.

“I got hit by something nasty, it got beneath my armor pretty fucking good. Superficial, but that shit burns like a mother. Health only dropped five percent though, I was drawing on my armor. It would have been worse for the rest of you.” The big warrior reported.

Alexander nodded, “Dark spear. That’s the magic it used, and the first one tried to use the Greater variant. Safe to say we shouldn’t any of us be getting hit by those if we can help it.” He answered Ben’s unasked question.

Mark rubbed imaginary claw marks on his chest and added, “They try to steal your life force and mana too. Soak resists it, but it sucks super hard, like something is digging under your skin while it’s happening. I’m not a fan of this dark mana shit.”

“Anything else?” Alexander asked, hoping that this first contact with the Skin Peelers would reveal enough tactical information to make future fights easier.

“They’re hard to kill.” Cervantes said, stating the obvious, “I don’t know what the insides are like, but Melinda had to put five, six stabs all the way through the bastard’s chest to get it down, and Ben actually fucking stabbed one through the face and it was still alive. Not fighting anymore, but alive.”

Georgia made a circular motion over her head, for “wrap it up”, reminding everyone that they were supposed to be moving. She was right, and the party rose, with Melinda coming up from having carved through the first monster’s chest only to find the core was lower, hidden at the lumber vertebrae. So, these hid their cores in a different location.

They fished out the other four cores, adding them to the crowded pouch on Alexander’s belt, and he was going to have to put any others in his food bag. He took a moment to kill the bear that had been tortured, putting the sorry animal out of its misery, and grateful to Ruthless for the distance from his emotions.

The raid team broke out into another jog. They’d gone a quarter mile before the next group of hostiles came into sight. Three werewolves, a Dracul pack leader, and a single Xiptotec.

Priority target was now the Skin Peeler for Alexander, to disable its casting and weaken it. Ben and Cervantes swerved to put themselves between the party and the lupine forms, which were assuming a humanoid shape indicating that they had spotted the party, at his call. Georgia shifted to lead that particular charge, her blows to slow the beasts would let the two attackers engage the fast-moving beasts more easily. Melinda called the vampire, where her talents were most potently leveraged. Mark held the center, to flex toward whatever threat presented the most risk.

Howling calls rose up in the heavy night air. Georgia grunted, her shield stopping a charging form and she snapped her sword quickly into the muscular furred body, more to debilitate than to outright wound. Wolf fur and Soak shed most of the impact of the longsword, but a few shallow gashes opened and the werewolf slowed drastically. The anchortank shoved the beast off and plunged her blade into a second wolf that was angling for Cervantes, a nasty stab into its hamstring.

Even slowed, the wolf retaliated with a rake of claws that threw sparks from her arm guard. Cervantes made that extension a mistake, the tip of his tuning fork blade whistled in and rang off the beast’s forearm bones, turning the arm to jelly.

Ben cut to one side, deflecting a lead from the third werewolf, and jabbed the haft into the creature’s ribs with a sudden draw on his class’s empowerment, and the monster’s side caved in. The heavily armored man swiped down to sever the monster’s spine and turned to finish the slowed beast Georgia had first engaged.

Georgia kept her tower shield high and rammed the injured creature, double teaming it with Cervantes.

Alexander spared no more time for that part of the battle, he was focused now on his arrow, pulling Entropic Imbuement to counter the Xiptotec, who was already conjuring another elemental imp. He knew Mindflayer tears were lethal, how about Bloodlet sap?

He released the arrow and saw the creature attempt to swipe the projectile from the air with its knife. However it saw, his chaos empowered arrow must have disrupted its magic sight, because it missed badly and the arrow buried into its lung. The dark mana caster hissed, spat alien curses, and pulled the arrow free, instantly. They were resistant to pain, which should not have been surprising as it was, but the warping powers of entropic magic made even these dungeon spawn flinch. Or, perhaps that was the small stream of its nasty blood that flowed unimpeded from the wound.

The dark mana sprite conjured by the creature came straight for Alexander, charging to preserve its master. So did the vampire, shifting to bat form and flying high for an airborn attack.

Melinda’s crossbow bolt hit the Dracul in the hip and it flared bright in the sudden daylight. The bat screeched but didn’t revert, apparently smarter than its cousins. It didn’t burn as a bat, whatever transformative powers that form held shielded it from its solar weakness. It did dive toward the woman, but Mark was there ready, his flame brand already orange with heat.

Time for his bow done, Alexander drew the Messer and focused his attention on the sprite, noting its clawing outline attempting to rip his jugular. The Venator side stepped and slashed Golem High Steel jacketed by silver in a short, hard chop at the clawed limb and it came free with relatively little resistance to the razored metal. He ignored the sailing limb and took the hilt in two hands, turning the chop into a stab that took the imp like familiar in the stomach.

It flailed at him, one hand latching onto his armor, biting, feet clawing, resilient to the damage of his knife, and Alexander ducked his helmeted head to avoid his eyes being gouged. He grabbed onto the roughly chimp sized creature and drew back, this time pulling his class’s powers into the act.

Baleful Smite accompanied the second dirking of the imp and its struggles ceased immediately, it was turning into whisps of dark mana smoke before it hit the ground.

In those precious seconds dealing with the sprite, the Skin Peeler had managed to rally its powers, appearing to care nothing for the stain darkening its robes.

The Skin Peeler moved like a boneless thing, flowing toward him. It was as fast as the Dracul, its knife glittered darkly in the sun lantern glow, like a piece of shadow forged into steel. It stabbed and Alexander saw its mana encase the dagger, much like his own did. He stepped back from the diving point, parried, and tried to take its knife hand off.

The tier three dungeon spawn was too graceful, it withdrew and immediately circled, slashing at Alexander’s arm in turn. So they battled, furtive rapid movements of short blades, each trying to out maneuver the other.

He was losing, the last Gerifalte realized, when a third rake across his armer almost found flesh, a blow too clean to be shed. Grimacing at the knowledge from beneath Ruthless, his thoughts whirled desperately as the knife fight continued.

The Xiptotec was inhuman, its range of motion and flexibility greater than Alexander’s and it was winning the exchanges in spite of his vision capturing its intended attacks just ahead of them. Unexpected angles of approach, weirdly disjointed positions of wrist, elbow, and shoulder that he had learned to recognize in humans were deceitful in this enemy. He had the monster’s full attention though, and was keeping it too busy to utilize its powers. A small figure, feminine but not delicate approached rapidly and he stepped forward, locking his Messer against the smaller dagger to freeze his enemy in place for a second. This was his great advantage against the Skin Peeler: Alexander was not alone.

Melinda running at full tilt ran the eyeless humanoid through from behind, grunting at the effort of penetrating the creature’s Soak. Mark joined her a moment later, and his sword fared better thanks to its inner flame.

With both their blades erupting from the Skin Peeler’s chest, Alexander came in with a two-handed stroke that carved nearly from one ear to the other, right across where its eyes should have been.

That was sufficient damage to end the Rakshasa’s struggles.

Damned if the things weren’t tough. They reminded him of the Yetis that way.

Breathing rapidly, Alexander looked up from the dead Xiptotec to see victory in this skirmish was complete. Ben was waving them on to regroup and he and the others only spared the time to cut the cores from the monsters before doing so. Mark had decapitated the batform Dracul so there was no vampire dust to be had from the thing, unfortunately.

Half a mile, the young man thought, hoping their luck held. Only a few guarding packs encountered. The way ahead was clear. So little did they knew about the dungeons, how the monsters arrived, what guided their actions.

There was intelligence in these beings. Malignancy too, but sapience. It made them more dangerous than the animalistic things that had come before. The dungeon itself might be a thing of some sentience, if not one understandable to a human mind.

That was fine, the last Gerifalte determined grimly, because he was growing stronger, learning faster in this crucible. He would take the next Xiptotec faster, now that he’d seen how they move, had experienced the flashing attacks of their cruel knives.

Whether by the violence of action or for other causes, no more creatures did the party encounter as they ran, and they pivoted to ascend the pyramid, its vaguely Aztec or Mayan, Alexander knew not which or either better applied, features oozing ancient blood cult vibes. The red stains and rust odor of the stones beneath his feet told him more than he wanted to know about the rites that had taken place on this night shrouded temple.

Every hundred feet of ascension bore a different level of the temple, pillars of stone holding the mass above them in what seemed to Alexander to be an impossible manner. Surely this sandstone looking stuff could not bear the tons of weight? But it did. Past the warrens of chambers bearing the mien of long emptiness and ageless inattention the party climbed. A temple ground. An arena with stone bench stands absent a crowd to fill it. A residence complex with withered gardens and dry fountains. Up and up the humans bore witness to a civilization either long dead, or dormant so long it had been as much as the same thing.

A thousand feet of climbing saw even hardened Adventurers winded and they paused to catch their breath on the precipice of the great central stair. Pillars on either side, reminiscent of those at the entryway to the dungeon loomed. Fanged faces chiseled into them. Lupine guardians circling the bases of the pedestals. Eyeless priests in supplication to a formless, shifting thing that gave all the humans who gazed on it a shivering eerie avoidance of eyes soon after.

Whatever else this temple held in store for them, Alexander was without a single doubt that they were on the verge of glimpsing evil.

A few minutes, time enough to slow their ragged breathing and shake the burning from their legs was all the raid team allowed themselves. As one, they marched forward down a path away from the altars of pain to either side of that pyramid stairway’s zenith and closed on their target: a shrine in whose center, hidden by the great height and deceptive size of the pyramid, was the dungeon core.

Silver witch light lit the facets of the spinning shard of deepest indigo dotted with violet.

Before the steps that led to the stone slab of offering to the dungeon core stood a tall man. Or, at least, it appeared as a man.

Alexander bent his attention on the figure and concentrated to call forth the Scroll of what had to be the dungeon’s guardian. A glimpse, nothing more. He felt a dagger in his thoughts that shattered his concentration, and he cried out his hands pressed to his temples.

“Tut tut. Mortal, did not any rearers teach courtesy to their whelps? Rudeness abides in one who would assume to pry where uninvited.” Spoke the entity, a smooth baritone absent hurry or concern.

Gasping from the aftershock of the chastising force, Alexander informed his team of what they had already come to expect, “That’s the guardian. Can’t analyze it, it hurt like hell to try. Tier four is all I got.”

A human hand, fingernails just shy of being long enough to be claws, ran lovingly across the top of the stone slab as the party approached warily.

Mark, in front, bearing the sun lantern, brought its circle of light forward to enfold the being that they had to conquer before slaying the dungeon’s heart.

Within the daylight globe, the party witnessed the first tier four creature. Long canines, subtle enough to pass if one weren’t paying attention. Black sclera eyes, like Alexander’s own, with the yellow green irises of a wolf instead, lit as if from behind.

“It’s a vampire.” Mark said, his tone slightly aghast.

“Then it bears little resemblance to the others, it doesn’t seem to mind the sunlight.” Cervantes declared.

“I don’t know about y’all, but I liked the ugly ones better.” Ben commented.

The creature before them lowered the weight of its attention on the party and Alexander felt a tightening in his chest. Fear. Fear so deep it pushed against Ruthless. His respect for the others grew several notches when they didn’t take even a step back. The foe wasn’t visibly showing any effort at enacting an aura of terror, this was instinctual. A human hind brain recognizes a dangerous predator when it sees one.

“Ahh, yes, you would have met my spawn. They huddle below, afraid to challenge the hunters that destroyed them so easily.” Spoke the vampire, its use of language oddly accented, but unlike anything Alexander had ever heard of.

It spoke as if the words were fed to it through a teleprompter full of irregular phonic cues.

The mention of the Dracul they had faced brought an almost wry expression to the vampire’s face, a twist of too red lips compared to the porcelain skin that suggested contempt.

“Barely thinking, barely old enough to speak, too young, too immature to be worth speaking to, not even capable of taking mortal thralls. Had I known the gate would open to a wilderness so empty of suitable prey, I wouldn’t have bothered accepting service to a realm crystal. Absent proper food, my spawn have grown with aggravated sloth. Your world, so long sealed from the myriad, has been a disappointment.” The guardian spoke, in that same unhurried way.

Eyes focused on each member of the raid team in turn and they each felt a boring sense of being examined. Had it just dragged from them their own Scroll? Alexander hated to think that their enemy had the equivalent of Greater Analyze to leverage against them.

“But, now,” The tier four monster said, almost gayly, “Worthy nourishment has come, fully developed and their dormant legacies alive in their veins, unlike those offerings brought when first the gate opened. And they have even pruned away the unworthy of my brood, including those disgusting worshippers of the Pain God, that flayed dross of a deity.”

“Georgia?” Mark whispered, without looking over his shoulder.

“Ahead of you.” Replied the Impervious Anchor tank behind the team leader, sounding a little rocky.

The dungeon guardian paced back and forth before the offering slab, slowly sauntering. It wore a vest of thin leather dyed red, over top of a white silk shirt. A wide billowing pair of black silk pants tucked neatly into knee high boots of the same leather as its vest. The boots made no sound as the vampire stepped. It moved as if weightless. Alexander knew that if the Xiptotec had been fast, this guardian Dracul would make them look slow.

A cold sweat was beading his forehead as he watched every movement, trying to absorb every detail that might turn an advantage. It hadn’t attacked yet. A memory of the Reaper came to mind. Neither had that creature been immediately aggressive. Soon though.

“Does the prey believe its trivial time trap can save it?” the vampire guardian asked aloud.

A fine tipped fingernail tapped against its full pouting lips, skipping off a fanged incisor absently.

“Perhaps…yes…to hold the guardian long enough to break the reality crystal,” the pale creature mused, “Have they recalled the pacts? Only by slaying the guardian does the crystal yield its strength. They must not remember, it has been, what, a handful of thousands of years since last Gaia saw an incursion? Their last great champion, the Pharoah of the river empire. None of that one’s legacy remains to these. A pity. His blood would be sweet, even diluted.”

“I got your sweetness right here, you pasty bastard.” Ben told the monster.

The vampire came to a stop, arms crossed behind it and the phrase dead still was made to describe its stasis. It drew no breath.

A flicker of the lupine glowing eyes to his own made Alexander want to either run screaming or throw himself at the monster before them. He made his decision then, that this creature had to die, no matter what. If they failed here, it would hunt Falcon’s Rest to the last.

Fangs were revealed in an eager smile and the vampire flickered. Standing in front of Melinda, Mark’s kite shield shifted instinctively to cover his partner and immediately rang out. Small dagger hilt protruded from its face. Belated, the Mark moved his feet to better align his shield, as if his body caught up to his combat awareness.

Half an inch and a quarter second, no more, and the small thick knife, like a kunai, would have punched through The Luminous Pathfinder’s neck.

Alexander had seen the monster move, but in no way could he have voiced a warning. So fast. The arrow in his fingers was useless. Georgia would never catch the monster in her temporal ward. Not unless they completely overwhelmed the creature. They were not going to completely overwhelm this thing, he had a feeling. But they were going to try.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“On me!” Mark called and he led the charge, faint flickers of flame rising from his form as he used Bolster to further enhance his toughness.

Ben responded to the shout raising his spear. Melinda brought an incandescent sphere of pure sunlight above her hand. The vampire’s skin reddened in the doubled daylight and it vanished.

Alexander scanned, turning his head left, then right, and he dropped his bow, hand going to the Messer, too late. It was behind him!

A claw tipped spear hand was diving for his spine, intercepted by a Chronous Bulwark tower shield. Metal screeched, and Alexander saw Georgia blur, her sword cutting at the elevated Dracul. She was already using her Acceleration, a spell to quicken her flow of time. The monster and the Anchor tank skirmished while the rest of the party gathered themselves to adjust to the superhuman pace of the fight.

It had me, he realized, and he readied his knife, whispering a thanks to Georgia Stephens.

As suddenly as it started, it ended, Georgia staggered back, her shield ripped by claws, and her sword broken off halfway up its length. Her Golem High Steel sword. The vampire was lacerated on its arm, side, and leg. While Alexander watched, the angry, welted cuts healed. Wafts of smoke issued from them as they did, as did an acrid stench.

“So…they remember the silver, do they?” the Dracul pondered, watching the wounds repair themselves more slowly than it was used to, as well as with far more pain.

Added to the silver was another source of retardation to the regenerative process: the vampire’s flesh was growing redder under the influence of Melinda’s day globe, as if developing a rash. Or a sunburn that spread visibly.

Alexander saw the irritation flash in those wolf-like black eyes and black lines raced ahead of the creature, a suggestion of its intent. Body lagging behind his senses, the young hunter pivoted around, he slashed preemptively behind the shorter woman, his oversized knife jarred in his hands, caught against the clawed hand of the vampire, which had darted forward to open Melinda’s throat. Barely pausing, it retracted and leapt back gracefully, twenty feet distant, a slight pique on its features at being denied a kill. It barely noticed the deep cut Alexander’s ridiculously sharp blade had given its palm.

“Your alchemist is remarkable. This venom almost burns even my immortal flesh.” The Vampire praised, licking the wound even as the thin line of blood welled up, halting almost immediately.

Immune to poison. Absolutely swell. Alexander shelved another set of strategies that involved loading the guardian up on poison and waiting it out. He didn’t even have a chance to hit it with chaos magic.

Mark saw the exchange and backed up to stay closer between his lover, who wielded the only weapon that harmed the vampire permanently. It badly wanted to slay the Luminous Pathfinder, would use any opening to do so. The anchor tank was a hard point, a bastion of safety on the battlefield, preventing it from diving on her, for fear of the shimmering hot sword and the blazing shield. That was good. Not so good, neither Ben nor Cervantes had been able to so much as swing a sword at the creature, it had avoided them entirely.

That was soon to change, Alexander wasn’t the only one who noticed that the formerly blinding speed of the Dracul wasn’t nearly as impossible to follow. Georgia’s cuts, while they had failed to do lasting harm to the guardian, had carved into its flow of time, slowing it. She’d eaten into the awful thing’s advantage substantially.

The creature noticed, seemingly about the same moment the Adventurers did, shooting a vicious look at the woman, who grimly rang her broken sword against her broken shield, challenging it to receive her attacks again. She was hanging back though, keeping Melinda’s other flank secure. Together with Mark, the two of them formed an island of stability in the battlefield, the guardian seemed unwilling to put itself in reach of the both of them together.

Hunting eyes searched for a gap in the defenses, a way to end the abominable light floating above Melinda’s hand.

Ben and Cervantes took off as one and Alexander sprinted off to the side, striving to go on the offense, instead of reacting to the Dracul guardian’s initiative. The two front liners angled to force the monster to face one or the other. It chose Cervantes. Even slowed, the Sonic Highlander’s sword couldn’t touch the vampire, who stepped smoothly out of the arc of his cut. The blast of sound that caught it as it evaded surprised it, rang its refined predator’s senses, and that surprise is why its retaliatory swiped only took most of the claymore wielding warrior’s jaw off, instead of decapitating him.

Cervantes went down, missing an eye, a cheek, his nose, and most of his jaw on one side, his helmet rent apart, his Soak defeated by the shimmering red sheath of mana over the vampire’s claws, claws now lengthened to bloody knives a foot longer than before. It had hidden that ability, saving it to lethal effect, its intent only barely unfulfilled.

Alexander fired a Chaos Strike at the dark stalker, to force the monster to move reactively, rather than any hope of making contact. A turn, a casually ducked chin, and his entropic bolt sailed into the dark. But it had paused in its aggression to do so.

Cervantes, hanging onto consciousness, dragged his sword through his modified gauntlet, and the tuning fork sword sang, blasting the vampire again. Gravely wounded, he poured everything he had left into the sonic attack and dry dust lifted a moment before forming a visible sphere from the shockwave, like a fighter jet roaring past a tower at mach two. Vampire features warped almost comically from the fist of sound that walloped it to the stones in a tangle some feet distant.

Alexander and Ben followed, glad to engage the creature farther from their downed comrade. An opening! Dearly paid for.

Ben pulled on his class and matched the creature’s speed momentarily, taking advantage of the brief break in its posture. The man of steel called its strength to himself, sword bladed spear at the ready.

It rose, less fluid but still with a disturbing ease. Cervantes had hit it with his best shot, had hurt it something awful but the regeneration of a tier four was otherworldly. An expression of disgust was plain of pallid features, fangs visible from its grimace when for the first time, its menacing grace failed it. The monster staggered a step, the close-range hammer of vibration holding most of the injured warrior’s remaining mana having done ruinous things to its balance. Ben closed while Alexander circled.

A clawed hand raised to intercept a trademark uppercut from Ben was blown aside, glittering crimson shrapnel from the blood magic talons shattered, and the humanoid form launched thirty feet, arcing up like a pop fly. Impossibly graceful, the vampire landed on its hands and feet like a cat. The deep cut from its floating rib to its collarbone healed, cleft bones knitting visibly. From its longish pointed ears there was a steady flow, at first, which began to slow, a few seconds later tapering off to a barely dripping crimson from blown ear drums, damage to its balance and reflexes suggesting parallel nervous structure to humanity, which now was not the time to examine. Predatory black eyes remained fixed warily, but with complete awareness on Ben from the crouched vampire.

Horrified, Alexander couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The bastard was still healing! Through silver. Through sonic shock that would have done a c4 charge proud. Through a blow that had battered a dragon.

Its Soak absorbed enough of the impact to prevent catastrophic wounds, despite the silver in the Naginata and Ben’s raw power, the man himself shaking his head at a clean hit making so little difference.

What didn’t heal was the reddened flesh of the pale creature of Nut. In fact, the burned skin had started to blister under Melinda’s concentrated assault, starting with its still healing wounds. She was holding her spell with teeth gritted in concentration as she funneled her mana into it, the sunstone in her gauntlet feeding her magic its amplifying force. Flanked by Mark and Georgia, the vampire couldn’t get to her without going through the pair, although the party’s formation was strung out now.

That was a mistake, and the predatory monstrosity that bore outward resemblance to humanity saw it. Wise in its evil ways, the creature capitalized immediately. Alexander saw magic compress and pool inside the ancient evil.

“Stay sharp! It’s using magic!” He called a warning, bitter at his inability to analyze the monster to know what they faced.

The vampire hissed and waved a hand at the party, a wave of swirling shadow dimmed the battlefield, powers of Nut warring against the solar mana brought to bear by the Adventurers from Gaia. Within the miasma, breath came short and senses dulled, the body growing chill in conjured darkness. Only nearest Melinda did the darkness fail to take hold, everywhere else stood as if in a cloudy night.

Black outlines gave warning, and Alexander Gerifalte called warning to Ben. Too late. Blood magic talons rang against armor and Benjamin’s ability had a cool down, he couldn’t become a man of steel again for another minute. Worse, Ben could not see through the dark magic shadow the way Alexander could. A flurry of sparking slashes, a grapple, and then Ben screamed, guttural agony from their best hope in melee.

A contemptuous kick, almost a flick of its leg punted Ben. The dungeon’s guardian launched the knight to land heavily behind the trio of Mark, Georgia, and Melinda. He didn’t move. The vampire held Ben’s right arm, torn free rather than severed; the wonderful frost enchanted spear still clutched in the gauntlet. This the monster tossed aside and began to stalk forward toward Cervantes, who was no longer moving.

Dismay at their mightiest fighter being so badly hurt by the monster shook Alexander’s guts, but he couldn’t stay on the fringes to take an opening now. Time to stand your ground, he told himself reluctantly and he stepped forward, putting himself in the path of the dungeon guardian.

Alexander was the only one close enough to cover for the downed man. It would kill Cervantes, then it would move on to pick them off, one by one. He gripped his Messer hard. He couldn’t fight the creature heads up for long, it was too strong. Alexander had no Soak. No defenses to speak of against a monster that could carve through the best armor he could fabricate. Dragon scales rebuffed the bloody talons, but they treated golem high steel like a pull saw through pine. It didn’t change what he had to do.

Ruthless helped him settle the acid in his belly when the fully mature Dracul guardian focused its full attention on the being with the audacity to face it.

Hateful eyes gazed on him and the vampire launched itself at the Venator.

Entropic aura blossomed and Alexander hammered the dungeon boss with the corroding influence of his chaos mana, while his hands worked desperately to deflect reaching claws. It hissed again when his magic bathed it. They dueled for only a few seconds. One parry, two, and then Alexander lost the upper third of his Messer, sparks showering as the Dracul caught too squarely his blade and sheared it off with blood magic claws that broke apart as well.

Only, the monster’s weapon reformed from its own blood and mana, though it was clear that his entropic field was taking effect: the congealed magic refused to sharpen the way it had before, the black eyes hardened as it set its will against the chaos that pushed its familiar magic awry. Against the day globe that flared brilliantly thirty yards distant, the regeneration of the Nut spawned Dracul against its bane was slowed to a crawl and blisters began to raise from tortured flesh.

It grimaced, baring fangs, at Melinda, who stood under guard of Mark and Georgia. They could win.

Courage, Little Falcon, he screamed at himself, and Alexander raised the remaining weapon to receive the vampire.

The black outlines were starting to slow, somewhat. The shadows cast over the battle field were evaporating. Within the grip of his aura, the tier four monster’s Soak was being eroded, its powers eaten away. Melinda’s sunlight was burning it more intensely. All he had to do was hang on for a little longer, the Adventurers behind him were approaching steadily, threatening to overwhelm it, but offering no gaps in those shields to grant it an opening.

“An Unweaver.” Remarked the cold-blooded humanoid, its lips twisted with contempt and its once alabaster complexion pocked now from accrued solar damage.

“A bearer of the sun, a guardian of flame, a knight of the clock, a cold iron forged warrior, and an unweaver of aether, well prepared was this assault on my domain.” The sapient guardian of the dungeon said, again using that oddly inflected English, as if it read from words only seen.

A translation spell? Why bother? Unless it was automatic. That Reaper had been understandable too. Were the worlds bound in a way to permit common language?

It continued speaking, and Alexander’s curiosity took a back seat. It was delaying, and every second was to his advantage, so it could talk all it liked. Perhaps it thought to shake him. Well, too bad for Vlad, he was already terrified, but Ruthless suppressed everything to a whisper, and good old Mainer hard headedness covered the rest. Everything except for the firmly entrenched desire to kill this thing, that was all Alexander Gerifalte.

“But your realm has only fledglings to offer, too weak to stop a convergence. Soon part of your world will belong to mine. In a few centuries, perhaps a millennium, that convergence will spread to the horizon. I will be there, to raise an empire of Dracul, an Emperor of Nut on under a darkened sun.”

“You won’t see your sun again.” It promised, and came again.

Another exchange, worse this time for him, the pale bloody clawed thing attacked relentlessly to end his resistance before the others could close. Alexander strove to keep the Dracul from driving him out of the light of the lantern and day globe, to keep the pressure of the sunstones in play. He danced back, side stepped, feinted, anything to extend the fight, to drag it out, to stay close enough to threaten so it couldn’t murder Cervantez.

A hissing snarl told him his plan was succeeding in aggravating the dungeon boss. Close calls were turning his armor to ribbons, and he bled freely from a half dozen minor cuts.

It redoubled its efforts, a flicker of motion that made the Xiptotec seem sluggish.

His eyes saved him six times in half that many seconds, and he felt the monster’s frustration as its slowed motions, projected ahead of its blows, failed to execute him.

They came apart and he took a breath, and, worse, blinked. The Dracul flickered, its outline flashing a millisecond ahead through his Outsider’s perception.

Sparks from blossomed from the dragon scales on his chest his dodge only half complete. The hammer blow sent him staggering backward when as the immensely powerful pistoning arm tried to impale him through his chest. Alexander, movements trained by Ben’s uncompromising discipline, agility dialed to maximum under adrenaline, turned just enough to shed the worst of the attack, and drills beat into him forced the Venator to take the hit and riposte on reflex. He drove his broken knife forward, jagged silvered blade ripped an eye from the monster that had thought its prey executed, causing it to disengage before the Messer could enter its brains.

Just as well, it had knocked the wind from him, even from a glancing strike.

Alexander was running on fumes, both physically and magically. He had exhausted his repertoire of combat tricks, the maneuver to half blind it was all he had left. The Entropic Venator was coming to the end of his tether, burning muscles and tiredness from blood loss were stacking against him. Worst of all, his armor was hanging weirdly, too much of its integrity lost to count on to take another direct raking. But he stood, and he had held the Vampire for precious seconds while his comrades advanced steadily.

“You will all become food. I will keep you living, crippled, and drink from you when I wish, while my spawn grow strong on you.” Threatened the vampire, one socket darkened, the other narrowed menacing at him.

That pause was punished, his allies had come close enough to be effective. Covered by his shield, Mark Ross lowered the mirrored shroud and flicked the diaphragm open, turning the lantern into a beam of solar energy and brandished the sun lantern, now a weapon that splashed a golden ray over the vampire’s face. It’s features boiled under the concentrated sunlight, and its screech echoed along the top of the pyramid, Mark had saved this tool for the ideal moment, when it would do maximum damage.

A hunter knew when his moment had come.

Alexander dove in, broken knife leading, he pulled his class’s abilities, draining himself of his remaining reserves. The shard of metal slipped between the blinded humanoid creature’s ribs, Baleful Smite already delivering a payload of entropic force. A batting arm whipped across, catching him cleanly across the shoulders like a truck hitting a bicyclist. Alexander exited the sphere of daylight in spinning flight, world rotating senselessly.

He never remembered hitting the stones, but came to what must have been seconds later, if that, and he gasped hard for air to pull into his lungs. His knife was gone. His limbs refused to work, although the distant static of a wrenched left leg indicated he wouldn’t be using it for much any time soon. Laying on the stones of the pyramid, all he could do now was watch. And hope.

Lantern leading the charge, the others had advanced on the enemy, Mark shifting the beam with his sword arm to follow its darting movements as it struggled to evade. That advantage lasted only another moment, the creature flickered again and another thrown dagger struck the lantern, knocking it from Mark’s grasp. The other two daggers rang off his dragon scale plate, a ricochet biting part of his cheek deeply before it spun away. The vampire charged the trio, its burned face a rictus of feral rage, the scarred, corroded hole in its side from Alexander’s blow, running freely of its blood. A wound that did not heal.

Mark bit back a curse at the broken fingers and sudden metallic warmth pouring into his mouth and pulled his enchanted sword again, its short blade taking on an angry, violent glow once more.

Their shields covering the woman behind them, who poured even more magic into her gauntlet, the anchor tanks stepped up to intercept the monster. Shadows cast by the party lengthened until they were cut off by the night shroud of Nut’s influence on this slice of the dungeon born realm.

The Chronous Bulwark, having expended most of her mana in the initial, desperate exchange to keep up with the guardian, blurred again, sacrificing the rest of her combat potential to occupy the wounded guardian. Every moment mattered now. The armored woman fought the vampire again, this time holding the advantage. Georgia hacked a bloody talon free, twisted her hilt deftly in a hammer fist and buried her sword in its chest. It didn’t die. Malignant vitality kept the dungeon boss fighting. With awful strength, the vampire ripped her shield away from her and punched her in the chest squarely, its full might behind the blow. Georgia’s ribs broke loudly, and she folded around the creature’s fist. Alexander winced from the ancient stones, it had hit her much, much harder than it had him. It would have impaled her with its arm if not for her draconic cuirass and heavy Soak.

It reached for her throat, to finish the defenseless woman.

Ben Grisham raced out from the darkness as a metallic streak and drop kicked it between the shoulder blades with his full class imbued power. Georgia fell to the pyramid floor groaning, freed of the vampire that was launched again by the knight thirty feet into the stone slab it had fawned over, whose arrest blasted the stone into fragments and crumpled the monster.

The big warrior landed hard, then struggled awkwardly to his feet with his good arm, the blood loss from his torn limb halted by the Mandrake leaf quick clot from his emergency kit. Alexander’s efforts processing that brain-curdling plant was saving lives now.

For once, the vampire was static, unmoving. Its battered form struggled to heal against the massive damage taken from the broken longsword it tore from its chest, the bones snapped on the hard rock slab, and the ever-biting sunlight that tore at its night born essence.

Melinda, for the first time, lowered her gauntlet and leveled her crossbow at the vampire half buried in the rubble of its stone altar. Now focused into the bolt, she let sail a brilliant lance of day that slammed into the creature’s chest, and the vampiric guardian ignited, howling, for once its agony obvious.

Stone shards scattered from the violence of the monster’s struggles, and Mark, shield abandoned for haste, brought a white-hot sword in a two-handed stroke with all his strength behind it. The vampire’s head flew free of its body, and it sagged to the ground to twitch briefly, before the sunlight in its chest rendered it to a pyre.

Alexander dropped his head to the cool, dry stone beneath him and thanked all the gods above, below, and in between for the courage of his allies. Then he started trying to figure out how to get up in worse shape than he’d been in when he’d crashed his plane. It took a minute to figure out which limbs worked well enough to use.

Meanwhile, Ben had gone to Cervantes, to see what could be done for the gravely injured warrior. Alexander was starting to regain enough feeling in his legs to know he’d be able to limp, slowly, but his head rang like a bell and his shoulder was definitely dislocated from the boss’s direct blow. A fabulous searing pain when he tried to use the arm anyway revealed that the arm was broken cleanly as well. By the time he managed to obtain his feet, Mark and Melinda had managed to see to Georgia, and Ben had Cervantes draped over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.

Alexander Gerifalte staggered over to the party. He was sort of fucked up on his left side, and he’d probably torn most of what held things together in his knee. A single, solid hit had almost killed him. The young hunter was still slightly amazed that they were all alive. Maybe all of them. Cervantes didn’t look so hot, those blood talons had ripped him up good. His armor looked like he’d let a toddler alone with it and a grinder with a cutting wheel. If not for the red wyrmling’s armored scales to reinforce them, the tier four monster would have carved them all apart, armor or no.

Amazingly, Mark and Melinda were relatively unscathed. The creature, wily, cunning, had understood that their abilities countered it effectively and it had tried to pick off everyone else first, to isolate them. It had very nearly pulled that off. Speaking of which, Alexander limped over and retrieved his former spear and Ben’s arm. How the warrior was even standing, let alone packing another large man in armor was beyond his ken.

Melinda drove her estoc into the crystal core of the dungeon about the time he returned to join the bedraggled group.

The world vanished from his eyes.

WORTHY! WORTHY! THEY WALK THE PATH! NIGHT’S HOLD FALLS FROM THE DRAGON PULSE!

Within the space of Gaia’s recognition, Alexander didn’t know what to expect. It was just as well, whatever he might have anticipated, the magma running through his blood and frost on his bones cast aside those vestigial notions. Only a second or two, or a life time, and then gone.

WORTHY CHILDREN DRINK OF UNTAPPED POTENTIA!

Alexander Gerifalte

Class:

Entropic Venator

Status:

active

Soak: 5%

LifeForce/Armor

Head

Mana: 6%

Might

23(+5)

Height

6’4”

LifeForce/Armor

Left Arm

14/21 slash/impact resistance

LifeForce/Armor

Right Arm

Grace

27(+5)

Weight

174lbs

8/9 slash resistance, crippled

Highsteel combat helmet (damaged)

7/15 slash resistance

Impetus

28(+5)

Age

20

Highsteel Splint mail (damaged)

LifeForce/Armor

Chest

Highsteel Splint mail (damaged)

Cogitation

25(+5)

Core

Black Fire Opal, brilliant

17/27 slash/pierce resistance

Golem forged Messer

Wisdom

22

Origin

Gaia

LifeForce/Armor

Left Leg

Highsteel Splint mail (damaged)

LifeForce/Armor

Right Leg

Ingenuity

26(+5)

Sapient Race:

Human-3rd Tier (Outsider)

12/10 slash resistance, crippled

LifeForce/Armor

Abdomen

14/20 slash resistance

Durability

25(+5)

Highsteel Splinted Leg Armor (damaged)

17/27 slash/pierce resistance

Highsteel Splinted Leg Armor

Valor

32(+15)

Highsteel Splint mail

Traits

Outsider’s perception, Back from the brink, Gaia’s child, Lethal, Warforger, Scholarship, Singular prominence, Fractal mindscape

Skills

Baleful smite, Ruthless, Greater focus, Greater analyze, Stalk, Blindside

Arcana

Greater entropic aura, Chaos strike, Lesser wyrd edge

No “what is thy desire?” this time, Alexander noted. The planetary will was, near as he could tell, joyful. Or, maybe, optimistic. A great enemy had been destroyed, a creeping evil that would have, in time, become a plague on the north. Had they failed, Alexander had little doubt that a Vampiric stronghold would have been established, fueled by the tier three humans of Falcon’s Rest. To drink of potential, at least, made sense.

Within his chest he felt some of that molten energy that seemed to accompany the destruction of a dungeon core, its metaphysical essence akin to a thaumaturgical predation.

Those energies combined with his and within the mindscape, Alexander Gerifalte felt himself become greater. His stats, those mystical little indicators for his physical and mental abilities, lurched forward by about twenty percent across the board. More in some cases. A new skill came alive in his mind, a new twisting of the rules as he knew them to alter Gaia’s children to better survive in the mesh of worlds that strove against each other.

Blindside: success begets success. Proclivity for attacking from behind, from cover, or against distracted enemies results in greater lethality for culling inattentive foes. Attacks against enemies that fail to see the strike that hits them negates half their Soak and treats the attack as if delivered with twice the applied force.

As soon as that slight twisting of his being came and had gone, another came, a pulling sensation on his core that he was compelled to witness first hand through its Scroll.

Entropic Imbuement ►Lesser Wyrd Edge

Lesser Wyrd Edge: The blades of chaos never truly miss. Shrouding your blade in entropic magic causes the attack to project an entropic phantom of the blade to pass through a blocked or shielded hit with a fifth of the effect as if it had not been guarded. Entropic magic disrupts magical shields, unravels Soak, and leaves behind chaotic remnants of mana that disrupt organized magic in the target area for several minutes.

Once again, the slaying of a dungeon core had transformed Alexander. Inside the timeless pause of his mental space, he couldn’t help but notice that most of the changes seemed geared toward intensely offensive capability. There was an irony to it. Just as he had no defense, no Soak, towards the crazy shit that kept popping up, increasingly, it could have no defense against him. The playing fields were drawing closer to even. Alexander would have spat if he could have. He didn’t want even, he wanted to be ahead. So far ahead that nothing that tried to kill him could ever see his back. The only way forward was to keep walking the path, to cleanse the dungeons that infested Gaia.

That momentary pause in existence ended, and bodily awareness returned. Unfortunately. He felt like shit. Tired. Beat up. Hurt. Wrung out. But so very alive.

Raiders all came out of the trance at the same time on this occasion. Blinking owlishly around, most cursing from wounds taken, one nestled in the blessed numbness of unconsciousness.

Mark scooped the dungeon guardian’s dust into a bag and Melinda pocketed its core.

A magical gong sounded, causing the ravaged party to assume combat stances. Alexander scanned anxiously, looking for a source to the sound or sign of threat. A second gong rang out. Nothing appeared over the edge of the stair. Nothing descended from the eternal night sky.

“What exactly the fuck is going on now?” Ben asked, pained, exhausted, and generally fed up with this shit.

A third pervasive gong rang, brassy and full.

The dungeon heart, a lifeless hunk of grey crystal now, flared one final time and the adventurers were treated to a reality warping twisting sensation, like being turned inside out in four dimensions, and they found themselves standing at the temple entrance through which they’d walked some hours ago.

On the outside.

Already, the stones of the structure were cracked, rotting, and it was dissolving into a pile of gravel. Pillars once foreboding had collapsed, their sculpted demons unrecognizable.

“Woah!” Mark exhaled.

“This dream gets weirder all the time.” Melinda accurately summarized Alexander’s former source of fantasia.

“It can get weirder if it wants to, we need to find Shiv. I think my lung collapsed.” Georgia wheezed.

Ben boomed “Medic!” and the gathered expedition exploded into motion, throwing open the big reinforced gate.

Shiv was kept busy for the next three hours patching up Adventurers, starting with the mangled wreck that was Cervantes. Georgia ended up getting a chest tube to relieve the pneumothorax. She also passed out from a rib fragment that lacerated her spleen, and almost bled out internally until the Flesh Weaver clamped off the arteries feeding the organ. Shiv earned his pay that afternoon. Cervantes, for all that his injuries were a gory mess to behold, was fine once Ben had applied the alchemical wound treatment compound, blood loss aside.

Alexander’s own blood loss was similarly stemmed and he spent most of those first hours following the dungeon conquest drinking copious volumes of water, eating a hearty meal, and contemplating how his new abilities could best be put to work for the sake of Falcon’s Rest. Testing would be required. For instance, did these new abilities, both the skill Blindside and the arcana Lesser Wyrd Edge apply to the arrows from his bow? He’d have to hunt the Gaia spawned critters that roamed the wilderness to know for certain.

Watchful observers noted the state of the raid team’s armor, the severity of the injuries sustained, and the grim set to their features. All they said initially was, “It was close.” Further discussion could wait until the safety of Falcon’s Rest, a warm bed, and a tankard of something highly alcoholic.

Brig took one look at them and bitterly complained, “You losers got all the fun.”

The return to home was three days journey. Disturbingly enough, they all heard the howls of werewolves in the distance at times throughout the trip. Gone was the gateway, as the Nosferatu lord of the dungeon had called it. No more werewolves would come hunting from the realm of Nut. Nor would their Dracul handlers be snatching anymore humans to eat, not that they’d had much success in that in the first place. The few scattered towns and hamlets of upstate Maine were empty.

But the werewolves didn’t need their masters to hunt humans, nor to turn them into more of themselves. Gaia had picked up another predator species to contend with. Who knows how many other similar nightmares roamed the landscape, able to flourish in a world not their own. Invasive species, so to speak.

That was an unsobering thought, as in, one he needed to save to consider until he was well liquored up, lest it depress him.

Julia Richards, Major, Brig, and the others kept the critters at bay all the way back home, as if they had something to prove. They didn’t, not in Alexander’s opinion, and not in the opinion of any of them who had ventured into Nut. But they couldn’t talk that lot out of pulling double shifts and relentlessly culling anything that dared to come within Bonny’s hawk’s sight.

When the phoenix sun cleansed the wounds taken, everybody breathed easier, especially Cervantes, who’d been kept under sedation by Shiv because, while not life threatening, his wounds were heinous and agonizing.

Dungeon clearing did have its perks, however. Alexander took time to espy each of the members of the raid team, with their permission, of course, he still remembered that mental spike of agony when the vampire guardian had rebuffed his Greater Analyze.

A thought called first their fearless leader.

Mark Ross

Class:

Incandescent Triarii

Status:

Fresh, active

Soak: 60%

LifeForce/Armor

Head

Mana: 100%

Might

21(+15)

Height

5’6”

LifeForce/Armor

Left Arm

34/85 slash/impact resistance

LifeForce/Armor

Right Arm

Grace

22(+15)

Weight

178lbs

24/80 slash/pierce resistance

Dragon Knight Crested Helm

24/80 slash/pierce resistance

Impetus

19(+15)

Age

21

Dragon Knight Vambrace

LifeForce/Armor

Chest

Dragon Knight Manica

Cogitation

20

Core

Ruby, ceylon

Dragon Knight Kite Shield

40/35 slash/pierce/flame resistance

Wyrmcinder

Wisdom

30

Origin

Gaia

LifeForce/Armor

Left Leg

Dragon Knight Cuirass

LifeForce/Armor

Right Leg

Ingenuity

20

Sapient Race:

Human-3rd Tier (Ifrit)

30/86

LifeForce/Armor

Abdomen

30/86

Durability

34(+15)

Dragon Knight Grieves

34/80 slash/pierce/flame resistance

Dragon Knight Grieves

Valor

38(+10)

Dragon Knight Cuirass

Traits

Praetorian, Fire hardened build, Unwavering, Gaia’s child,

Skills

Greater firebrand, Bolster, Shield rush,

Arcana

Incendiary counter stance, Heatsink, Flamestrike

Mark had grown substantially. Unlike many others, there had been no sideways upgrades, the man was strictly a more powerful version of his former self. Base stats increased, as they had for all of the raiders, traits upgrading to higher tiers, and at least the standard version of any arcana or skill. The only new thing in his Scroll was a new magic, a spell that could allow him to hurl the flame in his sword at enemies either as a wave of fire from the blade, or, conjuring it into a great fireball that fell from about fifty feet above the ground. Mark was tougher. Meaner. Burnier.

In contrast to this greater self-expression through reinforcement of what was, Ben had undergone a semi metamorphosis. The stout warrior strode close to the front of the procession, looking like he wanted something to take a crack at in his armor battered by the guardian’s blows.

The man’s abilities had allowed him to borrow the strength of his armor and held weapon, pulling on the metal to infuse him with far greater physical characteristics. Now though? Well, Alexander recalled the Scroll.

Benjamin Grisham

Class:

Adamantine Knight

Status:

Fresh, active

Soak: 55%

LifeForce/Armor

Head

Mana: 100%

Might

32

Height

6’3”

LifeForce/Armor

Left Arm

31/85 (slightly damaged) slash/impact resistance

LifeForce/Armor

Right Arm

Grace

26

Weight

318lbs

24/12 (broken) slash/pierce resistance

Dragon Knight Great Helm

24/90 slash/pierce resistance

Impetus

24

Age

32

Dragon Knight Full Plate

LifeForce/Armor

Chest

Dragon Knight Full Plate

Cogitation

23

Core

Cassiterite, navette

Winter’s Breath (reforged)

33/83 (slightly damaged) slash/pierce/flame resistance

Wisdom

27

Origin

Gaia

LifeForce/Armor

Left Leg

Dragon Knight Full Plate

LifeForce/Armor

Right Leg

Ingenuity

19

Sapient Race:

Human-3rd Tier (Oread)

30/74 (damaged)

LifeForce/Armor

Abdomen

30/95

Durability

30(+10)

Dragon Knight Full Plate

28/33 (damaged) slash/pierce/flame resistance

Dragon Knight Full Plate

Valor

40

Dragon Knight Full Plate

Traits

Memory alloy flesh, Born soldier, Gaia’s child,

Skills

Titanic strike, Overpower, Golem install,

Arcana

Greater adamantine infusion, Blade sharp, Lesser sense metal, Whip sword

Instead of his abilities refining in the same direction, Ben’s class had evolved. He had gone from a merely powerful man, with bursts of strength and speed, into a juggernaut.

In its new iteration, it seemed to lean more heavily on manipulation of metal and arcane durability, rather than simply borrowing strength from his armor. Memory alloy flesh, he could heal from blunt force trauma and cuts, his tissues rearranging themselves to their former state, broken bones and muscles welding together. Golem install, which made his already metallic looking skin hard enough to turn a carbon steel knife edge and gave him a brief window where Benjamin could not die unless his core was destroyed, very near immortality for one minute. A metal sensing ability, he said it was like sonar, but better, because he knew what type of metal he was feeling too, somehow. Whip sword, another brand-new magic. The warrior could turn his metal weapon flexible as cord, somehow without losing any of its toughness or sharpness.

Watching the man use Winter’s breath like a bull whip, blade lashing out to neatly clip a wrist thick pine limb fifteen feet outside its usual range one moment and retract to form the powerfully defensive naginata that it was in the next was one of the more memorable things Alexander had seen in recent memory. It made Ben smile, which was all he really needed to know about it to feel like that was a win for humanity.

Melinda walked along behind the supply wagon, juggling three orbs of solid light in a standard loop, each one sizzling through underbrush that touched them. Alexander figured they had to be maybe five thousand degrees Fahrenheit. He pulled the Luminous Pathfinder’s Scroll for review.

Melinda Berry

Class:

Luminous Pathfinder

Status:

Fresh, active

Soak: 20%

LifeForce/Armor

Head

Mana: 70%

Might

15

Height

5’3”

LifeForce/Armor

Left Arm

23/55 slash/impact resistance

LifeForce/Armor

Right Arm

Grace

24

Weight

118lbs

20/52 slash/pierce resistance

Drake Scale Spangenhelm

20/52 slash/pierce resistance

Impetus

26

Age

23

Drake Scale Hauberk

LifeForce/Armor

Chest

Drake Scale Hauberk

Cogitation

19

Core

Clinohumite, ball

Winter’s Breath (reforged)

28/76 slash/pierce/flame resistance

Wisdom

25

Origin

Gaia

LifeForce/Armor

Left Leg

Drake Scale Hauberk

LifeForce/Armor

Right Leg

Ingenuity

17

Sapient Race:

Human-3rd Tier (Ifrit)

25/65

LifeForce/Armor

Abdomen

25/65

Durability

18

Drake Scale Greaves (Hauberk Tasset)

25/72slash/pierce/flame resistance

Drake Scale Greaves (Hauberk Tasset)

Valor

25

Drake Scale Hauberk

Traits

Geopositional awareness, Solar resistant, Flame resistant, Gaia’s child,

Skills

Strobing glare, Greater luminous dash, Sunlight infusion

Arcana

Hardlight sphere, Greater day globe

Here was another example of Gaia’s blessing granting an enhancement to what was. Melinda was now fire resistant, in addition to solar resistant, meaning half the damage from a source of fire didn’t affect her, and the remaining had that damage reduced by her Soak. Resistances were considered golden enhancements from their classes or bloodlines. Firstly, they were passive, requiring no expenditure of the core’s reserves. Secondly, they greatly assisted in keeping soft, squishy humans alive.

Her Day Globe, which had carried the team so hard during their adventure into the night bound dungeon, was even brighter now, and she could also split it into smaller globes, upwards of a dozen of them, and move them independently. It now also had a fascinating form, she could disperse the globe from its focal sphere, forming a homogenous zone of even late afternoon gold, that covered five acres in radius.

Other abilities had greatly improved, the dungeon core’s injection of magic perhaps favoring she who had so massively contributed to its down fall. Where before, at its lesser form, the light wielding scout could dash short distances, she could now almost teleport in a straight line up to fifty feet through her Greater Luminous Dash. Her eyes, which before could flash blind you like a close-range camera, could now strobe you quite debilitatingly.

The hard light orbs she juggled were totally new. Alexander had a feeling they would prove a potent addition to a somewhat lacking offensive capability in the woman’s toolkit.

How or to what extent Gaia granted her children their gifts from the dungeons was still a mystery, but there was most certainly an element of preferential treatment given to those whose contributions were most keenly felt in the claiming of victory over the contested zones.

Cervantes, despite his potency elsewhere in the dungeon, had only minimally been able to damage the dungeon’s guardian, its regenerative powers, Soak, and agility had proven too resistant to the man’s sonic attacks, and it had put him down too quickly for him to manage much in the way of contribution to its defeat. His class abilities had grown the least of anyone. The tuning fork claymore wielder didn’t complain about unfairness though. There was no point, Gaia and the crystal cores operated according to rules only they understood completely.

For the first time since his beloved had been murdered, the man found a reason to smile: he had gained two large enhancements to his skills that he had desperately needed, and been trying for through his own training, without success. Gaia’s mysteries threw him a bone.

Firstly, the sonic pulse from his sword could be directed in a cone now, instead of in a spherical area, concentrating its power and permitting the fighter to both extend his range and to fight in tighter formation with his allies without harming them. Much like Alexander’s own Entropic field, Cervantes had had a problem with friendly fire. The sonic boom he’d cut loose on the Dracul overlord would have concussed any one of his comrades in the raid party had they been close enough to help him. Secondly, he had also acquired echolocation, sonar, and would be capable of “seeing” in the dark. Already, the man was murmuring about a visorless full helm that would deprive his foes of being able to see his eyes, to read his intent from the direction of his gaze. It was a not small advantage, to see in conditions where most could not. As, appropriately, Nut had been for the warrior.

Alexander heard a curse when the blindfolded claymore wielder ran into a third tree and flinched backward into yet another, before stumbling into a briar bounded dry stream bed. It was reason to be cheerful, and the raid team enjoyed a laugh at the man’s expense, before catcalling him directions home, offering him everything but the truth. There was little fear of beasties. What the werewolves hadn’t driven off were being handled by Bonny and crew. Even Alexander could relax under that surveillance.

Everyone in the expedition to cleanse the dungeon breathed a sigh of relief when the great gothic walls of Falcon’s Rest came into view. Despite hard miles, the group’s pace quickened unconsciously, and they double timed it to stand again beneath the comforting shadow of the protective enclosure.

Shouts from the battlements above, hearty and welcoming, greeted them, and most of the raid party waved enthusiastically in reply.

Slowly, counterweighted pulleys lifted the immense portcullis. Weary, caked in the detritus of the many miles they’d traveled, and oh so glad to be home, the strike team made their entrance home.