“Friends? You have friends?”

“You know, there are people that might find such a comment rather hurtful,” Lowe said. “Especially the newly resurrected. I’m not completely unlikable, you know.”

“I didn’t say you were. I just don’t picture your ‘friends’ being the type to take on a rampaging Dreadnaught.”

“Well,” Lowe said, jerking his thumb toward the increasingly loud noise of shouting and very insistent explosions from just beyond the grounds of the museum, “I do. And these particular friends of mine aren’t really the hug-it-out kind of folk.”

The noise of... whatever was happening escalated significantly. Booming impacts, each on their own sounding like the end of the world, sent tremors rippling through the ground beneath their feet.

The keening whistle of wind slicing through stone shrieked in eerie harmony, with the explosions, the sound so sharp it felt as if it might rip through the air itself. And layered over it all was a metallic screech of steel-on-steel.

Karolen squinted through the destruction, her eyes stinging as smoke and dust clung thick to the air, muting the fractured light and shrouding the world beyond into a shifting haze. Her hand tightened instinctively on the hilt of her reconstituted blade and she triggered all of her offensive Skills. She knew it was pretty pointless if they were planning to mix it up with a Dreadnaught but she was damned if she was going down without with a fight.

“What in Soar is causing all that racket!” she whispered.

Lowe, for once, said nothing.

Moving shapes suddenly resolved ahead—blurred figures moving too fast to seem real. A gust of wind blasted through the street, scattering debris and clearing the worst of the haze, and for a moment, Karolen saw it.

No, them.

The Dreadnaught, now showing no trace of Preece’s form, stood at the epicentre of a circle of annihilation. Encased in its ancient armour, it stood like a titan ripped from legend. Its fists swung with the raw force of a living siege engine, every impact capable of reducing a city to rubble. Yet there was a noticeable sluggishness to its movements—an unnatural hesitation that betrayed its burden.

Clutched protectively against its chest, the glowing Dungeon Core pulsed erratically, its light flickering in panicked bursts as though alive and aware of its peril. The energy radiating from it was almost pleading, the rhythm of its pulsing quickening like a trapped heartbeat. The Dreadnaught shielded the Core with almost parental care as if anxious to keep it safe from any danger.

And, boy, was there some danger about . . .

“Yeah,” Lowe said. “I’ve got some pretty great friends.”

A streak of lightning carved through the sky above, slamming into the street at the Dreadnaught’s feet with a force that ignited the cobblestones. From the explosion of scorched and shattered rocks emerged Latham, his massive blade already arcing toward the Dreadnaught’s head.

The impact of their clash was colossal, shattering the glass of the surrounding shop windows and toppling what few walls were still standing. But the Temple Warder didn’t pause for a moment, continuing to hack away at the retreating monster like he was chopping wood.

“Is that—” Karolen started, but her voice faltered as the ground shuddered beneath them once again.

The air screamed again, the clouds twisting into entirely unnatural spirals and, at the eye of the storm, Hel hovered, her hair a wild corona of energy.

With a clap of her hands, she guided the wind around her into slicing gales and deadly whirlwinds which harried the escaping monster. Each gesture brought destruction raining down on the Dreadnaught—a spear of ice here, a sudden column of air that hurled debris at impossible speeds there. Her attacks hammered the creature relentlessly, stopping it from being able to properly respond to Latham’s relentless advance.

Then Dreadnaught opened its mouth impossibly loud and screamed, a noise that seemed to come from some deep, primal abyss. Its free hand slashed out, catching Latham mid-stride and sending him flying back and away, vanishing through a wall. However, before it could look to press its advantage, more of Hel’s targeted wind attacks struck, carving a deep gash into its armour and forcing it to stumble back.

“She’s doing all that,” Karolen said faintly, staring at Hel. “And it’s still standing.”

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“Ha, that’s nothing. She chopped off my arm once, and I barely gave it a second thought.”

Karolen opened her mouth to respond and then obviously thought better of it.

Latham suddenly burst out of the wreckage, his own armour singed, but his blade was already swinging, and there was the glow of any number of triggered Skills around him. Lowe hadn’t been present for the Temple Warder’s epic throwdown with the Advanced Classed Bright in the reception of the Celestial Temple, but he’d heard stories.

Watching Latham now—moving like pure, unbridled force—Lowe decided those wide-eyed witnesses had been soft-selling it. Latham wasn’t just good, he was good. Level ?? good. Every swing of his sword left trails of crackling energy, and each strike landed with the sound of a world tearing itself apart.

The Dreadnaught, for all its power and bulk, struggled to match him. It was no slouch—it countered with devastating swings of its own, its colossal fists smashing into the Temple Warder time and time again. But Latham just took each blow and kept coming, and the monster ended up tanking hits more than it probably wanted—Latham’s cuts and slashes crashing into its armour, each one carving deep, glowing scars that oozed molten light.

Lowe winced as a particularly brutal clash sent sparks and debris flying past him. “Guess even ancient murder machines can have bad days.”

And that day just got worse.

Hel swooped low, a blur of motion as she hurled a tempest at the Dreadnaught’s legs, toppling it over. Latham was there in an instant, abandoning his sword to bring both fists down with an almighty crunch.

The Dreadnaught howled, dropping the Dungeon Core to the ground, where it rolled away. There was then quite some smackdown put on the monster.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Karolen and Lowe broke into a sprint, weaving through the battlefield. Masonry rained down around them, each crash sending up clouds of dust that clung to the swirling smoke. Magical blasts tore through the air, streaking the shattered street with bursts of searing light and deafening cracks that sounded like the world itself was splitting apart.

Karolen spotted the discarded Dungeon Core first, its glow seeping through the rubble. The ancient artefact seemed alive, each pulse of light rippling outward in waves that made her skin prickle. She didn’t pause, didn’t think—her hand shot forward, gripping the Core and pulling it free.

The second it touched her skin, a jolt ran through her, as if the Core was trying to imprint its desperation onto her. It burned with frantic energy, its chaotic rhythm matching the pandemonium around them. She clenched her jaw, steadying herself as its heat threatened to overwhelm her.

“Got it!” she shouted over the din.

“Do you want me to hold it,” Lowe called, seeing the pain on the Auditor’s face.

“You’re healing cooldown over?” she replied, taking out a Health Potion and downing it. The Core was burning the skin off her hand.

Lowe cursed. “Not yet,” he said and then cast Medic! on Karolen.

“Then probably best I hold it for now, don’t you think?”

Then they ran, trying to put as much distance between the Dreadnaught and the Core, which burned hotter and hotter in Karolen’s grasp with every passing moment—but they didn’t stop. They couldn’t.

“You know,” Lowe said, breathing heavily as they ran, “it’s true what they say?”

“What?” Karolen managed through the agony of her burning palms. Lowe’s Skill was helping, but all it was doing was repairing the damage. It didn’t do anything about the pain.

“That cooked human smells like pork.”

“Fuck off, Lowe.”

Unfortunately, freed from the burden of seeking to protect its prize, the Dreadnaught was able to turn its full attention to the fight with Hel and Latham. This turned out to be fairly decisive.

Hel, her body all electric, tempestuous fury, dove from the sky at the Dreadnaught, unleashing a torrent of Skills. But, sadly, it was ready this time. A massive, clawed hand shot up, grabbing her mid-dive as if plucking a bird from the air. A single brutal punch to the head followed and then her unconscious form was sent spiralling away, before her body crashed into the ground, leaving her motionless.

Latham roared in furious response, his fists glowing as he pummelled the monster. But for the first time, the Dreadnaught seemed almost...grinning. It shifted, feinted, and when Latham’s focus faltered for the briefest moment—his eyes flicking to Hel’s prone form—it struck.

The punch came like a meteor. It slammed into Latham’s head, driving him down with almost apocalyptic force. The cobblestones beneath Latham’s feet shattered, the ground caved in, and the Temple Warder vanished into a smoking crater, as dust and shards of stone cascading into the yawning pit.

The street fell deathly still for a moment as if even the air was holding its breath.

Karolen clutched the Core even tighter, despite the burning agony, as the Dreadnaught’s massive frame turned toward them.

No longer beset by Hel and Latham, it moved with predatory grace, unhurried, its steps almost balletic as it charged towards her. Lowe stepped in front of her instinctively, Slugger armed and fists raised though they both knew it wouldn’t do a damn thing.

"Well," Lowe said to her, "this is probably not ideal."

Then, there was a sound.

A low rumble of metal grinding against metal, growing louder with every second. The Dreadnaught froze, its head turning to the source.

Martha Culloden had arrived.

Clad head-to-toe in Dreadnaught armour.