For years, mysterious disappearances haunted the land—a chilling pattern that left families shattered and whole villages desolate. The eerie vanishing of an entire elven tribe sparked dark suspicions, breeding civil strife. Humans blamed elves, accusing them of vile experiments and deceit. In turn, the elves pointed to humankind as ruthless killers or kidnappers, fueling a bitter feud that darkened both territories.
Meanwhile, deep underground on the 47th floor of the dungeon, Aethyr was unwittingly inhaling a paralyzing miasma—a rare, cunning trap that seeped into his senses before he realized his mistake. He barely registered the noxious gas as it crept past his defenses, weakening him just enough to fall into the clutches of a relentless horde. Bound and confined to a tube on the 48th floor, he remained unaware of the chaos breaking out above. The vile miasma had leaked to the surface, enveloping the air and affecting scientists, soldiers, and scholars stationed near the dungeon. Amidst the growing panic, a horde of monstrous Snallygasters, rat-goblin hybrids with razor-sharp teeth and claws, poured out, swarming the nearest encampments and settlements. They snatched young ones from their homes, triggering a fierce defense from the alliance, hastily formed under the hard-won peace treaty.
Unbeknownst to Aethyr, a battle for survival raged above him. The city of Ashmark, closest to the dungeon’s maw, became the site of brutal combat. The Phalanx’s elite inner circle, known as the Nine, was stationed across the city, protecting every vulnerable corner. But none held the line with more ferocity than Chornut "the Chopper," the most aggressive and fearsome warrior of the Nine.
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Battle at Ashmark: Chopper’s Stand
As the first wave of monstrous creatures charged, Chornut stood at the front, resolute, with fewer than fifty Phalanx recruits and a hundred soldiers from the treaty alliance arrayed behind him. A fierce glint burned in his eyes as the horde thundered closer, their frenzied shrieks piercing the air. Raising his spear, he bellowed, “Archers, release!”
A hailstorm of arrows streaked across the battlefield, felling several Snallygasters, but the creatures’ sheer numbers absorbed the attack, leaving many still advancing with terrifying speed. Chopper’s voice roared above the din, “Men, positions!”
The Phalanx soldiers locked shields in unison, forming an iron wall against the onslaught. As the Snallygasters crashed into them, the recruits held firm, pushing back with practiced precision. The clash was deafening—shields bashed against twisted limbs, swords slashed through leathery hide, and the ground ran slick with the blood of monsters.
But the Snallygasters were only the beginning.
The ground trembled, and an ogregraster—a monstrous, twisted fusion of ogre and beast—charged forward, dwarfing the other creatures with its massive form. It smashed through the front line, scattering soldiers like leaves. Its enormous blade swung wildly, cleaving through friend and foe alike. Terror gripped the alliance forces; a few turned and fled, abandoning their posts under the towering shadow of the ogregraster.
But Chopper and his men stood fast.
“Spread out, defend!” Chopper’s command rang clear. The soldiers obeyed, moving to support their allies while Chopper squared off against the towering beast. Wielding a massive kopis with a deadly curved blade, Chopper was a blur of motion. With each strike, he hacked down nearby Snallygasters, his movements a calculated dance of death.
The ogregraster swung its blade in a wide arc, aiming to crush Chopper, but he sidestepped with astonishing agility, the blade whistling past him. He countered with a sharp thrust of his spear into the creature's thigh, but the ogregraster barely flinched, its grotesque features twisting with rage. Its claws raked down, trying to slice through him, yet Chopper darted backward, his reflexes honed to a razor edge. Phalanx training had made him nimble and precise, and he moved with deadly efficiency, weaving around the ogregraster’s relentless attacks.
But in the chaos, Chopper’s spear was knocked from his grasp. Undeterred, he gripped his massive shield and drew his kopis, the blade glinting darkly. The ogregraster lunged, and Chopper met it head-on, slipping beneath its guard and slicing deep into its calf. The beast roared, dropping to one knee, its gargantuan body momentarily vulnerable. Seizing the chance, Chopper surged forward, his kopis arcing through the air.
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With a brutal final swing, he struck the ogregraster’s neck. The kopis cut deep, biting through sinew and bone until, with one final heave, Chopper severed the monster’s head from its body. The ogregraster’s head tumbled to the ground with a thud, and its body slumped forward, lifeless.
Panting, blood-spattered, Chopper raised his kopis high, his voice thundering across the field. “Hold the line! We will not falter!”
The sight of their leader felling the monstrous beast rallied the soldiers, sparking a surge of defiance that spread through their ranks. Together, they pushed back the advancing hordes, each step reinforcing their claim to Ashmark’s defense. As Chopper strode forward, his eyes gleaming with unyielding resolve, his men knew they would fight to the last breath.
Ashmark would not fall that day—not while Chornut the Chopper still stood.
The West Gate defenses braced as the ground quaked under the stampede of the incoming horde. At the forefront stood Aela, her two bronze Xiphos glinting like lethal leaves. Tall and lean, her tied hair framed a face of composed ferocity. She drew the attention of nearby soldiers and adventurers alike, some seeking to impress her, others whispering doubtful remarks under their breath. But Aela was unfazed—she had seen battle too many times to be distracted by idle opinions.
As the wave of Snallygasters surged forward, she positioned herself in front, arching an eyebrow as she spotted some mercenaries and soldiers fleeing in terror. "Running already?" she muttered, rolling her eyes with a smirk. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she twirled her dual Xiphos and met the first Snallygaster head-on.
The beast lunged at her, but Aela sidestepped with grace, her blades flashing as they sliced through the creature’s neck in a deadly, flowing motion. Her every move was precise and economical, her strikes honed to slice arteries, tendons, and any weak points she found. Her agility and fluidity were mesmerizing, dancing through the chaos with lethal efficiency. As she carved a path through the snarling monsters, her blades caught the sunlight, creating a cascade of glints and slashes.
Once she had enough distance, Aela reached for her slingshot, releasing a flurry of sharp projectiles that found their targets with unerring precision. The creatures fell, but she kept moving, firing arrows from her bow at foes farther down the field. Each arrow shot true, taking down creatures charging her allies and keeping the enemy forces at bay.
But then, through the melee, a chilling sight emerged: a herd of Orthusts, massive wolf-like beasts with two ravenous heads. These creatures tore through the soldiers and adventurers, and Aela sprang into action. With a swift sprint, she leapt onto a ruined cart, using it as a launchpad to propel herself up, vaulting from building to building like a wraith. The Orthusts snarled below, snapping at her heels, but Aela’s agility outmatched them. She moved like liquid, evading their bites and swiping downward with deadly accuracy, slicing through their fur and flesh.
Her parkour run came to an abrupt halt as a tremendous roar shook the ground. Emerging from the shadows of the gate was a monstrous manticore, its wings unfurled, scorpion tail whipping menacingly. Soldiers stumbled back in horror as it locked its red eyes on a small child clinging to her injured mother. Without hesitation, Aela vaulted down, scooping the child into her arms as she twisted mid-air. Her blade flashed as she sliced into the manticore’s right foreleg, the monster snarling as it recoiled.
The manticore’s tail shot towards her, venom dripping from its deadly tip. Aela dodged with a graceful roll, coming up behind the creature. She aimed a well-placed arrow into its spine, causing it to stumble. The manticore spread its wings, attempting to escape skyward, but Aela wouldn’t allow it. She fired a flurry of arrows, one striking the base of its wing. With a triumphant leap, she grasped the wounded wing, yanking it downward. The manticore screamed, thrashing as she ruthlessly tore the other wing, grounding it.
Now pinned, the manticore attempted to lash out with its claws. Aela danced around the strikes, carving into its rear leg muscles, crippling the beast as it fell to the ground. Its strength waning, the manticore struggled as Aela approached its head, eyes blazing with focus. With a swift, precise motion, she drove her Xiphos into the creature’s skull, though the blade didn’t sink deep enough. Gritting her teeth, she delivered a powerful kick to the hilt, driving the sword into its brain with a final, sickening crunch.
As the manticore collapsed, a hush fell over the battlefield. The remaining Orthusts whimpered and fled, the lesser monsters scattering in terror. Around her, the Phalanx recruits, inspired and emboldened, surged back into the fray with renewed vigor. Adventurers gaped in awe, and soldiers who had hesitated now felt their shame keenly, rallying with newfound resolve. Aela glanced back, her gaze as calm as it was deadly, and gave a brief nod to her fellow warriors, a silent command to finish what they had started.