The Legion moved cautiously forward from the entry room through a long hallway, their boots echoing off the cold metal floor. White flickering industrial lights overhead cast erratic shadows, creating the illusion of movement where there was none. The walls, lined with cables of all sorts—some old and frayed from past segments no longer in use, others seemingly recently added—occasionally sparked with live wires, sending dangerous arcs of electricity across the metal surfaces. Somewhere in the distance, the low hum of machinery droned on, a constant reminder that the dungeon was alive.
"Keep your wits up, men," Marek murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of command.
They had barely advanced fifty paces when a blinking light lit up in the distance.
"Shields!" Marek shouted hastily, his warning half cut off by the sound of a gunshot.
An explosive round impacted one of the tanks, but the tank was ready, bracing for the hit. The explosion sent a shockwave through the corridor, but the formation held.
"I can't see the target!" shouted one of the mages, frustration evident in his voice as he scanned the dimly lit hallway.
"Shieldwall! Advance till we have sight on the target, March!" Marek barked his orders confidently. This was exactly what they had trained for.
The tanks moved in unison, their shields forming an impenetrable wall as they advanced steadily down the hallway. The support squad stayed close, casting Aegis spells to reinforce the shield wall, while the DPS squads kept a watchful eye on the shadows ahead.
As they approached the spot where the first shot had come from, they finally spotted the turret—a small, agile machine embedded in the wall, its barrel still smoking from the previous shot.
"Scorching Ray!" called out one of the fire mages, extending his hand. A concentrated beam of searing plasma shot forward, slicing through the air and striking the turret dead center. The metal glowed white-hot before the beam burned a hole clean through it, only for the turret to blow up seconds later as its munitions burned up.
But before they could even register their success, another turret opened fire from a completely different direction, much further down the hall. The shot was dangerously accurate, slamming into the shield wall with a force that sent shockwaves through the formation.
"Damn it, they’re targeting us from a distance!" Radborn cursed, trying to spot the new threat. "But these are just standard cannons, they shouldn’t be able to reach us from that far."
"The dungeon master," Marek muttered, piecing it together. "He’s controlling them manually, extending their range."
"Eyes forward!" Marek commanded. "We take them out one by one. Advance!"
The squad reoriented to face the new threat, moving with purpose. As they pressed forward and absorbed a few more shots, the intercom crackled to life with a burst of static. Techneadore’s voice, dripping with amusement, echoed through the corridor.
"Oh, how amusing! It's like a retro game of Duck Hunt. But it seems I’ve missed again. How embarrassing to miss so many shots. My aim must be getting rusty," he mocked, his voice filled with exaggerated disappointment.
Marek clenched his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the taunt. "Focus, men. We’re almost through this hallway."
Finally, they saw the third turret in the distance, its barrel glowing as it prepared for yet another shot.
The fire mage's hand glowed with anticipation as he prepared to unleash another Scorching Ray. The turret’s barrel, glowing from recent bursts of fire, suddenly dropped down, the turret seemingly lifeless.
The scorching beam shot through the air, striking the turret dead center. The metal hissed and bubbled under the intense heat, melting into a twisted, molten heap. The turret exploded, its munitions igniting in a small, controlled blast that sent debris clattering against the walls.
But Radborn’s instincts flared. “Why would it stop like that?” he muttered, suspicion prickling at the back of his mind.
Before he could react further, a sharp crack echoed down the hallway—a sniper turret had fired from behind. The round didn’t just hit Radborn; it detonated on impact, the explosion blasting him off his feet and slamming him against the wall with a sickening thud.
"Radborn!" Marek shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The tanks immediately reformed their shield wall, bracing for any further attacks. The support squad rushed to Radborn’s side, the nearest healer quickly casting a spell to mend his injuries. A golden light enveloped Radborn, knitting flesh and bone back together, but the impact had been severe. Blood trickled from his side, but his breath remained steady.
"Still got a hit after all!" Techneadore’s voice crackled through the intercom, a short, mocking jab that cut deep.
Aine’s eyes blazed with fury as she turned and spotted the sniper turret, now revealed high on the wall behind them. With a snarl, she summoned a large fireball, far more powerful than necessary, and hurled it at the turret. The explosion engulfed it, reducing the turret to a charred ruin.
"Aine, damn it, control yourself!" Marek barked, his tone sharp with frustration. "Save your energy for what’s ahead, not for petty revenge on a piece of scrap!"
Radborn, grimacing as he forced himself to stand, nodded to the healer in thanks. Though bruised and battered, he steadied himself, his determination unshaken.
Marek turned to Radborn, eyes full of concern. "How bad is it?"
Radborn gritted his teeth, his voice firm. "I’ll manage. Let’s keep moving."
---------------------------------------
The corridor fell into an uneasy silence after the sniper turret’s destruction, the echoes of the last explosion gradually fading into a tense stillness. The Legion reformed, their breathing heavy in the oppressive quiet that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. The flickering lights cast erratic shadows on the walls, further heightening the sense of foreboding. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, as if the air itself was thick with anticipation.
“Stay sharp,” Marek commanded, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were swallowed by the silence, but the men understood. They moved cautiously, eyes scanning every inch of the corridor for the next threat. The hum of distant machinery seemed louder now, its rhythmic drone a constant reminder that the dungeon was very much active—and watching.
Then, a new sound pierced the quiet: a high-pitched whine, growing louder by the second. Marek signaled a halt in the advance, his eyes narrowing as he looked, trying to locate the source, but the sound came from all around them, bouncing off the metal walls in a disorienting cacophony.
Like a horde descending upon them, a swarm of buzzer drones erupted from hidden vents and alcoves in the walls. The small, insect-like machines darted toward the Legion with alarming speed, their wings vibrating so fast they created a deafening, ear-splitting noise. The sound waves were more than just a nuisance—they struck with a force that bypassed armor, making the ears bleed and shattering the mind.
“Drones!” Marek tried to shout, but his voice was drowned out by the shrill noise droning from the machines. The tanks raised their shields instinctively, but the sonic waves hit them hard nonetheless, causing several to stagger. The relentless noise felt like nails being driven into their skulls, the vibrations sapping their strength and resolve.
The DPS squad attempted to intercept, flinging spells into the swarm, but the drones were too fast and too many. Here and there, a fireball took out ten drones, only for the rest to rush through the blast smoke aggressively. The tanks, forced to break formation, swung their swords at the incoming swarm, trying to fend off the machines. Each drone that was struck down exploded in a shower of sparks, but more swarmed in to take their place, undeterred.
The corridor was soon filled with smoke and debris from the exploding drones, but the assault didn’t stop. Wave after wave of the buzzing machines rushed the Legion, the ear-splitting noise disorienting them further.
Radborn grunted as he pierced through another drone with his iron staff, feeling the vibrations from its sonic attack resonating painfully in his chest. “They just keep coming!” he thought to himself, as he fought to keep his footing.
The battlefield descended into chaos as the tanks, unable to hold their formation, found themselves in a desperate, disorganized melee. The support squad tried to cast healing spells amidst the confusion, but the drones exploited every gap in the defense, driving the Legion to a chaotic state they were not used to.
Amidst the chaos, a deep rumble shook the ground as a large artillery gun rolled into view from afar. It was a beast of a machine, with a long barrel and thick armor—an instrument of destruction built to take down heavily armored foes in a stand-off engagement.
Before anyone could react, the artillery gun fired. A piercing round whistled through the air, striking one of the tanks with terrifying precision. The hit was brutal, the force easily blowing off the knight’s arm and sending him crashing against the wall, lifeless.
“Artillery!” Marek tried to shout, but to no avail. The tanks, now scattered and struggling, were all still veteran enough to notice what happened and attempted to regroup. But the artillery gun was relentless, firing another round. This time, the shot pierced the armor of another tank through his torso, dropping him to the ground in a pool of blood.
Aine’s eyes blazed with fury as she spotted the artillery gun lining up its next shot. Channeling her rage, she conjured a fireball and hurled it with all her might. The fireball struck the artillery gun head-on, engulfing it in flames. The gun shuddered, its armor glowing red-hot, but it still stood.
“DAMNED MACHINE,” Aine yelled out, her voice laced with enough fury to actually surpass the drones buzzing. Summoning her fiery anger, Aine started a new spell by chanting, "Aedh! I call upon your wrath! Plunge my foe back into the lár an domhain!"
With a primal scream, she unleashed the spell. The ground underneath the artillery gun became boiling hot lava, then the lava blew upwards like a great volcanic outburst, consuming the artillery gun entirely. The machine was taken back down into the lava pool, which quickly cooled and turned into stone and metal slag covering the ground.
For a second, everyone was stunned, but quickly, the rest of the battle continued. The immediate threat was neutralized, but the battlefield was still a chaotic mess. The Legion, bloodied and having endured losses, seemed to have some renewed confidence thanks to Aine, and so gathered themselves for what appeared to be the last drone wave and cut them down efficiently without any more losses and a unbroken will.