“Vulcan, I need your fire!” Tristan yelled as another two wroughtwilers jumped the metal plate, “Please.”

“Sorry,” Vulcan answered, “I haven’t had enough time to recover enough essence to kill them yet.“

So a blast of fire was off the table. Tristan would have to do this the hard and painful way. In his metal sense, he could see one more wroughtwiler drop into the shelter. The last one stayed on the surface, keeping watch, judging by how its ears kept twitching.

Five on one. Tristan was not sure he could handle that. The canines could crouch to go under the bunk and the shelves, so they weren’t limited to the three-foot aisle that he was. He disliked their ability to bite at him indiscriminately. So before they could charge, he did.

The wroughtwilers flinched back at Tristan’s sudden aggression. Until this point he had been mostly defensive, the change in behavior gave him a split second to step on one of the shelves and jump. His injured leg groaned just as he pushed the healing bone as far as he could. The shelf was wooden, and it failed to hold his weight.

It collapsed, cracking all the jugs of water and damaging the rum barrel. Thankfully the barrel held enough for him to get enough lift off to clamber onto the top of the bunk bed. It was only two feet away from the ceiling and four feet off the floor. The wroughtwilers were tall enough to look in if they were standing on their back legs.

Tristan hoped they would struggle to jump in due to the low clearance of the roof and the smooth surface of the bunk’s metal plate. There was not even enough room to roll over. Tristan shimmied back as close to the wall as he could manage. The three-foot bed provided less distance than he had hoped for.

Four snarling heads were chomping at Tristan. He swiped at them with his knife, scoring a cut across two noses, and kicked another one. In the space left by the three canines, Tristan swept his hand along the edge of the bed, leaving a film of decay alloy. The remaining wroughtwiler managed to bite his hand.

Teeth punched into Tristan's hand, but the beast let go before it could start ratcheting down. His hand was still covered in decay alloy, it burned as it ate into his skin, but it was worth it to create a barrier. One of the wroughtwilers with a cut nose attempted to jump back up, but the pads of its paws ended up on the decay. It yelped and backed off.

Tristan now had some breathing room at least. Something grabbed his foot. Tristan kicked back without looking, getting a growl for his effort and losing a shoe. Looking behind himself, he saw one of the wroughtwilers had jumped onto the top shelf. It had pushed a few of the medical supplies onto the floor in the attempt, but Tristan had been so distracted he hadn’t noticed. The top shelf was only slightly lower than the top bunk of the bed, giving the canine perfect access to Tristan’s feet.

Fortunately, they did not know how boots worked. It had bitten into his thick sole and torn it off. Tristan kicked the dog again, he could not risk his mobility while he was so low on water. It tried to release the boot to bite his bare foot. However, in the cramped space, the boot was tall enough to obstruct the bite while resting on the top shelf. Tristan kicked the boot, which connected with the beast.

Another one lunged up to snap at Tristan. It also whimpered and tried to retreat as soon as its paws touched the line of decay. Tristan did not let it retreat. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of iron fur and dragged it up onto the bunk with him. It tried to bite, but Tristan shoved its muzzle down into the metal bunk. One hand held it down while the other thrust his knife into the beast’s eye.

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Tristan met some resistance at the bone plate behind the eye, but a shove was enough to get the blade into the animal's brain. It started thrashing, taking Tristan completely by surprise. He had just stabbed its brain, evidently, some parts of it were more important than others. It kicked Tristan shoving him into the wall and rocking the bunk bed.

He got a few cuts from the rusty metal claws, but a twist of the knife was enough to stop the thrashing. Tristan did not have any time to relax, he moved the body down to where his feet were. There was not enough room for the wroughtwiler by his feet to get over its dead pack mate. He braced himself and prepared for the next attack.

When it was not forthcoming, Tristan wondered if they had cut their losses and left. He was about to look over the edge of the bed but thought better of it. Vulcan had made a good point about the mirror. A bit of architect alloy later, Tristan had a smooth piece of metal attached to a stick. He used it to look over the side.

The wroughtwilers were not gone. Tristan had thought that they were about as intelligent as any other dog. That appeared to be a false assumption, as their actions displayed knowledge of cause and effect. Two of the beasts were clamped onto the metal rods supporting the bed. Their teeth weren’t able to do more than scratch the surface, but that was enough for them to get a grip.

Tristan had seen dogs play tug of war with their owners and had never considered what a tier two dog could accomplish. Mythical beasts lacked kerns, so the tier system was based on what human it would take to fight them. A tier two beast had the strength to win against a trained person of a similar tier. These dogs had more than enough strength to pull the bed over, top-heavy as it was with Tristan on it.

Initially, he was unconcerned. The bunk was too wide to be tipped completely over, as the far corner would jam against the ceiling before it could go too far. Unfortunately, wet blood made a great lubricant causing Tristan to slide off. He pushed off as he fell so that he would land closer to the spears.

Landing with a splash in the liquid covering the floor about an inch deep. Rum? Tristan looked over at the barrel, which had disgorged its contents all over the floor. He did not have much time to investigate. A wroughtwiler charged and Tristan jabbed a spear at it. This was one of the ones with a sliced nose. The memory made it skittish as it backed off immediately.

Only one canine in the outpost was unharmed and it was not hesitant at all. It jumped off the medical shelf, turning the leap into a full on charge. Tristan intercepted the charge with the point of his spear. It tried to evade, but the tip still caught it in the haunch. All the momentum was transferred up the spear shaft and into Tristan, shoving him back into the wall.

He toppled back when his legs met resistance, but his back did not. Tristan could not catch himself as he was shoved backward over the welded plate. Flailing he managed to arrest his fall by grabbing onto one of the ladder’s rungs. That left him with his legs in the room with the wroughtwilers and his torso stretched across the shaft leading to the surface.

Tristan was forced to abandon his other shoe as a beast latched onto it. Another bit his calf and tried to drag him back. He did not bother reinforcing it, instead, he pushed decay out of the bite wound. It stung, but the wroughtwiler released his leg. Pulling his legs back, he started climbing.

Tristan did not doubt that they could jump the ten feet out of the hole, but they could only do that if he left the door open. They were fast to get over the welded plate, but Tristan was able to get to the surface even faster. The wroughtwiler on the surface seemed surprised to see Tristan. So he grabbed it by the tail and dragged it into the outpost in that split second of inaction. It still managed to nip him on the way down.

Tristan scrambled out and slammed the bolt hole closed. A thud rattled it a moment later. He took a few moments to breathe, that had been far too close.

Summoning Vulcan, Tristan asked, “May I please use your fire?”

“I still don’t have the juice to burn five beasts alive. Give it a day or two,” Vulcan responded.

“Do you have enough juice to light up some flammable liquid?” Tristan asked.

“Oh, you mean the alcohol?” Vulcan sent a mental nod, “Sure, I can manage that.”

Cracking the door, Tristan sent a fireball down the shaft. The rum lit up. Tristan had expected an explosion, but what he got was something more akin to an oven. Now all he had to do was wait.