I knelt beside one of the fallen hand centipedes, studying its broken segments. The segmentation pattern caught my eye first - too perfect, too regular. In nature, even the most symmetrical creatures show tiny variations, but each segment here was identical down to the microscopic level, like they'd come off an assembly line. The joints moved with mechanical precision, their tolerances matching engineered specifications rather than evolved adaptations.

The creature's shell puzzled me further. What looked like natural chitin at first glance revealed itself as something else entirely - a hybrid material combining organic and metallic properties in ways that shouldn't be possible. Each segment's outer layer had the same uncanny uniformity, its surface reflecting light with an almost manufactured sheen.

As I watched, the creature's remains began to dissolve unnaturally. The breakdown wasn't random like normal decomposition - it followed a precise pattern, breaking down layer by layer. The oily fluid leaking from its joints wasn't anything I recognized from normal arthropods. It had the consistency of synthetic lubricant but mixed with organic compounds in ways that suggested deliberate engineering.

Most telling was how the creature combined traits from different species. The centipede-like body shouldn't be able to support human-like fingers, and the way the segments connected seemed mechanically designed rather than grown.

Even the creature's death held clues. The rapid dissolution wasn't natural decay - it was too organized, too thorough. Each layer broke down in sequence, like a programmed self-destruct mechanism. Someone had designed these creatures to eliminate evidence of their own existence.

I stood up, wiping the oily residue from my hands. The liquid had an almost metallic scent, reminding me of machine shops rather than anything biological.

"These aren't just random dungeon monsters," I said, watching another corpse dissolve into a silvery fluid puddle. "Someone made these things. And they're smart enough to eliminate the evidence”

"Made them?" Estella twirled one of her chakrams nervously. "What kind of person wakes up one day and thinks 'You know what would be fun? Hand centipedes?"

"They feel unnatural..." Lysa murmured, holding her hand over one of the dissolving creatures. Her fingers traced patterns in the air, purple shadows dancing between them as she attempted to analyze its essence. "It's the sewers all over again, but worse. When we fought the sewer monsters, I could at least sense the magic binding them, twisted and corrupt, but still recognizable. These creatures..." She pulled her hand back sharply as if burned. "There's no magical signature at all. It's like they're empty inside, a void where life force should be."

She exchanged a worried glance with Tirion before continuing, her voice taking on the formal tone she used when discussing religious matters. "The Shadow Lord teaches us that all living things cast a shadow, that every creature has an essence we can touch. But these... these cast nothing. They're an aberration that stands outside the natural order entirely."

"That masked man..." Tirion lowered his shield and shifted to a more relaxed position. "This feels like something he would do." He moved closer to Lysa. "The rat swarm was chaos incarnate, but these creatures? Every movement is calculated. The way they coordinated their attacks and positioned themselves to guard each other's weak points. It's military precision."

His eyes narrowed as he studied the dissolving remains. "Back in the sewers, the masked figure was testing something. Experimenting. This?" He gestured at the mechanical perfection of the segmented bodies. "This feels like more of that. And if he's evolved from controlling existing creatures to creating his own..." He paused, pondering the implications. "We need to be more careful. The rats were bad enough when they were just following basic commands. These things? They're executing complex combat strategies. Which means either their creator is nearby, directing them... Or they're intelligent enough to think for themselves," he finished grimly.

I shuddered at that thought, my hand unconsciously moving to the spot where rat teeth had torn through my armor during that nightmare in the sewers. The last time we faced the masked man, we'd ended up fighting a million rats. And that wasn't hyperbole. I still had the system achievement to prove it:

Slayer of Rats: Eliminated 1,000,000 rats in a single encounter

But at least rats were supposed to exist. These things? They belonged in a nightmare, not a medieval fantasy world. And if the masked figure had graduated from controlling natural creatures to engineering his own...

"If that masked lunatic shows up again," I muttered, "I vote we run. Fast. Preferably in the opposite direction. I've hit my lifetime quota of fighting impossible swarms of things that shouldn't exist."

The silvery fluid kept dissolving into the floor, leaving no evidence behind. Someone was getting good at cleaning up their experiments, and I didn't want to find out what other "improvements" they'd made to their creation process.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"We should keep moving," Tirion said. "If the other guild teams are here, they have had a head start."

A distant sound echoed through the corridors. Not the clicking of more hand-centipedes. This was different. Human.

Screaming.

The sound bounced off ancient stone walls, distorted but unmistakable. It was the kind of scream that only comes when someone's discovered how bad their situation is. Then it cut off. Abruptly.

"That came from this way," Lysa whispered, pointing at an eastern passage. "Should we follow it?"

"Or we could turn back," I said, knowing even as I spoke that we wouldn't. “With all these traps and creatures, that would be the smart thing to do.”

Estella's chakrams spun into ready position. "Since when do we do the smart thing?"

"The Shadow Lord guides our path then," Lysa intoned, but I caught the slight tremor in her voice.

Tirion just nodded, taking point position with his shield.

I sighed, double-checking my potion supply. "Right then. Let's go see what caused the scream." The screaming had stopped but the silence that replaced it was somehow much worse.

We moved carefully through the darkened corridors, our footsteps eerily muffled by the ancient stone. I studied the mechanical contraptions lining the walls. These weren't just decorative. The fresh scratches around certain panels suggested recent activation. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust except for fresh bootprints. Multiple sets, all heading forward.

I crouched down, studying the overlapping patterns. "These are recent. Multiple groups, maybe three or four based on the different boot sizes. Some charged ahead..." I pointed to the deeper, more spaced prints. "Others moved more cautiously." The lighter, closer-spaced tracks told that story clearly enough.

A faint metallic whirring sound echoed from somewhere ahead. I tensed, but it wasn't the chittering of more hand-centipedes. This was different - the sound of ancient machinery coming to life.

"You know," I said, carefully stepping around a suspicious-looking floor tile, "I'm starting to think the First King didn't actually want anyone finding whatever's hidden down here."

"What gave it away?" Estella quipped. "The death traps or the nightmare creatures?"

"Both. Neither." I gestured at our surroundings. “It's obvious.”

"Look." Estella pointed ahead. Light spilled from a massive doorway ahead. “We’re getting close.”

We approached the doorway carefully. The massive stone doors hung open, their surfaces carved with symbols that hurt to look at. Beyond them...

"Oh shit," I whispered.

The central chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in darkness above. Pillars lined the walls, framing grand murals that depicted a group of knights fighting against monsters. In the center stood what I first thought was a fountain – a cylinder of light that spiraled upward into the darkness. But it wasn't water flowing through that column.

It was history.

I could see moments, fragments of history, spinning past each other in that luminous stream. Glimpses of figures in ancient clothing, flashes of battles, celebrations, deaths – all overlapping, bleeding into each other like watercolors left in the rain.

Movement caught my eye. Not part of the historical display but a flash of metal from the upper gallery.

Warning! Hostile intent detected Multiple signatures on elevated positions

I started to turn, but too late.

Moonlight Arrow

The enchanted projectile cut through the air with deadly precision, aimed straight at my chest.

"Look out!" Tirion's shield appeared before me as he dove into position.

Cover Warning! Moonlight Arrow blocked by ally Tirion has prevented 95% of incoming damage 5 damage taken

The arrow struck Tirion's shield with enough force to make him grunt.

I followed its trajectory back to the source, catching the glint of silver and bronze medallions in the upper gallery. The archer was already shifting positions, but that flash of metal told the whole story.

“Guild badges,” Lysa muttered. “The Silver Wolves.”

"That wasn't a warning shot," Tirion said, examining the cracks in his shield. The impact point still smoldered. "They're playing for keeps."

"Over here!" A voice echoed from above. "Found another team!"

More figures appeared along the galleries, their silhouettes backlit by the strange cylinder of flowing history in the chamber's center. I counted at least five, maybe more in the shadows.

"Hey down there!" One of them called out, his voice dripping with fake friendliness. "Why don't you turn around and head back? Save us all some trouble?"

"And let you have all the fun?" Estella's chakrams spun into ready position. "That wouldn't be very sporting of us."

I studied our opposition while they talked. Standard guild loadouts – mostly mid-tier equipment, nothing too flashy. But their positioning... that was professional. They'd already cut off our main escape route and had clear firing lanes on any cover we might use. These weren't amateur treasure hunters.

"Last chance!" Another voice called down. "The First King's secrets are above your pay grade. Walk away now, we'll pretend we never saw you."

I glanced at my companions. Tirion's shield was still smoking from that first arrow. Lysa's shadows curled around her fingers, ready to strike. Estella's grin had an edge to it that promised violence.

"You know," I said, loud enough for our audience to hear, "I'm getting really tired of people telling me what I can and can't do."

The cylinder of historical images continued its hypnotic spiral behind us, forgotten moments dancing through the light. Whatever secrets the First King had hidden here, they were worth killing for. And these guild teams had just given up the element of surprise to try intimidating us away.

Big mistake.

"I don't suppose you'd believe we're just lost tourists?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

The whisper of bowstrings being drawn was my only reply.

This was going to get messy.