As I rage at the damn seed of evil, my heart races. We’re trapped. Panic starts to take hold, but I force myself to stay calm. I look around, assessing the situation and my companions’ expressions.
Vincent appears to be analyzing our options, his face serious but determined. Darius and Alistair exchange worried glances, but I can see resolve in their eyes. They’re ready to face whatever comes.
Ronan remains silent, his focus on the pup in my arms. I’m certain he suspects something about the little wolf’s unusual behavior.
Mary moves closer to me, offering a comforting smile despite the tension in the air.
Theodore, on the other hand, looks on the verge of panic. His face is pale, and his hands tremble slightly. I realize he might not handle these situations as well as the rest of us.
I take a deep breath and, since the prince isn’t stepping up, I address the group, striving to keep my voice steady:
"All right, let’s not give in to fear. We’ve overcome challenges before, and we’ll do it again. Let’s work together to find a way out of here. Vincent, any ideas?"
Vincent nods, his expression thoughtful.
"Let’s examine the slab blocking the entrance," he says. "Maybe we can find a mechanism to lift it. And keep your eyes open for any other exits or clues we might have missed."
"Good idea," I agree. I turn to my left. "Ronan, do you still sense the presence of more undead nearby? Any information could help."
He nods grimly.
"Yes, I still feel them. We must be ready for more encounters."
With a plan in mind, we cautiously approach the slab, searching for any sign of a hidden mechanism or weakness in its structure. At the same time, we stay alert for any dangers lurking in the shadows.
The air is heavy with tension as we work, the silence broken only by the faint scraping of fingers feeling along the stone and the occasional rustle of fabric as we move. Every shadow seems to hide a threat, every distant sound a promise of imminent danger.
But we don’t give up. With determination and meticulous care, we continue searching for a way out, refusing to succumb to the despair whispering in my mind that, if we don’t find an escape, we’ll have to face whatever the seed has deemed worthy of training a dark lord.
Because now it’s crystal clear to me: when the pup touched the hieroglyph, that seemingly innocent gesture somehow triggered our current predicament. But I refuse to let guilt and doubt consume me. My focus must remain on finding a way to escape and keeping my group safe.
With renewed resolve, I throw myself into the task at hand, determined not to let this setback be our end. We will get out of here, no matter what it takes.
Suddenly, a metallic echo, like the sound of mechanisms, reverberates behind us—a loud, deep noise that forces me to turn immediately.
It’s the other white slabs, scattered throughout the corridor, sometimes on one side and sometimes on both. Ronan is already watching them. The slabs have begun to slowly slide downward, leaving gaps that start at the top of the wall and grow larger as they descend. The movement is heavy, as if something invisible is pushing from the other side.
"They’re moving," Ronan says calmly, but his tone puts me on edge.
The white slabs sink into the floor. Through the openings, a breeze flows out, carrying with it a cold, eerie air.
I shiver.
Narrow, dark passageways are opening, and considering this is the work of the seed, I really don’t want to know what’s inside.
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"Why is this happening? Is it normal for something like this to occur? Something the guides don’t know about, something that’s never happened before?" Mary asks. This is only her second dungeon, with the one from the aquatic exam being her first.
"No, it’s not," Vincent replies, his tone calm as he keeps a cool head. "Stay back, Mary. Everyone else, get in formation. "
He doesn’t need to repeat himself. Mary presses herself against the slab blocking our exit. Theodore and Ronan stand beside her. The three shield-bearing warriors move to the front. I stay in an intermediate position, ready to use my sword if needed and support with magic otherwise.
The sound of stone scraping against stone grows louder, so deep I can feel it under my feet. We all stare silently ahead, trying to process what this means. My heart pounds, but I try to stay calm.
"What now?" I ask, looking at Ronan and the others, hoping someone has a better plan before anything comes out of those tunnels.
"They’re coming. A lot of them," Ronan warns, his voice low but tense.
His gaze is fixed on the passageways, now fully open. The noise has stopped. My stomach churns at his words.
"Can you send the naga ahead to scout?" Vincent asks quickly, without taking his eyes off the dark passageways.
Before Ronan can answer, the prince turns to Theodore.
"Get ready. The plan is clear: let the naga lure them into the corridor, and once they’re bunched up, you’ll eliminate them all at once."
Ronan nods. Without a word, he raises his hand in a brief gesture, and the resurrected naga begins to move forward. The remnants of its severed tail drag along the ground with a soft but steady sound, and its imposing figure disappears into the shadows.
Theodore has stepped forward to stand beside Darius, Vincent, and the skeletal warrior. He looks scared but seems to have managed to pull himself together somewhat. Darius holds his shield defensively, his sword ready in his right hand, prepared to react to whatever comes. I can see a glint of excitement in his eyes—he’s eager to fight.
"Tom, Bob, stay here with us," Ronan orders.
Tom already has his shield ready, positioned to protect us from whatever comes, alongside Darius and the prince. Bob, with stiff but alert movements, takes position beside the necromancer. We’re all on edge, waiting.
Suddenly, Mary breaks the silence.
"I hear something from the entrance!" she says, looking nervously at the slab blocking our way out.
We all turn to her, and the muffled sound of pounding becomes clear. Someone—or something—is on the other side.
"Let me try something," Alistair says to Vincent as he approaches, gripping his mace tightly with both hands. "We’ve examined it, and finesse isn’t going to get us out. Strength is our best bet. Brawn over brain!"
He plants himself in front of the slab, raises his mace high above his shoulders, and brings it down with brutal force against the stone. A sharp crack echoes through the corridor, and small shards of the slab scatter to the floor, leaving a faint mark on the surface. We all hold our breath, waiting for some sign of progress.
"Do you think you can get us through?" Vincent asks, watching Alistair as he runs his hand over the slab’s surface after the initial strike.
"This is tougher than it looks," Alistair replies, surprised by the stone’s resistance. "I could keep trying, but it’ll take too long. Far longer than we have before this gets worse."
"Don’t wear yourself out," Vincent says calmly, though his gaze remains fixed on the slab. "They know we’re trapped. They’ll alert the military post, so it’s only a matter of time before they get us out. Save your strength; we don’t know what’s ahead yet."
The sound of pounding and scraping interrupts their conversation. We all turn simultaneously, alert to the echoes coming from the open corridor. The resurrected naga is fighting in the area where the torches were extinguished by water. Its imposing figure moves with strength and precision against a horde of mummies advancing through the passage.
Despite the number of enemies, the naga manages to hold them back thanks to its size and reach. Though it can’t fully stand, it arches its torso and strikes effectively. With every swipe of its claws, bodies collapse to the ground, torn apart.
One mummy tries to seize an opportunity after dodging one of the naga’s attacks. The naga, having stumbled over the pile of corpses, leaves an opening in its defenses. But before the mummy can close in and reach its target, the remains of the naga’s tail crush it in a single motion, making it clear it won’t give up ground so easily.
For a moment, it seems like the advantage is ours. The mummies, slowed by the heap of bodies, struggle to advance, and the naga strikes them down one by one with precise attacks. But that doesn’t last—the tide turns.
The undead horde keeps coming. The mummies begin to move with greater coordination, climbing over the corpses of their fallen allies and forcing the naga to retreat. Ronan watches with a furrowed brow and finally speaks.
"The naga warrior is nearly down. Be ready to fight the horde."
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