The garbog was about as ugly as the name implied. And just as deadly as its reputation inferred. The wyrm was as long as ten humans from maw to cudgel shaped tail, and as tall as four. The thick, upper portion of its elongated body was covered in an armored grey exoskeleton, from which protruded six spiderlike serrated and pointed limbs, which it used to terrifying effect as both weapons and propulsion. The exoskeleton tapered off about four meters from its toothless, acid dripping mouth, leaving wrinkled and scarred flesh exposed for warriors to potentially sink their blades into.

If they could avoid being sliced to ribbons by the legs or smashed to paste by the bony tail that is. Not to mention while dodging gouts of deadly acid that spewed forth from its mouth. Neither of which were easy feats.

Despite possessing neither eyes nor ears nor nose, its vibration sense was sensitive enough that the beast seemed to know exactly where each of the delvers was at all times. Which meant that Darkclaw’s strategy of distracting the worm from the front while spearmen jabbed at its exposed midsection was…dubious at best.

Unfortunately, Talia had no better ideas. But whatever they did, they would have to do it fast.

Already, two of the defenders had been dragged off to the healer, one caught in the initial blast of rock from the shattered wall, and the other caught on a backswing of the garbog’s scything claws during the first charge.

It said much that the injured probably had a higher chance of survival than the rest of the defenders.

Darkclaw seemed to realize that the original tactics they’d been relying on had been designed for a larger group in a larger space. His pivot to a different one was immediate.

‘Ranged; ready-aim; two volley’ came the clicker call from the battlemaster. Delvers armed with bows, crossbows and in one elf’s case, a pair of battlewands, prepared to fire, clustered together in a loose formation between wagons seven and eight.

‘Armored; evasive charge’ the order clicked out from the top of wagon eight, where Darkclaw surveyed the battle, grim faced.

A pack of eight delvers with heavier armor ranging from chain, to half-plate, and even one beastkin in full plate, rushed forward, intent on harrying the monstrous wyrm to give the ranged defenders their shot.

When they had closed to melee ranges, forcing the beast’s attention on them, Darkclaw gave a new order.

‘Armored; steady-retreat right; ready ranged’

The series of clicks translated into immediate action. The distracting team dragged the wyrm’s attention to the right, pacing slowly and harassing it with their long spears, or in the giant, fully plated, beastkin’s case, an enormous two handed mace.

As soon as the garbog’s armored torso twisted to follow, exposing the deep dweller’s vulnerable sides, Darkclaw snapped out his order.

‘Fire; ready skirmishers’

A volley of arrows, bolts and two beams of molten radiance streaked above Talia and her fellow skirmishers, soaring above the lightly armored group to strike at the garbog’s midsection.

Some of the projectiles missed, but all told, half a dozen heavy shafts with barbed points sank into the exposed flesh, preceded by a dual furrow of burns across the wyrm’s tough skin.

The deep dweller reared up in defiance of gravity, letting out a piercing screech that echoed across the tunnel, stunning the armored contingent and creating worrying rumbles behind them.

‘Armored; fast-full retreat; ranged; fire;’

As the frontline turned to run back to the relative safety of the wagons, a second volley flashed over Talia’s head, striking the garbog right as gravity exerted its will on the beast.

Its second scream sounded more angry than pained as its exoskeleton-covered upper half slammed back to the ground. The wyrm rubbed its clubbed tail at the wounds, ripping out barbed projectiles and tearing bleeding gashes across its wrinkled form.

Wounded or not, the garbog pounced, propelling itself towards the retreating delvers with all six legs.

A monster that big has no right to go so—

Talia broke off mid thought as the beast caught up to the beastkin in plate mail, who sensed the danger and tumbled sideways, bringing his mace to bear.

Too late.

Two serrated limbs punched through steel like a knife through taut leather, slicing into the delver’s abdomen through to his back and pulling him up to the wyrm’s dripping maw.

Holy shit—

Somehow, the beastkin had survived the strike, thrashing against the dual spikes slammed through his gut and upper back.

Talia saw the moment his predicament sank in, saw the moment the beastkin made his final decision to do as much damage as possible before he fell. Lifting his spiked mace as high as he could, the warrior used the last of his strength to bash at the wyrm’s upper right claw, right where it connected to its exoskeleton.

Once.

Twice.

Thud. Craack—

The third strike destroyed the joint. Dark, brackish blood gushed out in a pressurized spray. The grievous wound spelled the warrior’s doom even as he slumped atop the beast’s limbs. The garbog screeched and thrashed the beastkin’s insensate form against the tunnel wall, splattering blood, bone and metal against stone repeatedly.

Then, it lifted the lump of unrecognizable bludgeoned flesh and steel to its mouth, sprayed a wash of acid on it for good measure, and swallowed the warrior’s corpse whole, letting out a triumphant screech as its body convulsed in a swallow.

Nausea flooded Talia’s stomach, and for a moment, she was glad that the skirmishers hadn’t been ordered to engage the beast. If they had, in that moment, she wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to move. A quick glance at her comrades showed varying expressions of terror. Talia caught a whiff of feces wafting from behind her. The clumsy, raven haired girl at her side had gone whiter than pure quartz.

The battlemaster, on the other hand, was unfazed enough to seize on the opportunity that the beast’s momentary stillness presented. Clicks resonated in Talia’s skull as he called for another volley.

The garbog had just begun chasing the still fleeing delvers when the third wave of projectiles hit, nearly half missing entirely or deflecting off of hardened exoskeleton. Still, another trio of heavy bolts slammed home, along with the scorching rays of battlewand fire. The smell of seared meat puffed out in a flash of smoke.

The wyrm screeched again and recoiled; Talia cheered internally.

Whoever is firing those wands is a damned crackshot.

The monster emitted a keening noise curled up on itself, rubbing its gaping mouth against the bleeding gashes on its side. The aroma of searing flesh intensified.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Is it—cauterizing its own wounds?

The wrinkled appearance of the garbog’s skin took on a whole new meaning.

‘Fire at will’

A deadly rockslide of steel and magic cut across the cavern as fast as the defenders could fire them, most bounced off the wyrm’s carapace—though some still found purchase in exposed joints and hide.

The anticipation built along the ranks of the skirmishers as the deep dweller remained curled up in its protective cocoon.

A hand clapped Talia’s pauldron. She jolted, nearly swiping at the offending hand with her sword in her anxiety.

Torval flashed her a grim smile as he slotted into formation beside her. The delvemaster had donned his leather armor, one arm pinned to his abdomen by a leather brace, the other hefting a heavy spear with a serrated silverite tip.

Is he suicidal? Fighting one armed like that…

Instead of questioning his decision, the young woman clicked out clumsily.

‘Mage-Commandrum; situation; question’

By way of answer, the delvemaster sent out the first clicker call Talia had ever learned.

‘Ahead full’

The call visibly altered the defender’s morale, sending arrows and bolts flying out faster, and firming the defenders’ aim. The skirmishers stood taller, tightening their grips on swords and spears. Behind them, the wagons began to move.

Zaric had done it. The way forward was clear.

Darkclaw hopped down from his perch atop wagon eight as it lurched forward.

‘Mage support; question’ he called to the delvemaster.

Torval’s answering ‘negative’ dashed Talia’s hopes somewhat, but Darkclaw only nodded from his position amongst the heavily armored frontliners.

‘Defenders; slow-retreat; ranged; continuous-fire’

Around the tunnel, armor and weapons clacked and clattered as delvers began to pull back, keeping pace with the lumbering wagons.

That was when the creature struck, uncoiling faster than the crack of whip, its animal cunning having finally pinpointed the source of the tumble of projectiles assaulting it. The garbog, its previous bleeding all but abated, flashed forward on a direct course for the cluster of bow wielders.

On a path that took it straight through Talia and the formation of arrayed skirmishers.

Adrenaline burst through her limbs. Her mother’s artifacts hummed to life in her hands. She threw herself desperately out of the path of the multi-ton battering ram of angry wyrm. Around her, lightly armored delvers followed her lead.

Looking up anxiously, she saw that unlike the rest, Torval and a couple of veteran delvers had stood their ground, covered themselves under shields if they had them, and planted their spear butts on the ground, tips pointed up towards the ceiling.

Talia wasn’t sure if she felt awe at their courage, or disbelief at the size of their brass balls.

They’re going to impale—No!

Talia nearly screamed in horror as the garbog stopped just shy of the pointed weapons, using its considerable momentum to swing its tail like a counterweight into a vicious swipe.

The delvemaster and one of the spear wielders reacted fast enough to drop their spears and flatten themselves against the ground, but the other wasn’t as lucky. The beatskin’s upraised steel shield crumpled around her and she was sent flying.

But the boulder-sized bludgeoning instrument didn’t stop there, swinging completely around to ram into the forms of the oncoming armored contingent, sending the whole lot tumbling off of their feet, and knocking a couple out, at the very least.

Coiling its tail back behind it, the monster reared up and retched a spray of caustic acid at the frantically firing bow wielders. The already loose formation of ranged defenders scattered, some even dropped their weapons in their haste to escape the stream of sizzling spit.

Still on the ground, Talia’s Core, which had thus far remained silent, finally began to protest against the danger she was in, spinning up into what she somehow knew would be an indiscriminate blast of force. The young woman clamped down on it tightly, half remembered instructions from her manuals clashing with panic in her mind.

Fuck! Dammit, not now!

Even if she decided she didn’t care about revealing her powers, her magic would do little against something so massive.

Talia cursed the clicker in her mouth for preventing the stream of profanity that she desperately wanted to unleash. Instead, she turned off her shield and levered her arm under her. Her magic struggled against her white-knuckled grip as she stood.

Right as the garbog reared up for another spray. This time at the unprepared skirmishers.

Without a thought, Talia simply acted. Surging forward, she focused her mind on her shield, desperately screaming at it to expand to its fullest as she took a suicidal leap in front of the beast.

The young woman’s vision became a deluge of putrid green acid, blinding her momentarily. The force of the stream pushed her into a slide across the tunnel floor, but to her immediate relief, the shield held.

A cacophony of clicker calls whispered out, too fast for her jittery mind to decipher. Around her, skirmishers picked up their spears and rushed the wyrm, stabbing at it while it was focused on the woman deflecting its acid.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the deluge stopped. The beast screeched in pain.

Talia’s arm felt like it had been trapped between two boulders, but she was otherwise unharmed. Thankfully, she hadn’t the foresight to reduce the field’s size, as the wyrm scythed downward with three of its remaining limbs, seemingly intent on running her through like the armored beastkin it had previously consumed.

The result was one neither of them expected.

Talia’s mother’s artefact held up against both the force of the swing and the wyrm’s tremendous weight. The battle seemed to pause, sapient and deep dweller locked in place, unstoppable force against immovable object. Time stood still.

For a split second.

Then a rune array on Talia’s bracer sparked and fizzed out from the strain, reducing the shield back to its original size. And sent the wyrm’s massive weight crashing towards her.

The garbog’s faceless head somehow managed to display surprise as the force holding it up suddenly disappeared.

Talia’s expression, on the other hand, was all shock sprinkled with dismay. She frantically scrambled backward, running a doomed race against gravity.

As the wyrm panicked and tried to get its legs under it, an errant serrated spike clipped her side, and sent her into a spinning flight through the air before crashing to the ground. The woman’s silverite scales held, but, as her father had warned her, what felt like so long ago, it did little to stop the sheer force of the blow.

Fractious pain ripped across Talia’s torso in cracks that resonated audibly in her ears. A small voice in the back of her mind gibbered in excrutiating pain. Magic bucked wildly against her grip in her Core. For a moment, amidst the pain and mounting rage, she considered unleashing it, consequences be damned.

But…

To do so would be to admit that she was ruled by her emotions, down to the very fiber of her being. If she couldn’t even overcome the most basic common instinct of being a mage, where would she be when mage-madness came a-knocking? Talia firmed her resolve.

I control you not the other way around.

As the ground shook with the weight of the wyrm’s fall, meaty smacks and stabs echoing from where the rallied delvers pressed the attack, Talia mustered her Will. With a firm grasp, she stifled the spinning coil in her chest, slowing its movement. Around her Core, she erected barriers of thought and impressed upon the mana that it would not cross them without her permission.

For a terrifying moment, Talia thought it might fight back; lash out violently at her metaphorical walls. But, after a brief moment of tension, the coil stilled, thick threads respooling themselves tightly before falling quiescent.

From one instant to the next, Talia’s thoughts went from being divided between conscious thought, distracting pain and metaphysical struggle to singular focus, sharpened to a point. A breath of relief reminded her stringently that she had just shattered her ribs, but the young woman ignored her body’s pain signals.

In the box she’d created in her youth, she stuffed anger, fear, pain and everything that was not immediate survival. With groan, she fumbled for her mother’s blade, clutching its hilt like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

The wyrm stirred before her, its five remaining limbs splayed out on either side of it. Below its reinforced torso, delvers struck with abandon at its vulnerable midsection. Torval ripped yawning tears into toughened skin with his serrated spear, opposite Darkclaw, who swung a single bladed battleaxe nearly as long as he was in heaving, overhand swings.

Brown blood gushed from the soon to be gargantuan corpse. Together, the defenders had nearly severed the wyrm in two. And yet…

Still, it did not die.

Drawing a gurgling breath, the collapsed titan screeched.

Delvers fell away from it, their hands clutching at their ears.

Close as she was, Talia’s ears popped painfully. Blood trickled down her neck to mingle with the sweat under her armor. Nausea and vertigo flushed made her vision spin, but the fledgling mage pushed the sensations into the box. They would be unpacked and processed later, when the threat had been…disposed of.

The garbog began to push itself from the ground for a bloody final stand. Talia pushed her protesting body into a stumbling sprint, determined not to let it.

The beast’s mouth, dripping acid, rushed out to meet her, its head low to the ground still, caustic spit gathering in the back of its throat.

Talia jumped, pushing all of her artefact-granted strength into a flying leap, arming sword held with both hands high above her, point down.

For a moment she hung in the air.

Then, she fell. The arcanist hit blade first, enchanted edge cracking stone-hard carapace like an egg and plunging into the delicate organs beneath.

The box in her chest cracked, rage and fear infusing her strikes. Perched atop the monster’s exoskeleton, Talia snarled viciously, stabbing down repeatedly into the wyrm’s most important parts, brackish blood splattering across her armour. Until finally, it let out a keening whine and fell heavily to the floor, succumbing to the inevitable.

Silence and heavy breathing filled the tunnel, accompanied by the dripping of blood, sweat and for those who had lost, tears.