The Infernal Legion had reached deep into the dungeon, but after harassing skirmishes was now reduced to a grim collection of battered warriors, their numbers cut down to a fraction of what they had been at the start of siege. What remained was a dozen of elite soldiers, once full of vigor and unshakable discipline, now nearly decimated by Techneadore’s relentless layered defenses. The dungeon's kill zones and backhanded tactics had picked them apart like a surgeon operating on their whole corpus with clinical precision— gas vents and mines hidden beneath the rusted floor, sniper turrets concealed within casemate panels, and cannons that could crack through any defensive shieldwall. Now, the survivors—Marek, Aine, Radborn, and a handful of the Legion’s finest—stood before their final challenge.
Ahead of them loomed the last bastion: a colossal bunker, fortified with layers of steel, bristling with gun turrets and casemates that gleamed in the dim light of the lit up hall. The hum of machinery reverberated through the corridor, punctuated by the eerie noise of a tank destroyer's hydraulic gun traversing side to side, like a rattlesnake in front of its nest.
The blast doors stood at the far end, sealed shut, protecting the control room where from Techneadore spurred on his dungeon. But before they could breach the control room, they would have to survive this—one final battle.
Techneadore’s voice crackled to life over the intercom, dripping with mockery. "How does it feel, Marek? Knowing you’ve led your soldiers into a steel grave? Hammering away against unyielding, unresponsive metal. There is no heroism to salvage here, no hope to grasp upon. Persistence, they say, is a virtue, but it is a slave’s morality—a self-made lie to justify hopeless endeavors. In the end, there’s nothing awaiting you here but failure. No warm embrace, no shining triumph. The fire dims, the steel hardens again, and your body will cool."
Marek clenched his jaw, ignoring the taunt. Aine, flames flickering faintly around her hands, glared at the intercom speaker. “Let’s shut him up,” she growled.
“Focus,” Marek barked. “Radborn, you’re on barriers aside of healing. Aine, deal with the tank destroyer. Everyone else, keep those turrets and drones off us. We push forward together.”
The first salvo erupted from the turret emplacements, explosive shells were sent flying down the corridor like a relentless storm. Marek along with the remaining line of tankers, locked shields in a steadfast wall, absorbing the brunt of the impact. Marek’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding: “Keep sharp! There must be a sniper turret!”
Radborn’s sharp gaze caught movement above. “There!” he shouted, pointing to a concealed panel sliding open. A sniper turret emerged, its barrel gleaming menacingly. Aine reacted instantly, launching a searing ray of fire that struck the turret through its barrel and into the chamber blowing it up from the inside before it could fire a single shot.
“Impressive reaction time,” Techneadore’s voice chimed in. “But you’re only prolonging the inevitable. Let me expedite things.”
With a monstrous rumble, a tank destroyer rolled forward, its massive turret swiveling in a slow, deliberate arc, the mechanical whirr like a warning signal. The corridor was drenched in the rhythmic bark of automated gun systems, their suppressive fire into the line of tankers restricting any maneuvering. Then from above, the eerie high-pitched whine of bomber drones filled the air, jettisoning down from the vents in the ceiling. They gathered with ominous intent, amassing like a predatory flock poised to strike at the faintest sign of weakness, their metallic forms glinting faintly in the dim industrial light like bats at night.
“Drones incoming!” Marek yelled. “Radborn, wall them off!”
Radborn thrust his staff forward, summoning a shimmering wall of light. The barrier forced the swarm to split, funneling the drones into more predictable paths and absorbing some of the turret fire. "Focus your fire!" Marek ordered, and the Legion's mages unleashed a coordinated barrage of spells. Many drones exploded one by one, their remains clattering to the floor in fiery heaps. Yet amidst the firing, one drone broke through the defenses, darting erratically before slamming into a mage with terrifying speed. The impact detonated in a blinding flash, leaving nothing behind but a broken staff rolling across the floor and blood and flesh raining down.
Then the tank destroyer fired, its armor-piercing round shrieking through the air. It slammed into the shimmering barrier of light, shattering it with ease and scattering fragments like glass. The impact barely slowing down the shell flying on and ripping into a tanker with a deafening crack, his shield his armor and his body fracturing and flying apart, only for the bullet to fly on almost hitting a healer behind the tanker and then smashing deep into the wall far behind them. The Legion had no time to react to it at all, their focus fractured by the swarm of drones above and the turrets suppressing them. Marek barked over the chaos, “Aine, take it down! Now!”
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Aine nodded, her flames intensifying, though she knew this wouldn't be easy. She darted to the side of their tanker line to gain a arc towards the tank destroyer, quickly creating a concentrated orb of fire energy. As she tried to hurl it at the machine, a shell whiffed by her making her aim off center, the fireball struck the destroyer’s tread instead of its body, the explosion tearing through its gear wheels and grinding its forward movement to a halt. Smoke and sparks erupted from the damaged tread as the metal sizzled and melted it stuck to the floor. But the tank destroyer wasn’t silenced—it swiveled its turret with vengeful precision and fired, the armor-piercing round striking through another tanker and then a healer behind him.
“You’re remarkably stubborn,” Techneadore’s voice mused. “But you are only 1/4th as efficient as my destroyer here.”
Aine snarled, summoning all her strength. Flames travelled up her arms, roaring like an inferno as she began a chant, "Aedh! I call upon your wrath! Plunge my foe back into the lár an domhain!"
The ground beneath the destroyer quaked, glowing a molten red as Aine’s spell reached its climax. With a primal scream, she unleashed the full might of her power. A torrent of lava erupted beneath the tank destroyer, enveloping it in a boiling inferno. The molten rock surged upward in a volcanic explosion, consuming the machine entirely. Its metal shell warped and melted, the destroyer vanishing into the searing pool of lava before the ground cooled rapidly into a hardened slag, sealing its remains.
Aine staggered, the effort draining her completely. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, her vision dimming as exhaustion overtook her.
Radborn was already expending much of his energy. Yet when he saw Aine collapse after her greatest spell to safe everyone, determination flared within him.
Radborn planted his staff firmly into the ground, his voice rising with a chant imbued with ancient power. "Dian Cecht, Your faithful druid calls! Bequeath upon this champion a droplet from your Tiprait Slainge!"
Radiant light surged from the tip of his staff as he held it above Aine, the light concentrated itself into a droplet of pure energy which then fell down upon Aine's body. The energy instantly enveloped Aine's still form as it hit, shimmering symbols sinking into her skin and great warmth radiated. Her chest rose sharply as she gasped for air, revitalizing her strength and consciousness. Slowly, she opened her eyes, her fiery determination reignited.
“Hah, Radborn... did i do well?,” Aine whispered, her voice steadying slowly.
"You did great, Aine..." Radborn said with a smile but having difficulty himself now to stay standing.
Meanwhile the remaining legionaries were fighting with desperate ferocity. They targeted the automated gun turrets, spells striking with precision honed by their whole experience of this siege so far. One turret exploded, then another, but the cost was high on both sides. A turret cracked a tankers shield apart after its constant firing had grinded its strength away and struck with a explosive shell and throwing him against the wall.
before he could rise and rejoin the line, another turret, seeming to have a mind of its own started targeting the isolated tanker exclusively, shelling him cruelly until he was beyond saving.
Marek bit down his anger and pressed forward, absorbing a shell with his shield and commanding. “Mages upon fire on the right flank, now!”
Despite his legion being down to a only 5 more tankers himself included, and 2 healers and 4 mages, he knew that now they had a good chance of winning by now if they could destroy the last turrets in time. The end of the battle raged with every legionnaire fighting through the fatigue. The remaining tankers, moved in a disciplined line, finally able to push forward toward the last of Techneadore's automated turrets allowing for easier firing for the mages. The turrets were still powerful, they had enough ammo to do this all day, but now, with all drones out of the way and the tank destroyer destroyed by Aine’s powerful spell, the Legion's mages focused their magic with precision. Fireballs and searing rays obliterated the turret emplacements, one by one, until the last of them sputtered and shut down, blew up or melted entirely.
The remaining Legionaries shouted in victorious relief, though there was no time to celebrate.
From a panel above, came a sniper turret emerging from its hidden compartment. A single, sharp shot rang out, slicing through the air with terrifying precision. The sound was unmistakable—they had heard it countless times by now.
The shot hit one of the healers, who was now tending to a tanker, his body crumpled to the floor, a hole torn through his head by the shell. There was no scream or anything, just a lifeless form that fell in a heap, his staff slipping from his hand. The other healer, Radborn, froze in horror as the silence that followed amplified the cruel blow.
“No!” Radborn shouted, his voice breaking as his eyes locked onto his fallen comrade.
“Die!” Aine roared in bitter anger as she hurled a fireball at the sniper turret. The ball of searing flame shot through the air, trailing a burning path behind it, and struck the turret directly in the center of its exposed panel. The impact was immediate and devastating—the turret’s metal casing buckled under the force, the flames consuming it with an explosive burst that sent shrapnel flying in every direction.
A loud, deafening crack echoed as the turret was torn apart, disintegrating into a molten heap of twisted metal. The last vestiges of the sniper turret crumbled to the floor in a heap of slag, sparks sputtering out like fading embers.
Marek let out a sigh and said, "Aine, Radborn just restored all of your energy. A mere ray would have been enough. Don't let your emotions be played like this."
“I DON'T CARE, MAREK!” Aine shouted wrathfully. “We’ve already won, only for this bastard to pull something sneaky and pointless like that. I'M GONNA MELT THAT DUNGEON MASTER!”
"I'm sure you will," Marek replied with the calmness of a veteran, though sadness could be heard in his words. "Though, he probably has a reason for targeting the healers so much throughout this whole siege."
Marek couldn't figure entirely figure it out though, one dungeon master couldn't stand against this many soldiers with or without healers alone, even if he were more powerful than any known dungeon masters in combat, which was even more unlikely for such a defensive and construct based dungeon master.