Pag, his heart pounding slammed his palms on the ground to create a firewall and held onto the spell, twisting it, as he summoned a dome of rippling fire that envelops him and Aviva. The flames bellowed and danced around them drawing fitfully on his mana reserves. He winced as he feels a familiar drain, but was more than willing to pay the price of its protection. The countdown timer on his character sheet ticked down to two hours, fifteen minutes.

The guardians react instantly, their glowing eyes narrowing as they sense the intrusion of magic. They raise their weapons, the eerie green light intensifying as they prepare to strike. The crystals surrounding them pulse with a brighter light, casting long, wavering shadows across the chamber.

Aviva, eyes narrowing darts forward, her movements swift and fluid despite the water’s resistance. Her dagger, flashes in the dim flickering light of pags fire. She struck at the guardians with a speed that seems to defy their massive forms. The creatures roar in anger, their attacks deflected by the shimmering barrier of the Ring of Shielding.

Pag, focusing his will, channels his magic, conjuring a series of firebolts that streak through the water towards the guardians. The spells, though weakened by the aquatic environment, strike their targets with a sizzle and a hiss, momentarily distracting them from Aviva's assault.

The Quang warrior, watching the battle unfold, moves to flank the guardians, his spear a blur of motion as he harries them from the side, creating an opening for Pag and Aviva to exploit.

Aviva, seizing the opportunity, presses her attack, her dagger dancing a deadly ballet of thrusts and parries. She weaves between the guardians, her movements graceful and precise, exploiting their momentary confusion to deliver a series of crippling blows.

Pag, his mana reserves dwindling, focuses on a single target, channeling his remaining energy into a powerful fire spell. The spell, fueled by desperation and the ticking clock of his tombs rattle debuff, erupts in a blinding flash of light and heat, engulfing the guardian in a searing inferno.

The creature screams in agony, its scales melting away, its flesh charred black by the intense heat. The other guardians, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of the attack, hesitate, their attention drawn to their fallen comrade.

Aviva, seeing their hesitation, doesn’t waste the opportunity. With a final, decisive thrust, she drives her dagger through the heart of another guardian, its glowing eyes dimming as it collapses to the chamber floor.

Pag, gasping for breath, the strain of the battle evident on his face, glances at his character sheet. One hour, fifty-two minutes. He’s running out of time, but they’ve created an opening.

He gestures toward the narrow passageway, the possible escape route that had been pointed out earlier. "Now!" he shouts, his voice echoing oddly through the water.

Aviva, nodding her understanding, turns and sprints toward the passageway, the remaining guardians roaring in pursuit.

The Quang warrior, his spear dripping with the ichor of the fallen guardians, follows close behind, his movements swift and silent.

Pag, his heart pounding, brings up the rear, the Ring of Shielding flickering as its power wanes. He glances back at the pursuing guardians, their forms distorted by the water, their glowing eyes filled with a cold, unwavering fury.

They have a chance, a slim one, but a chance nonetheless. The countdown timer ticks down, each second a precious commodity in their desperate race against time.

The fate of their mission, and perhaps even their lives, hangs in the balance as they flee into the darkness of the submerged city.

Pag, Aviva, and the Quang warrior burst from the narrow passageway, their lungs burning, their hearts pounding. They collapse onto the smooth, algae-covered stones of a hidden chamber, gasping for breath. The air, thick with the scent of salt and decay, feels heavy in their lungs, a stark contrast to the water-filled tunnels they just escaped.

Pag glances at his character sheet, relief flooding him as he sees the countdown timer slow its relentless march. One hour, thirty-eight minutes. The Ring of Shielding, its energy depleted, flickers and fades, leaving them vulnerable once more.

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"We made it," Aviva whispers, her voice raspy with exhaustion. She leans against a moss-covered wall, her chest heaving as she tries to regain her breath.

The Quang warrior, his scaled face glistening with sweat, nods in agreement. He surveys the chamber, his eyes narrowed, his spear held at the ready. “We are not safe yet,” he warns, his voice low and guttural. “This chamber is ancient, a place of power. It is not meant for mortal eyes.”

Pag, his curiosity piqued despite his exhaustion and the gnawing anxiety of his dwindling time, rises to his feet and looks around. The chamber is circular, its walls adorned with intricate carvings that depict scenes of a long-lost civilization. The carvings, though worn by time and the relentless erosion of water, hint at a grandeur that once rivaled even the splendor of the Sunken City above.

In the center of the chamber, a pool of shimmering water glows with an ethereal light, its surface undisturbed by the currents that swirl around them. The air above the pool shimmers and distorts, as if a heat wave were rising from its depths. Pag feels a pull towards it, an almost irresistible urge to step closer, to touch its surface.

"What is that?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

The Quang warrior, his gaze fixed on the pool, shakes his head. "It is a place of prophecy," he says, his voice hushed with reverence. "A place where the veil between worlds thins, and the voices of the ancients can be heard.”

As he speaks, a figure emerges from the shimmering pool, its form coalescing from the swirling water vapor. It is a woman, tall and slender, her features obscured by a flowing veil of white that shimmers with an ethereal light. She wears a robe of woven moonlight, and a silver crescent moon pendant hangs from her neck, pulsing with a soft, blue glow. Her eyes, the color of the deepest ocean, seem to hold the wisdom of ages.

A Lunar Oracle.

But Pag's attention is drawn to the figure kneeling before her, his head bowed in supplication. The figure is shrouded in shadows, his features obscured by the dim light of the chamber. But the name tag hovering above his head is unmistakable.

PillowHorror.

"Pag, it says he is the Waffles guild master," Aviva whispers, her voice barely audible.

Pag exchanges a worried look with Aviva, his mind reeling from the sight before them: PillowHorror, the infamous agent of chaos, kneeling before a Lunar Oracle. The scene is both unsettling and unexpected, a stark contrast to the player's reputation for disruption and disregard for authority.

The Quang warrior shifts uneasily, his spear held tight in his grip. His eyes dart between the Oracle, PillowHorror, and the shimmering pool, his senses on high alert. He whispers, his voice barely audible above the hum of ancient magic that permeates the chamber, "Something is not right here. This… alliance… is unnatural."

Pag nods, his intuition echoing the warrior’s words. PillowHorror’s presence in this sacred chamber, his deferential posture before the Lunar Oracle, seems at odds with everything they know about the player. It's as if the game itself has been flipped on its head, the rules rewritten in a way they don’t yet understand.

Aviva, her gaze sharp and assessing, steps forward cautiously, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. She addresses the Oracle, her voice respectful but firm, “We seek knowledge and guidance.” She pauses, her eyes flickering to PillowHorror, then back to the Oracle, “We seek to understand the forces at play in this war, the forces that have corrupted the hearts of men and unleashed chaos upon the land.”

The Lunar Oracle turns her gaze upon them, her eyes, the color of a moonlit sea, seem to pierce through their very souls. Her voice, when she speaks, is soft but carries an undeniable authority, “The Pale Tide rises, its currents swift and treacherous. It seeks to consume all, to drown the world in darkness.”

"The Pale Tide?" Pag echoes, the name unfamiliar, yet somehow chillingly familiar. He searches his memory, trying to recall any lore, any mention of this force. But the name remains elusive, a whisper on the edge of his consciousness.

PillowHorror, as if sensing Pag's confusion, raises his head and speaks, his voice a low, menacing purr, “The Pale Tide is the will of Dedisco, the forgotten god, the one who sleeps beneath the waves.”

Pag’s eyes widen in recognition. Dedisco. The deity he had been invited to follow, the deity he had unknowingly insulted. The pieces begin to fall into place, forming a picture that is both disturbing and terrifying.

“Dedisco… the Pale Tide…” he murmurs, the words heavy with newfound meaning. The deity, the force, the guild, and PillowHorror – all intertwined in a web of chaos and destruction.

"He seeks to break free from his slumber," PillowHorror continues, his gaze intense, his voice filled with a chilling conviction, “to reclaim his dominion over this world. And we, his followers, will help him achieve his goal.”

The Lunar Oracle, her expression grim, nods in confirmation. “The Pale Tide is but a tool, a manifestation of Dedisco’s will. It is a force of destruction, of chaos, of oblivion.” Her gaze turns to Pag and Aviva, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes, “You seek to stop the war, to heal the land. Then you must stand against the Pale Tide, against Dedisco himself.”

Pag felt the weight of her words settle upon him, a heavy burden of responsibility. The countdown timer on his character sheet continues its relentless march, a stark reminder of the urgency of their mission. But now, with this newfound knowledge, their goal has become even more daunting.