Weylan weaved and dodged most attacks, but a few still struck him from behind or came at him from unexpected angles. He made a mental note to thank Malvorik again for the chainmail, which had already saved him from serious harm multiple times in the short time they’d been fighting in the dungeon. He had expected combat, but this room had neutralized almost all his strengths. There were no shadows to hide in, low visibility hampered his movements, and the enemies were incredibly fast. His shadow dagger was nearly useless, and his shadow magic couldn’t function in the constant light. His acrobatic dodge, which had served him well against stronger but slower foes, was struggling against the scourge-squirrels that leaped out of their misty cover with alarming speed.
Selvara had managed to clear some of the mist, allowing them to see the first Adult Scourge-Squirrel approaching, but the fog had quickly filled the space again. Without Skorr, they fought as individuals, not a team. There was no coordination, no strategy. Weylan could see the problem, but he didn’t know how to fix it. Should he take command? What orders would he even give? And would anyone listen to him? Probably not.
Selvara hovered above the fray, safe from direct attacks, but she was already running low on mana. They needed to buy her a minute of peace so she could drink one of the mana potions, that were ridiculously large compared to her body size. The liquid would disappear as soon as she drank it, converting into mana instantly, but she needed time to get down. The dryad held her own, despite constantly cursing the squirrels in language that was far from princess-like fashion. She’d probably been infected by Trulda who was barely a moment away from full barbarian rage. She had laughed off the first squirrel monster, but after taking a slash across the face and having to save Selvara from a nearly lethal attack, she was really pissed off. It only got worse when the adult scourge-squirrel appeared and tried to bowl her over. He could still hear her running after it in the mist to clobber it.
Weylan scanned the cavern, his mind racing. There had to be a trick to this. The dungeon seemed designed to wear them down with attacks they couldn’t see coming. It seemed hardly fair. Since the pillars were the only visible landmarks, there had to be something about them.
“Selvara!” he called up. “I’m heading for the next pillar. Can you warn me if any of the adult squirrels get close?”
Her voice echoed from above. “I’ll try, but they don’t always make big enough waves in the mist. If they follow right behind you, your own disturbance of the mist might mask theirs.”
“Got it.” Weylan ducked beneath a juvenile’s swipe and sprinted toward the nearest pillar.
The pillar rose high, glowing faintly with white light, reaching all the way to the distant ceiling. His nerves heightened with each step, the absence of attacks unsettling. Selvara updated him from above. Two adult squirrels and a swarm of juveniles had ganged up on Trulda and Ulmenglanz. They were holding their own for now, and Skorr was on his way back, so he kept running.
Weylan reached the pillar and examined it. It was made of some rough white stone, or maybe a bone-like material, but when he touched it, he found it encased in a slick, frictionless glass coating. There were no handholds, and the pillar was far too wide to wrap his arms around. Frustrated, he ran his hands over the base, searching for any markings or openings, but found none.
“Selvara, anything up top?” he called.
“I’ve circled it twice already, there’s nothing. I’ll check where it touches the ceiling,” she replied.
Moments later there was a loud cry and the blue flash of Selvaras‘s lightning spell. “Everything ok? I can’t see you against the shiny ceiling.”
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“Get away! Shoo! Bloody beasties.”
He looked up and saw Selvaras's shadow flash around, followed by several slightly bigger shadows. White rectangular objects, gliding behind her. One left the formation and dropped down, directly at him. He had ample time to prepare and dodged aside at the last moment, as some kind of flying squirrel slammed into the ground where he had been standing. The creature exploded in a burst of blue lightning, the shock harmlessly dissipating in the mist barely causing his skin to tingle. Weylan barely managed to use Analysis skill before it disintegrated.
Gliding Scourge-Squirrel. Dungeon Monster, Level 3.
An icon blinked at the edge of Weylan’s vision, signaling skill upgrades. He focused on it to show the message. There seemed to have been some changes he hadn’t read yet. Especially his dodge ability had exploded and crossed into the next tier.
Skill increased Acrobatic Dodge (Apprentice II)
Skill increased Analysis (Layman IV)
Skill increased Sword-Staff (Journeyman I)
Choose Journeyman tier skill feat:…
It wasn’t the time to deliberate over a new skill feat, but he made a mental note to pick one later. For now, he had to focus on staying alive. He quickly scanned the skies for more gliders, but they seemed preoccupied with Selvara.
“Everything alright up there?” he called.
Selvara dove steeply before whipping her wings to ascend again, three squirrels in hot pursuit. Two of them crashed into the ground and exploded on impact, but the third scraped lightly over the stone and scurried back into the fog, scrambling on all fours. Weylan frowned, thinking. Flying squirrels were gliders, not true fliers—they couldn’t get back into the air without height. Where were they getting up to strike again? Did the dungeon spawn them at the ceiling? That didn’t make sense; they’d only have one attack before crashing. He couldn’t believe the dungeon would make its monsters so disposable. A retributive strike when killed? Yes. But expecting them to use it as their only real option?
He touched the pillar. The glass coating was slick. He felt the floor around it and checked around the base of the pillar. Even below the mist level. Nothing. He hit it experimentally with his knife, noticing a small crack forming in the glass, but no more. A few more hits confirmed, that it would take much too long to make handholds that way. If he even had a reason to climb up. As he did, his knife gleamed briefly, its dull, rusted appearance momentarily turning into a sleek, black blade, despite the surrounding light. After entering the cavern, it had turned to the rusty worn look it used to disguise itself while not in use or while its magic was suppressed by too much light. Why had it been activated? As he stared at it, the gleaming surface faded and it looked like slightly rusted cheap metal again. He hit the pillar and the blade turned back to shimmering black for an instant, before reverting again. There also had been the faintest flicker inside the pillar.
Interesting…
He looked around to check for enemies and made sure Selvara was still above and watching out, then he quickly took off his right glove and placed his bare hand on the pillar. It took a moment to remember how to do it, then he channeled a small amount of his mana into his hand and from there into the pillar. He felt a wave of cold move through his body, his hand felt like pushing it into the first winter snow. The pillar flickered and its glow went out. Cracks spread under his palm, spiderwebbing out in a pattern to a square foot around it. For the first time since entering the cavern, he felt a shadow beneath his hand. He let his hand glide over the fine web of cracks. It was a strange feeling. Smooth and rough at the same time. He felt the minuscule disturbance of the cracks on the otherwise smooth surface, but he could also feel the rough white stone underneath. It took a moment to realize one was the sensory input from his hand, the other was his shadow moving without resistance through the transparent covering right down to the rough stone surface underneath. Somehow, he could feel what his shadow touched. How could he use that?
The pillar was still dark, a stark silhouette in the otherwise bright room. Weylan was thinking about what that could mean when he heard screaming from the rest of his team. Before he could fully explore this strange new discovery, a scream tore through the air. Blue flashes lit up the mist where Trulda and Ulmenglanz were fighting. Selvara above him sounded alarmed: “There's at least two of the adult scourge-squirrels attacking, together with some juveniles and now some flying squirrels as well. We have to get back to help!”
Weylan sheathed his knife and readied his sword-staff. “Fly ahead! I’m right behind you!” He sprinted back toward the others, glancing over his shoulder at the pillar. It flickered once, then went dark again.