Chapter 16: Attempt #2

"Places, people, places!" Brent called out in his best director's voice, channeling a theatrical flair as he directed his minions into position. "We need to make sure these adventurers leave here with tales of the most amazing dungeon they've ever seen! So let's aim for scary with less death this time. I want excitement and wonder—not some bloodbath straight out of Saw fifteen, or whatever number they're up to."

Ferron, Ignarok, Kagejin, Caldron, and the other minions moved into their designated spots, each one preparing for the next party of challengers. While the first run had been a roaring success in terms of wiping out the intruders, Brent knew they needed to strike a delicate balance now. Killing adventurers outright was thrilling, sure, but the real purpose of a dungeon was more than just a trap-filled death maze—it was a test of skill, a place of challenge that would keep adventurers coming back for more.

"Alright, everyone, they're coming! Just remember to do your best, and know that I'm proud of each and every one of you!" Brent said, his voice ringing with a sincerity that even surprised himself. There was a hint of nervous excitement in his tone, a glimmer of pride as he watched his minions get ready for action.

He didn't realize it, but those words lit a spark in his minions. For the first time, the iron golems, the gargoyles, and even the mechanical mimic felt more than just loyalty—they felt a sense of purpose. Brent wasn't just another Dungeon Core; he was their Dungeon Core, and he believed in them. It was like a flame had been ignited in their otherwise mechanical hearts, and they knew they would follow Brent through fire and shadow if he asked.

As Paul and his team—the Shadow Wolves—entered the dungeon, they moved with a caution that set them apart from the overconfident group that had come before. The door slowly creaked shut behind them, sealing them inside with an echoing thud that sent a shiver down their spines. Immediately, the torches lining the stone walls burst to life with an eerie flame, casting flickering shadows that danced like specters on the cold stone.

The Shadow Wolves were indeed on high alert as they stood just inside the entrance of the dungeon, the heavy stone door sealing them in with a resounding thud. They knew that the first team, Mike's group, had been seasoned adventurers, and yet they hadn't even made it out of the dungeon alive. That fact alone had every nerve in the Wolves' bodies strung tight, fear of losing their lives to this brand-new dungeon pressing heavily on their minds.

Paul, the leader of the group, scanned the dimly lit room with eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Stay sharp, everyone," he said in a low voice, barely more than a growl. "If the last team went down this fast, it means they didn’t get far. We can't afford to let our guard down for a second."

The entrance chamber of most dungeons was typically a safe zone—a place where adventurers could catch their breath and prepare for the dangers ahead. But as seasoned dungeon divers, the Wolves knew better than to trust in norms and assumptions. They’d seen careless parties ambushed right at the start, their overconfidence becoming their doom.

"Christina, Malcolm, check for anything that might surprise us," Paul ordered, his voice snapping through the air like a whip. "I want trap detection and scans done on this entire area. Brad, Darios, you're with me on monster watch. Keep your eyes peeled."

Christina closed her eyes and began chanting softly, her hands glowing with a blue light as she cast a detection spell that spread out in a shimmering wave, sweeping the room for magical signatures or hidden threats. Meanwhile, Malcolm knelt down, his keen eyes tracing the ground, searching for any hidden mechanisms or pressure plates that might betray a trap.

Moments later, Malcolm’s voice cut through the silence. "Paul, I've got something," he called out, his voice tinged with confusion.

Paul tensed, his gaze snapping over to Malcolm. "If it’s a trap, disarm it," he said brusquely, his patience already wearing thin.

"It’s... not a trap," Malcolm replied, standing slowly as he gestured to a wooden sign embedded in the stone wall. "I think it’s instructions. But why would a dungeon give instructions?"

The team gathered around the sign, their weapons still drawn as if expecting it to attack at any moment. The concept of a dungeon providing guidance was completely foreign to them; it was unheard of and deeply unsettling. Dungeons were supposed to be chaotic and unpredictable, not helpful.

Paul squinted at the sign, reading the carved letters aloud in a steady voice. "'Climb into the carts and push the lever forward to move. The timer starts after you cross the starting line. Navigate through the dungeon along the tracks and cross the finish line five times to complete the dungeon. Watch out for traps and monsters along the way. Use the track switch plates to change lanes as needed.'"

He paused and read the sign two more times, each pass making less sense than the last. "So... it's a... minecart race?" he said slowly, incredulity creeping into his voice. "Are we supposed to fight monsters while riding in carts? That’s... actually kind of brilliant."

Malcolm’s eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah! Imagine cleaving a monster's head clean off as you zip past it at full speed! This could be fun."

Paul glanced at the carts lined up on the tracks, his brow furrowing in confusion and skepticism. "But what about Mike and his team? How did they mess this up so badly? This setup doesn’t look all that dangerous—just weird."

"My guess is they got cocky," Darios said, his tone grim. "This dungeon looks simple on the surface, but it’s always the unexpected that gets you. Traps can be just as deadly as monsters, if not more so. Never underestimate the creativity of a dungeon."

"Alright," Paul said, rallying his team. "Let’s give this a go. Everyone into the carts. Let’s approach this like any other mission—keep your wits about you and expect the worst."

After a brief strategy discussion, where they laid out contingency plans for every possible situation they could think of, the group positioned themselves in the minecarts. They gripped the levers firmly, watching the countdown timer above the first room's entrance.

"Remember, stay sharp," Paul reminded his team one last time. "This might look like a fun ride, but it’s still a dungeon, and it will try to kill us."

When the timer hit zero, they thrust the levers forward in unison. The carts lurched to life, the metal wheels screeching as they picked up speed and raced down the tracks into the first chamber. The decline of the track increased their momentum, and as they barreled forward, a single spinning blade trap snapped into action, whirling menacingly at the side of the track.

"Heads down!" Malcolm shouted, reacting instinctively to the sight of the blades. The team ducked low in their carts, the spinning metal discs slicing the air just inches above their heads. A cold sweat broke out on Paul’s brow as he realized how close they’d come to losing someone right out of the gate.

As they peeked out from the safety of their carts, another danger loomed—a volley of arrows fired from hidden slots in the walls. The arrows shot out with a sharp twang, embedding themselves in the wooden sides of the carts. One arrow punched through Paul's cart and stopped just short of his ribs. He inhaled sharply, his mind racing at how close he’d come to being skewered.

"Keep moving! Eyes on the next room!" Paul barked, refocusing his team’s attention.

They could see the entrance to the second room up ahead. Just as they were about to reach it, tendrils of metallic vines began to slither out from the cracks in the walls. The Trapvine Creepers writhed like living chains, their razor-sharp edges glinting in the flickering torchlight as they reached for the adventurers.

"Cut them down!" Paul yelled. "Defend the carts! Keep those vines away!"

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The team hacked at the vines with swords, axes, and spells, their weapons flashing as they sliced through the twisting, grasping metal. The vines recoiled, retreating in a shower of sparks as they were severed. The forward momentum of the carts carried them through, the Creepers barely slowing their advance.

As they charged into the third room, a chorus of screeches filled the air. The Rustwing Gargoyles launched themselves from their perches, their wings cutting through the air like knives. They swooped down on the party, their claws extended and eyes glowing with malevolent intent.

"Christina, shield!" Paul shouted.

Without hesitation, Christina thrust her staff into the air, a glowing barrier of energy forming around the team just as the Gargoyles crashed into it. The creatures bounced off with a series of metallic clangs, momentarily stunned and falling to the ground in disarray.

"Nice work!" Paul called to Christina, giving her a quick nod of approval. "Alright, everyone, brace yourselves! I see axes up ahead!"

Malcolm’s warning was just in time. The axes swung from the ceiling in wide arcs, their edges gleaming with a deadly sheen. The team worked the levers of their carts frantically, slowing their speed to time their passage through the deadly obstacle.

Paul’s hands were slick with sweat as he adjusted his cart’s pace. He watched the first axe swing past, then jammed the lever forward to speed through the gap, his heart pounding in his chest. He slowed again as the second axe came within a hair’s breadth of his face, the air from its swing brushing his cheek.

Paul leaned back in his cart, his eyes locked on the deadly swinging blade that had nearly decapitated him moments before. He let out a relieved breath, then shifted his weight forward and pushed on the lever, urging the cart to move ahead once more. The screech of metal on metal echoed in the narrow corridor, a sharp reminder of how close he'd come to meeting his end.

"Careful up there, Malcolm! That beetle’s just sitting there, ready to block the track!" Paul called out as he watched the lumbering Ironclad Beetle position itself directly in his path.

"Switchplate! Hit it now!" Malcolm yelled back, his voice barely cutting through the clatter of the carts on the rails.

Reacting quickly, Paul pulled back on the lever to slow his cart, his muscles tensed like coiled springs. He reached out with his sword, slicing through the air with a deft strike that connected with the metal switch plate on the ground. Sparks flew as the cart shuddered and switched tracks, veering off to follow Malcolm's lead just in time to avoid slamming into the hulking Ironclad Beetle.

"Did anyone else see treasure chests hanging from the ceiling in that room?" Brad asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he, too, was forced to change tracks to avoid the immovable obstacle.

Paul glanced back at Brad's words, his curiosity getting the better of him. That was his first mistake. He didn’t see the thin wire stretched across his path until it was too late. The trip wire snapped against his neck like a whip, yanking him clean out of his cart and throwing him to the cold, hard dungeon floor. His cart jerked to a halt a few feet ahead as the auto-braking system activated in response to his sudden absence.

Before Paul could fully comprehend what had happened, Kagejin—the Razorclaw Sentinel—descended upon him with the speed and silence of a shadow. His twin arm blades gleamed in the dim torchlight as they slashed toward Paul. Instinct took over; Paul raised his shield just in time to deflect the deadly strike, the clang of metal on metal ringing through the cavern.

Paul's heart pounded in his chest as he parried a second strike, his eyes locked on Kagejin's unyielding stare. He backed up slowly, step by step, inching his way toward his cart while holding off the relentless assault. With a final, desperate swing, he created just enough distance to leap back into the safety of his cart. He shoved the lever forward with his shield, the wheels grinding as the cart jolted into motion, carrying him away from the danger.

Kagejin didn't relent. As Paul sped away, the Sentinel turned its focus on Brad and Darios, who had leaped into action, their weapons flashing as they engaged the formidable mini-boss from within their carts. Kagejin's blades spun in a blur, deflecting their attacks with almost effortless precision. But even he couldn't attack from all directions at once, and the distraction gave Paul the precious seconds he needed to escape.

Panting and sweating despite the cool air of the dungeon, Paul turned to face the track ahead just in time to hear Malcolm's shout. "Watch out! Rolling boulders ahead!"

Paul's eyes widened at the sight of massive stone spheres, each one three times the size of a man, barreling across the track. He yanked back on the lever to slow his cart, the sudden deceleration nearly tossing him forward out of his seat. The ground shook as the boulders passed inches in front of him, their crushing weight making the rails beneath them creak and groan.

Malcolm, riding ahead, managed to slip through a narrow gap between two boulders with impressive agility, but his victory was short-lived. As his cart crossed onto a new gear plate, the track began to shift, turning the forward momentum of his cart rolling back toward the first boulder. His knuckles turned white as he slammed the lever into reverse, narrowly avoiding being flattened as the gear plates spun beneath him like some sadistic carnival ride.

"This is... kind of fun," Malcolm admitted, despite the adrenaline-fueled terror flashing in his eyes.

The rest of the team followed Malcolm’s lead, their faces grim with concentration as they negotiated the deadly puzzle of rolling stones and shifting gears. One by one, they managed to maneuver past the obstacles, their carts rattling into the fifth room. Just as they thought they were clear, Malcolm's cart was suddenly ensnared in a heavy chain net that dropped from the ceiling like a trapdoor spider's web.

"Dammit!" Malcolm cursed, struggling against the chains as they tightened around his cart. He barely had time to process the trap before a massive hammer swung down toward him.

"Pull back, pull back!" Paul yelled, his voice hoarse with urgency.

Malcolm yanked on the lever with all his might, reversing the cart’s direction just as the hammer smashed down onto the track where he’d been seconds before. Sparks flew from the wheels as they screeched against the rails in protest.

Brad and Darios watched the chaos unfold with wide eyes, their grips tightening on their levers. They knew the slightest miscalculation could mean the difference between life and a messy, splattered death.

"Alright, everyone, slow and steady through the hammers!" Paul called out, his voice steadier now. He and Malcolm worked together to throw the chain net off the cart, tossing it to the side like a heavy snake's skin.

But just as they cleared the hammers, another hazard awaited them. Malcolm, leading the group, felt the familiar tug of metal as his dagger was yanked from his grasp and slapped flat against a magnetic wall. His face paled as he realized the danger they were in.

"Brace yourselves!" Malcolm shouted, but his warning came a second too late for Paul.

Paul's entire body was wrenched from his cart as though a giant hand had grabbed him, and he found himself pinned to the wall in a humiliating upside-down pose, his arms splayed out in a defeated Y-shape. The magnetic force held him tight, like some twisted parody of an ancient mural.

Pauls's cart bumped gently into Malcolm's, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing outright. He couldn't help but snicker as he pulled his own lever to a stop.

"Seriously, Paul? You're just going to hang out there?" Malcolm teased, barely containing his laughter.

"You think this is funny?" Paul growled, wriggling futilely against the pull of the magnetic field. "Get me down from here!"

Malcolm, still chuckling, walked over and tried to pry his friend off the wall. It took four of them working together to finally peel Paul loose. On the second attempt, Paul’s face slammed into the wall, his nose cracking audibly. Blood poured down his face, adding injury to insult.

Christina immediately stepped forward, casting a quick healing spell over Paul. "Hold still, you big baby," she said with a smirk as she reset his nose.

Meanwhile, Darios sat stuck in his cart, his iron armor making it impossible to escape the magnetic trap to help. He peered over the side wall of his cart, his face a mix of annoyance and resignation.

Once they were all finally back in their carts, slightly battered but not defeated, the Shadow Wolves began to roll forward into the final room. Their eyes widened at the sight of the glowing lava illuminating the cavern, its light casting a hellish glow on the jagged rock walls and shimmering off their faces like a promise of the fiery trials to come.