The rain cascaded from the darkened clouds, unleashing it’s relentless deluge on the world below. Craters left from battles past swelled into miniature lakes, their banks overflowing under the weight of the downpour blanketing Diton.

As the storm raged overhead, the resettlement region’s beleaguered inhabitance battened down the hatches, sheltered their livestock, and locked themselves inside their homes to warm themselves by cozy fires, looking to wait out the unyielding weather.

Unfortunately, for Vicar Tyson and his twenty-one brothers and sisters of the Faith, such respite wasn’t an option. Indeed, he had been called out on a rather special assignment, one that required a large deployment of the Heretica branch, despite their resources in the region being stretched to breaking point.

Around two days ago, one of the Faith’s purecrests, a Dungeon-kin bird used for communication over long distances, informed Bishop Renard of Treda-Lake of a megabear attack on the small village of Carnifex, a small village located on the southern road towards the Baelytha resettlement region. Of course, a simple megabear attack would never have warranted such a heavy response from the Heretica. No, they were here to investigate something far more threatening, not only to the locals, but to potentially all life in Mythrin. A Dungeon-kin wielding the power of not only rapid regeneration, but the ability of self-resurrect, if the report is to be believed.

Though poor weather was expected, the sheer level of rainfall made their preparations practically pointless. Their poor cloaks never stood a chance, acting as little more than a sponges soaking up the downpour.

Finally, after driving their horses hard to reach their destination, the cohort of Heretica vicars finally caught sight of their objective. However—

“This… This is not what we were informed,” Vicar Tyson muttered, the heavy rainfall drowning out his words to those flanking him. Even so, his words were hardly necessary for his expedition to draw the same conclusion.

Carnifex, the destination they had been riding hard for days to reach, was imprisoned in a translucent blue dome. The hue radiating from the village was so subtle that, were they viewing it during pleasant afternoon, they might have missed it. But against the storm’s darkened skies, the dome could not have been clearer. Rain streaked down its unnaturally smooth surface, distorting the view inside as if the entire village were encased in frosted glass. That was not all, however. Whatever this thing was had attracted the local Dungeon-kin. Even now, packs of Chamber Wolves patrolled the outskirts.

“Sir, what is that thing?” A newly initiated Vicar asked. Tyson, however, had no answer to give. It certainly wasn’t Divine in origin, or if it was, it was like nothing he’d ever seen before. That left one obvious theory. It was magic.

That idea terrified him beyond belief.

As a proud member of the Heretica, the most powerful order within the Faith of the First, Vicar Tyson had pledged his life to the cause of rooting out and annihilating all forms of magic deemed sinful by the church. Until now, he’d dealt with inactive dungeons, exterminated Dungeon-kin pests and conducting the occasional seizure of magical assets, though most of those turn out to be counterfeit. Whatever this dome was, however, was far beyond anything he’d trained for.

Unable to offer any response to the question, he focused on what he could do, what he was trained to do. Drawing his sword, he turned to his fellow Vicars, shouting over the downpour. “Alright men! Our mission may have changed, but our duty has not! Before we can investigate what in Nith is going on here, our first priority is to clear out these dungeon vermin surrounding Carnifex! Form up and prepare to charge!”

“““Sir!””” The Vicars all called out in unison, manuovering their horses to form a wedge formation.

“On my command!... Charge!” Tyson ordered, sparing his horse onward. Behind him, the company of the Faithful followed behind, each drawing their swords and maces, ready to fight.

The sound of trampled pavement and grass filled the air as they rode towards the enemy. Flickers of yellow and red bathed the ground between them and Carnifex, as the Dungeon-kin’s ancient instincts reawakened, the familiar echoes of malfunctioning rituals ringing in the riders ears, but they did not faulter. Whether the horde of Dungeon-kin believe them to be adventurers or not had little meaning. They would all soon be exterminated.

The Vicars let out their fervent warcrys, overpowering the sound of feral snarls as the two sides collided. Tyson was the first to score a kill against the enemy, slashing down at the dog-sized wolf that leapt at him. The other vicars were quick to match his total, smashing skulls and severing limbs in their wake, with even their mighty stallions tampling the creature’s under hoof.

Scores of chamber wolves littered the field as the company approached Carnifex, but many more were in pursuit, pouring into the battle. It seemed this dome had caught the attention of Diton’s dungeon predators for miles around.

“Grayson! Take your cavalry left!” Tyson commanded, his vocal cores straining to be heard over the chaotic cacophony.

“Understood!” Grayson, the expedition’s second in command, acknowledge.

“Break formation!” Tyson ordered, as the company split in two. Though the chamber wolves were common pests, they would be foolish to take them lightly.

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As expected of the madded beasts, their charged relentlessly at their lines, uncaring of their own lives in pursuit of their primal directive. Many threw themselves at their mounts, chomping at their legs, with one of the larger among their kind biting into the neck of Tyson’s own stallion, only to be crushed when its canine teeth failed pierce the thick, muscular throat of his warhorse. Swarms of the beasts continued to fall at the Faithful’s hands, fighting until the last.

Not even the heavy deluge drenching the vicars could wash away the bloodbath, the land littered with corpses. Tyson thanked The First for their good fortunate, with only a handful of his company suffering any injuries. Cleanup would have to wait, however. With the area cleared of Dungeon-kin, he looked to the dome sealing Carnifex once more, before issuing his next round of orders.

“Grayson! Pick three men and ride to the southern road. Eliminate any Dungeon-Kin we missed on sight, but do not pursue any that have sense enough flee. Under no circumstance are you to engage with the dome until I give the order. Is that understood?”

“Sir!” Grayson acknowledge his orders.

“Sasha, Burns, Carmichael, You’re on me. We’ll be heading straight to the dome.”

“““Sir!””” Several more members stood to attention.

“The rest of you, fan out in groups of four or less and search the surrounding area. Villagers, bodies, weapons—anything or anyone that could be related to this, you bring them to me. Engaging Dungeon-kin is secondary. Understood?”

“““Sir!””” The remaining Vicars acknowledged their commands.

“Then move out!”

The Vicars moved without hesitation, splitting into groups to carry out their orders.

Vicar Tyson turned back to the dome, staring for only a moment while the rain pounded against him, before he moved out. It didn’t take long for him to arrive at the dome’s edge. Beneath the heavy drumming of the rain crashing into the ground, a faint hum emanated from the dome.

An unsettling sight caught Tyson’s attention. Scattered around the edge of the dome were rows of animal carcasses, and not just that of chamber wolves. There were the tortoise-like barrier shells, the spike covered swine known as hedge hoggs, and even the tiny bodies of some sort of Dungeon-kin rabbit, and all without their heads, with no signs as to where they might have gone.

“By nith, what do you think did that to them.” Sasha mused, looking at the macabre display.

“The chamber wolves, who else would it be?” Carmichael answered, sure of himself.

“Hmm, the forest is too plentiful for them to resort to cannibalism, plus, that doesn’t explain why they’d only be eating the head too. Also, look,” Burns pointed to one of the corpses. “The wound’s too clean have been torn apart by an animal’s jaw, there’s not even a speck of blood on them. No, something else is going on here.”

Tyson agreed with Burn’s observations. The animals were clearly not dragged here, meaning they all came to this village of their own freewill. Not only that, but almost every headless corpse scattered around was facing towards dome. Then the was the fact the none of the bodies appeared to have been devoured in the slightest, despite the heavy chamber wolf presence only minutes prior. Looking closely, it even seemed like some of the bodies had started rotting.

No Dungeon-kin did this. Tyson thought, looking back towards Burns.

“Hey, make some light for me,” he ordered his subordinate, who happily obliged.

“Oath to humanity, guiding light!” The vicar brought his miracle into the world, producing a small, wispy orb that floated nearby, shining brighter than any torch while being unaffected by the rain.

Shielding his eyes from the rain, Tyson got within an inch of the dome’s surface, attempting to peer inside, the light from Burn’s miracle reflecting faintly against its walls.

“See anything, sir?” Sasha asked, as the rest of team tried to peer inside.

“Not a damn thing, and that’s the problem,” Tyson answered, backing off from the enormous structure. “The village looks abandoned, like everyone’s just vanished.”

“Could they be sheltering from the rain?” Carmicheal offered.

“Use your eyes instead your mouth, you dult. Do you see any openings for this rain to get inside?” Tyson chastised the vicar, who averted his gaze in embarrassment at the error. “This is the main route in and out of the village. If the locals were trapped inside, I’d expect to see at least one person by this exit, dead or alive. The fact that I’m seeing neither means there’s even more amiss here than we initially thought.”

Tyson’s eyes fixed on the dome for another few moments before he turned back to the corpses surrounding the dome, pondering their fate.

“Carmichael, you use a halbert for your weapon construct, correct?” he asked, surprising the vicar.

“That’s right,” Carmichael answered, a tinge of confusion colouring his soaked face.

“Manifest it for me, quick as you can.”

Following his instructions, the vicar called forth his miracle, manifesting a magnificently crafted halbert. Though he was a little slow sometimes, the attention to detail on his weapon was superb, from the markings on the pommel, right up to the pointed tip that looked sharp enough to pierce steel. For a man of his rank, it was stellar work.

“Excellent, now pass it here. Quickly now,” Tyson urged, as Carmichael reluctantly handed off his weapon, his discomfort clearly on display.

Without another word, Tyson turned back to the dome, lowered the Halbert, and before Carmichael could protest, he stabbed at the dome with the tip with all the strength he could muster.

The instant the divine construct struck the dome, its translucent shell blazed in shining blue, stretching out for close to three meters in all directions from the point of impact, cutting off his vision of the village’s northern exit. Despite the display, the halbert had only produced a small crack.

Then, as if triggered by the attack, the halbert in his hand was swiftly consumed in thin blue lines, as if its surface was fracturing from the assault. It was only his quick reflexes that saved his hand from being devoured by the phenomena.

It didn’t take long for the weapon to be saturated in blue, and in an instant, the sound of breaking glass pierced the vicar’s ears. The divine construct, a weapon that should have been able to survive any number of abuses, was shattered to pieces. Carmichael’s expression at the loss of his prize halbert told more than a thousand mournful words could.

Slowly, the damage done to the dome began to regenerate, the solid blue curtain retreating back into the point of impact, until it had returned to its previous, translucent state.

“Well, at least I can guess what happened to the Dungeon-kin.” Tyson mused, as he turned to issue his orders. “Sasha, send a purecrest back to Treda-Lake, inform them of our findings and request reinforcements, whatever they can spare. I want a perimeter established around this dome before the end of the day. Burns, Carmichael, pick a road and get a cordon established, you tell any traffic coming your way that the Heretica wants them to take the western route. Until further notice, this entire site is under quarantine.