Before long, an ad hoc force of around 2,000~ Kobolds had answered the call to arms.

They largely divided themselves into 4 separate groups based upon the value of their equipment.

Most of them wore rusted copper chainmail, a pair of boots, and hard hat, leather gloves, and wielded pickaxes as their primary weapons.

In effect, the bulk of the army, perhaps 1,700 of them, were Common tier cannon fodder. The flimsy mesh on the chainmail looked ready to snap at a moment's notice, and their arms were completely exposed. Furthermore, with their short stature, a pick didn't exactly give much reach compared to a spear, or even a sword.

The remaining 300 or so comprised the Elites, or at least the more well off. These were Kobolds equipped with muskets, and actual weapons such as swords, shields, and spears. Some were even mounted upon the giant moles, like some bastardized version of a knight. Dressed in iron, and generally standing a head taller than the average Kobold, Varrus recognized them as the private guard of the previous chieftain.

Additionally, about a dozen pyromancers and geomancers stood apart from the Elites, and each was surrounded by a cadre of followers equipped with weakly enchanted gear.

Lastly, around 100 devotees to the Light followed behind the priest. Their garb was practically useless, as they were covered in shiny materials that reflected light, and carried dozens upon dozens of candles and lanterns. They practically glowed in the dark, they were so devout. Due to their faith, they chose to wield no weapons. However the mana coming off those candles wasn't so simple. By Varrus's estimation, this group of ragged looking beggars were probably the strongest faction of all those assembled.

However, tensions were beginning to shape up between the two factions of Arcane magic casters, and they were snarling at one another.

While this was ongoing, the peasant army was getting jittery, looking like they might scatter to the wind at any moment. Whilst the Elites busily engorged themselves on as much food as possible, ignoring everything.

Varrus tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose. Coalition governments and empires were a grand dream, but no matter the race or creed, people would always find something to hate one another over.

“Perhaps we should move out, lest the pyrocaste war with the earthencaste.” The priest suggested.

Varrus ignored the priest, then began to toss out Calm spells like they were candy on Halloween.

When everyone had settled down, and the Kobolds were totally under the sway of his Illusion skill tree, and began to silently radiate the perk Imposing Presence.

All the Kobold's in the army who looked at him would either lower their heads in fear/respect, or even bow.

For such a weak willed people, Varrus's double whammy of magic, and the cultural significance of wearing the biggest candle made him appear like a Hero of myth and legend in their eyes.

“Gather to me the minerals and ore that you can spare.” Varrus commanded, then crossed his arms, and closed his eyes as he waited for the Kobolds to complete his order.

After a few hours of constant scurrying, they had finished their task, supplying Varrus with a veritable mountain of gems, ore, and other craftable materials.

Cracking his knuckles, Varrus grinned to himself at the free exp. Resetting his Smithing skill, Varrus conjured up a smelter, and got to work.

Some time had passed, and once Varrus was finished, he outfitted the Kobolds with glass armor, and weapons. Some of the equipment was even enchanted, thanks to the minerals they had provided.

Moonstone was in bountiful supply from this dig site, it would seem, and would make for an excellent supply center in the future.

Varrus grinned at his handiwork. The Kobolds were running around, and squealing at one another as they adjusted to their new plate armor, and weapons.

Thankfully, glass armor was extremely light, and could be worn by even the Kobold's despite their small bodies.

Equipping them with spears, and short swords, Varrus was satisfied that they wouldn't fall dead from something as simple as a thrown rock anymore.

Leaking out his mana in a small wave, and pulling upon Imposing Presence once more, Varrus gathered their attention.

“Clan Longcandle, as your Waxlord, I, Varrus Vandercross, shall lead you to smite this darkness that plagues Duhn’Dah'Row!” Varrus shouted, his voice booming across the cavern.

[Speech +1]

He then tossed out the Courage spell into the crowd, and the army needed no further encouragement. They began to pour into the tunnels, and lead Varrus towards the source of their malaise.

“Coming, priest?” Varrus said over his shoulder, without looking back.

“Hah, you are truly what the Mistress described, and more. Thank you, Heroes.” The priest bowed to Varrus and Syra, then got in line.

“Karwl will help too!” The young Kobold ran ahead to join the rest of the army.

“They're a little disgusting to look at, but kind of adorable in a way. But most importantly, they are your servants.” Syra spoke in Thalassian, and teased Varrus with a peck on the cheek.

Varrus pulled her into for a side hug, and clunked his forehead against hers.

“Be prepared for an encounter with the Void. Whatever it is that we're about to face, the true threat will be more serious than some cultist Kobolds gone mad.” Varrus warned.

Whatever it was that could evoke a brief feeling of dread in him, had Varrus feeling on edge. Furthermore, he was in a cave network. It was all too easy to get lost, or get caved in. This limited his Master tier spells, and possibly even his Expert level spells. Because anyway he killed himself by collapsing the ceiling, then he would have earned that Darwin Award.

Plus, his mobility was severely limited. There would be few places to Blink to, so the only way to fight in the mines was to be up close and brutal.

Gripping the handle to his sword, Varrus mentally prepared himself for the possibility of melee combat.

As they moved deeper into the cavern, the front line made contact with the enemy.

Before he saw it, he heard it. Just around the bend at a choke point, the sound of screams and gasps of death entered his ears.

As he was taller than virtually everyone present, Varrus got a good look of what they were facing.

Kobold’s in various states of mutation were rapidly swinging enlarged claws, and purple tentacles as the Longcandle tribesmen.

Some of the mutant Kobolds looked to be more squid than rat, and had mismatched body parts. One leg was larger than the other, or some even had multiple eyes.

On average, they were larger than the Longcandle warriors, and fought with ferocity.

The line of plate armored Longcandles thrust blindly forward with their spears, skewering a few of their opponents, but mostly, they hit empty air, showcasing their lack of training. Fortunately their armor was decent enough, and few of them died in the initial onslaught.

Varrus couldn't be mad at their performance, but he was disappointed.

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At the very least, the Elites actually knew how to coordinate with one another, and the magic casters took an enemy down every minute.

Furthermore, thanks to all of the group buffs that were under Varrus's Illusion skill tree, all of the Longcandles were hitting much harder than they would on any other day.

Unfocused spears that should glance off this alien purple flesh instead punctured forward, spilling black, ink-like blood. And Elites that had training could even slash a tentacled limb clean off the cultists.

The priest's faction released soothing scents from their candles, calming the typical Kobold fear, and putting enemies to sleep mid combat. Furthermore, they conjured up Holy attributed flames, burning the voidspawn.

They were the only group to reject Varrus's armor, and he saw why, as a group that could only be described as paladins coated themselves in wax, and took to the front line. This wax armor absorbed hits, gripped onto weapons/limbs, and prevented the wearer from receiving broken bones or concussions.

These Holy warriors would then light themselves on fire with candle flames, and melt bubbling wax upon their foes. This use of Light magic was an eye opening experience to Varrus to say the least.

In short, they were the bravest faction amongst the Kobolds, with the highest kill count, as well as the highest number of casualties.

Very slowly, it looked like they were winning.

Of course that was when the tentacles began to come up out of the ground.

The plants, underneath them, and hanging from the ceiling shivered, and revealed their corrupted forms, ambushing the army from both above, and below.

Wriggling purple tentacles the size of pythons began to strangle some, and spray others with a fine red mist. Whoever got sprayed seemed to have their eyes turn red, and they turned on their fellows in a berserkers rage.

Varrus countered the magic with more Calm spells, as well as the chain healing spell, Infinite Light.

The Restoration spell had the dual effect of being super effective against these children of the Void, and caused many of them to hiss in pain as they melted like a hose washing fresh paint off a driveway.

Syra meanwhile, was speed blitzing anything that came within a 10ft radius of Varrus. Her buster sword was slightly unwieldy in this cramped, close quarters combat environment, but her precision was such that it didn't limit her much.

Before long, this section of the cave was cleared, and the press slowly began to slog forward.

Unfortunately, there were a few dozen casualties, but thanks to Varrus acting as support, more than 300 Kobold's survived the initial encounter, and went from potentially dead/crippled to tip top shape.

On their journey to The Door, they were ambushed twice more in a similar manner, before they reached the chamber.

A long row of stairs led down to a blood red door embedded in the wall. Oversized human skulls-possibly the skulls of their Vrykul ancestors-were merged with long reaching tree roots. Old weathered greek-style columns held up the structure, leading Varrus to believe that it had been here long before the Kobolds ever made this cave system home.

The Longcandle tribe stopped at the threshold of the stairs leading down, and didn't make so much as a peep as they stared downward in abject terror.

Pushing himself to the front of the army, Varrus saw a dozen robed cultists, seemingly with their wits about them, worshiping some purple Void infused candles.

A heady smoke filled the air, one conjuring up illusions of power, and promises unseen.

“Begone!’ Varrus channeled his Speech skills, and shouted the scenes of grandeur away, breaking the sway it held over him, as well as the rest of the Longcandles.

In the pit by the door, Varrus noticed dozens of robed corpses, and thought that they must be sacrifices.

He was readying himself to blast them, when a steady beat, like a heartbeat began to emanate from The Door.

“What falls down but never breaks?” A whispering, masculine voice full of malice echoed in the chamber.

The robed figures muttered to one another, before one stepped forward, and kneeled down in supplication.

“A pickaxe, your holiness.” The Kobold answered with certainty.

“You are unworthy.”

A moment later, the Kobold was infused by Void energy, and mutated into a raving, tentacled lunatic.

Slobbering filthy brown saliva, the freak ran at Varrus, only to be met with more than a foot long of cold steel to the throat for his troubles.

Varrus frowned in consternation. His Mana Sight and Detect Life were churning at full tilt, yet he saw no life forms, nor how precisely the Void energy was created.

One moment, the cultist was fine, the next, he was turned into an abomination.

This was simply insane.

Without missing a beat, the door asked another question.

‘I’m soft, delicate and silky, but if you’re wrapped in me, you’ll scream—if you can. What am I?”

This time, none of the cultists stepped forward. However, a Kobold in the army had bumped into another, and quietly muttered ‘sorry.’

“You are unworthy.”

The Longcandle Kobold couldn't so much as blink, and he was mutated.

Like a piece of the dam collapsing, the Kobolds took this as a sign that Hell would descend upon them, and with the exceptions of Karwl and the priest's faction, they all ran away in fear.

Syra put down the mutant, fast as always. But this door…this door had Varrus's heart rate rapidly increase, and he finally understood the vast fear that gripped the Longcandles.

He didn't even try to stop them as they ran, there was no point. They would be of no help for whatever hid behind this mystical threat.

Varrus licked his lips, and decided to gamble on attacking the structure.

Putting his hands together, cast Infinite Light.

The beam of pure Light magic collided with The Door, creating a shrieking sound similar to a drill punching into metal.

Steam rose up from the structure, yet to Varrus’s eyes, it seemed as if his spell wasn't doing much at all.

During this attack, it spoke once more.

“They are dark and always on the run. Without the sun, there would be none. What are they?”

Making sure to keep silent, Varrus shot a warning look at Syra, to which she responded by rolling her eyes.

As if to say ‘palease~ I'm not that stupid.’

“Shadows.” A quiet voice spoke from Varrus's side, startling him.

“...Welcome home, B̵͒͋r̵͋͊ö̸́̽t̴̐͘ḧ̵͌ė̸̆ȓ̶”

Upon finishing its statement, The Door swung open, revealing a hall bathed in crimson light, and full of murals.

As soon as it opened, the cultists ran forward, and entered as quickly as they could.

Varrus curiously looked down, and saw Karwl nervously scratching the back of his head.

“That was very brave of you, Karwl.” Varrus ultimately said with a praising tone of voice.

“Karwl has nothing to fear with the master by his side!” Karwl put on a show, and bravely beat his hand against his shiny green plated cuirass.

Varrus was going to reply, when the sound of horrid screams came from within the chamber.

It would seem that the cultists had met a gruesome end.

“Very good, you may stay guard outside with the priest, brave Karwl, and cover our flanks. My wife and I shall meet this threat plaguing your people head on.” Varrus said with confidence.

“Karwl believes in master!” The tiny Kobold waved his mithril sword in the air.

“Go forth, our prophesied champions!” The priest shouted in encouragement alongside his cadre.

Varrus turned his back to them, and nervously gulped to himself. This stupid door didn't take a scratch from his Master tier Restoration spell…

‘Maybe I should try a Destruction spell?’

Hurling a Bolide at it for good measure, he felt rubble fall down from the cavern, and didn't even see a scorch mark.

‘Fuck.’ Varrus thought to himself in anger.

He tried to be cool and collected when it came to facing danger, but spelunking a dark narrow cave, and now entering a murder dungeon weren't things normal people looked forward to. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but knowing that the ceiling could collapse upon him at any time was a thought that constantly ticked away at the back of his head.

But if he didn't take care of this, who was to say that the land wouldn't become poisoned, and slowly spread out like a cancer? This Void bullshit was 100% more sinister than the Scourge. At least with the Undead, they were easy to spot. The Void corrupted the mind, amplifying certain emotions, and was capable of turning the closest of friends into the bitterest of enemies.

Varrus had to put down this threat, and hard. Otherwise, he could say goodbye to the free resources that these Kobold's could supply, crushing his dreams of empire. Not to mention the easy levels when he grinded his Smithing skill.

“Whatever's in there, we'll kill it.” Syra flashed Varrus a smile that called for overwhelming violence.

Her bloodlust was going strong, and her confidence was like a raft for Varrus to desperately cling on.

Closing his eyes for a moment as he imagined the laughter of the children they would have together, Varrus gathered himself.

“I'm ready.” Varrus smiled back, and took the first step past The Door's threshold.