(Curator Pov)

Trapped beneath fate’s (and Fredrica’s equally) inscrutable weight, Zhenya cut tooth and nail to overturn their imminent demise. And to her credit, the girl’s spirit refused to waver even as her judge, jury, and executioner raised his hand. Rattling chains toll, letting loose the guillotine’s blade.

Whereas many would fold and bare their neck, Zhenya struggled. Adrenaline flooded her veins, breathing life through her body, pumped by a drumming heart. Each beat was strength, one more inch she stole from fate.

Finally unfettered from Fredrica’s unconscious mass, the refreshing chill of relief gave way to bitter dread as bristles of cold steel brushed her neck.

Seconds froze as time's tumultuous flow hushed to a tranquil sheen. Leaving only a single piercing scream echoing in the northern girl’s ears.

From here, I cannot fathom what ran through Zhenya’s mind. Memories of her family? Precious moments? It passed by quickly as she realized that not only did the voice not belong to her or Freddie, it was also getting louder.

Enter stage left. The body of one eastern rebel came spiraling from the abyss. Slamming into the incarcerated behemoth with enough force to knock them off kilter, diverting Zhenya’s death sentence, narrowly missing the pair.

Not one to waste time counting blessings, Zhenya seized the moment. Flipping over the beached knight, she planted a swift kick in the heavily armored midget’s gut, jolting her awake.

Cruel, harsh, callous. But chief among them was its unparalleled effectiveness at waking a sleeping Fredrica. And just in the nick of time. Regaining enough wit, the girl narrowly tumbled out of yet another air-rattling fracture. In matters of life and death, mercy holds no sway.

Also, due to living with the medieval mech pilot, Zhenya knew nothing short of a parade would wake her friend.

While the duo scrambled to regroup, our uninvited lawn dart peeled himself off his benefactor’s metallic chitin. Taking a moment to compose himself between painfully playful gasps. “Trouble?” The steel giant inquired.

“Never expected a drowned after my head. But what can I say? You knew the deal when you sprung me along with crazy lady over there.” The bower nonchalantly thumbed over to the screeching mess of potion explosions and fiery plumes.

“Taken. Will be problem, dog?”

“Nah, I can take her. Although, how many times do I have to remind you? I prefer the term hound. Someone has to clean up after the soldiers have their fill. Hmmm?” A silent chortle graced his lips. “I guess I’m more of a stray these days. Well, I know better than to bite the hands that feeds-”

“Just go.” To each their own, I guess. Some warriors drown themselves in alcohol, while others go full-chatterbox at the drop of a hat.

“Righto! And away I go.” What a character. A sentiment equally shared by his masked benefactor whose hidden visage made his feelings a mystery to all. Well, until his gaze fell upon Zhenya and Fredrica, lashing out at them with reinvigorated poise.

Following after our chatterbox hound, he made a beeline for a very, very frigid Sushila. Or should I say drowned. Her eyes were empty, devoid of emotion. Promising death as they scanned across the poor mutt who could not learn his lesson.

Unphased by a stare practically soaked in enough malice to freeze hell twice over, our undaunted hound raced forth. Picking up the pace and building momentum, he steadied his bow and transitioned into a slide.

Nocking his spear with a fierce grin. Its tip traced an ethereal trajectory, homing in on the stationary assassin.

With a billowing snap as it was fired, the steel spike flew true. Cracking air, the resultant kickback forced his heels to skid trenches in the carbon-encrusted floors, halting immediately.

Even with a stake from heaven poised to strike her down, Su paid its divine judgment little care, swatting it into a wall with her machete. Then proceeded to dodge it again and again as it perplexingly bounced off the solid crystal walls before ricocheting into the eastern archer’s awaiting hand.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Mr. canon-arms struck up a conversation as he played footsies with Su. Utilizing what I can only puzzle out as bow-fu, jutting in and out of Su’s range, keeping her at bay with his spear, seemingly accustomed to fighting at close range with a bow.

Certainly a nightmare for even veterans. But Su was a drowned feared for their aptitude in dealing death. She relentlessly pursued the man without pause or subtlety, a stark contrast to her opponent’s flashy footwork.

“Woah, there! Hold on. Name’s Gen. I’m a humble officer by trade. What would a big scary drowned what with little old me?” Even his easygoing nonchalant facade couldn’t conceal the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he narrowly escaped Su’s onslaught.

“Never had a bounty. Wasn’t that well-known either. Hmmm. And you Islanders weren’t part of the war.” Contrary to Zhenya and Freddie’s situation, trying to assail a grand mountain, Su was in complete control of hers, leaving the now-named Gen scarcely able to act.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“I don’t remember ever wooing a cute monster either.” Su’s attacks morphed into something befitting his taunt. “Hehehe. Shy, aren’t you? Aha! A personal request. But who? It must be Ayase! The traitor, I thought something was off when I put that arrow in her all those years ago. The only body I never confirmed.”

His guess gave the assassin pause, well hidden as it was only a brief flash. But for Gen, who was surviving on nothing but a prayer and good body predictions, it was unmistakable.

“I see!” Gen’s grin grew from ear to ear. “Of course, she would survive falling off a cliff headfirst into river rapids. She always was the most tenacious of all us hounds. Well, except for me, that is!” As both combatants moved for the final blow. What they had in mind to trounce the other at that moment will be forever a mystery as a plume of dust engulfed the two like a sandstorm and never settled. The only signs of life were the constant clanging of weapons.

While I would have loved to stick around, a new venue’s tune called to me. The third rebel leader was an exotic dual chakram wielding beauty. The woman waltzed with the knights’ defense and the alchemist trio’s ingenuity.

All the while operating a force of her own. “Come! Daughter of the sword saint, show me the drive your father did when we crossed blades!” Throwing both wheels of iron, they whistled and collided, eliciting an exquisite melody.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Whereas the last two bouts could generously be labeled skirmishes, what the thief-taker general and her daring rogue had here was a good old-fashioned war. Also, we were there, for what that’s worth.

Definitely the mob characters in this cop and robbers story.

All three forces converged towards the core room’s center, led by Toni, the dancer, and Head crashed against each other like tides against the crags. An ebb and flow of performances played by our mortal intruders.

As for us, to coin a term. we were up shit’s creek without a paddle. Lacking a commander at the forefront, an anchor for our forces to rally behind.

No dungeon avatar. Hell, everything happened so quickly we couldn’t even cobble together a mini-boss.

Though this is probably for the best. A few creatures sharing similar attributes to mine or Head’s dungeon, sure. That could be written off, theorized away, or debated to oblivion. But anything more than that is just asking for the world’s superpowers to start asking more questions.

Questions none of us dungeon cores were willing to answer.

“Prisoner 202318 Lady Terri Awoliette incarcerated on multiple accounts of manslaughter. How could a war hero such as yourself have fallen so low?” Leaving her second in command to lead, the ice queen earnestly met her equal face-to-face in combat amidst men and monsters.

“Oh, manslaughter? That trash your father kept around? I did the world a favor by offing those monsters.” A scowl darkened the fair lady’s visage. “They were a scourge on the land. Killers, murderers, all of them!” Anger laced her magic as fiery huffs imploded from her chakrams, creating a dizzying cocktail of elements and venom.

“Your clan of traveling rabble refused to listen to reason!” Antonia’s blade suffused a bright red coming into contact with the offending weapon. “You would not let the war die!”

“The Kingdom took much from our clan. Our land, our families, our culture... Everything! Those who survived thought we found solace within the Dutchy. But even then, we weren’t spared. The constant calls for forced conscription, the ridicule, the discrimination.

And then, after selling our souls to fight in your meaningless war! Your father’s men still had the gall to claim my people as heretics!”

Doubt mired Antonia’s thoughts, stunning her briefly as a seed of doubt rooted her mind.

She was an intelligent young woman, able to realize that her government was not above fault. But loyalty can often cloud one’s views.

“Falshani. That wasn’t in the report! You’re a Falshani!”

“Yep, in the flesh.” With that revelation. Terri lifted their hair, removing several articles of clothing, as scant as they were. Revealing a set of chromatic gems adorning her body. Red at her forehead, green and blue at her shoulders, yellow and white at her legs. Those were the most predominant ones, where each other could only be described as insignificant pebbles.

Gleaming gems housing rivers of stars adorned her body. Unmistakable, unlike the drizzling ice crystals littering Zhenya’s arms. Although that is where the differences end. Like our northerner, her crystals were seamlessly fused to her skin.

And much like her contemporary, Lady Terri was not bereft of her unusual constitution's boons.

Striking the crystal floor with her chakrams to drive the point home. With two screeching calls, waves of ice and fire erupted at the end of her swipe.

Leaving one wheel stuck in the ground, the fair lady of magics conjured balls of fire, flinging them without the requisite steps.

With words exhausted, both commanders began duking it out in earnest. Clamoring for supremacy, all the while, Junia and Rudi watched on with all the unrestrained curiosity of a toddler. And as for the heretical bit, as Junia explained to the lad, it is because the Falshani were seen as false witches.

A relic of the past that still pervade today’s religion, especially with those close around the capital.

Head, for his part, took the fighting in stride, using the other generals’ mutual hatred to further our agenda. Getting this damned bomb off us while making sure no one gets any funny ideas.

And so I guess with all this going on, what have I been doing?

Well, as all three battles hit a boiling point. Zhenya and Freddie endeavor to slay Goliath. Su and Gen, dancing like mad spirits in the dead of night, and Antonia’s and Terri’s war. Reaching a fevered pitch instilling much of the kiln’s former heat. I had my eyes trained on the coming storm.

Up above was the trampling of a few, but the purpose they carried echoed like an army’s march. Five warhorses larger then the common-man, astride each were soldiers encompassed in steel, much like our Fredrica but fit for men that would even give Zhenya a run in the height department.

At the helm was a knight with wheat hair wilting with grey in his old age, sporting a bushy well-kempt mustache most men would kill for. Despite his apparent age, his face was free of wrinkles, barring the dark bags under his eyes left there from decades of unspent sleep. Muscled in all the ways one would expect a blacksmith, whose build and visage bore a striking resemblance to one other.

Fredrica Von Ainsley. This must be the father she left behind. Although seeing the scars on him, it makes sense why he would try to dissuade her from that life.

All things run in a circle, huh? The runaway daughter, chasing tales of knighthood, is saved by her father. The same man who decried the profession he once championed, whose stories kindled her dreams. Now forced to take up arms once again.

I’ve been thinking recently more as an observer than an author. I think it’s time to start setting the stage. “Hey, Head. What do say we finally put an end to this.”

“Oh, thank goodness. This has been an absolute disaster. No real plan of attack, no real creations to use. We don’t even have a boss! For crying out loud!” I know, I know. We were both feeling the stress of it. I mean, anyone would if they had a bomb attached to their heart... While it was in the open... Meaning an open rib cage...

Okay, this literal analogy is getting messy. Point is, while this isn’t our real cores, the fact that we are currently bound to it is still stressful. Even if nothing would happen if it was destroyed.

“So you in? We could put out one hell of a conclusion to this mess.”

“Yes. I think that would be for the best. But I say we do things my way.”

Alright. This is going to get interesting real soon. Considering there is no way in hell I am assenting to that. “I’m the story dungeon here. I get first dibs on this kind of thing.”

“Well, I’m older. That means I have seniority.” Oh, this bitch has been waiting so long to say that.