The air coming through the tunnel was blissfully warm. With each step into its circular depths, Tarn could feel the chill of the bridge’s harsh environment receding. Checking his interface, the temperature and other statistics were no longer present. While they didn't have the anxiety of the dangers of the Axe Dungeon, the gnawing sense of constant death the bridge provided was gone

The tunnel itself was a narrow circular tube. Running his hands along the curved sides, Tarn was impressed with the tight evenness of the brick-and-mortar construction. He knew this was just a visual representation of the space they were walking through, but he had no idea whose memory was used to build this. Lurim’s perhaps, according to Lash the train and the tracks that lined the center of the passage seemed to be from the Arch Mage’s off-world experiences.

He could hear the gremlin’s padded feet slapping along the metal tracks, leading the party with a curious gait. Usually Lash hopped on a willing or unwilling shoulder during long walks, but here he seemed to be buzzing with excitement.

It was interesting, but it was also potentially dangerous.

“Everyone keep a sharp ear out and stay close.” Tarn kept his voice conversational, knowing the echo of the tunnel would do the rest. “If we get one of those ‘trains’ in here, there won’t be much time to react.”

“Indeed.” Urthin walked only a few steps ahead of Tarn, his eyes wide as he took in the architecture. “These attacks by the Axe against the Sword are fascinating. They suggest a history and interplay between the two entities that I would be keen to know more of.”

“My goodness,” Jental purred. “Why Urthin, you sound almost excited.”

“Not almost,” Bog said with a laugh. “This is him excited!”

One cheek muscle twitched on the Monk’s face, for just an eyeblink. In response Bog grinned as if she had won her greatest victory.

“That you find that amusing is not surprising, Bog. I merely state that the concept of what relationships might exist between beings such as these dungeons intrigues me. No doubt more will become clear as we explore this Axe.”

There’s a segue if I ever heard one. Tarn was nervous reintroducing Narsol to the group so soon, but it couldn’t be helped.

“And that’s your signal Narsol.” Tarn raised his voice a bit, enjoying how it carried through the tunnel. “We are finally here, and it’s time for you to shared what you know about this place.”

He saw the expressions on their faces, running from Aryo’s outright anger to Urthin’s subtle skepticism. The memories of Narsol’s exposure during the fight with Yarex hung fresh in all their minds.

“Begging your pardon, Tarn.” Aryo’s tone was cautious and respectful. “But are you sure can we trust him?”

“Oh, farm boy.” Jental threw her arm over Aryo’s shoulder, earning an eyeroll. “In the end you really can’t trust anyone. But in this case, I think our green and well-muscled friend here has had a bit of an eye opening lately?”

Their gazes all swung to the orc.

“An agreement has been reached” He stared straight forward, his gaze running into the darkness of the tunnel beyond. “As my continued presence here makes obvious.”

“Augh!” Lash’s cry of frustration bounced through the tunnel. “Blah blah. Big Green still here, why need to talk about it? When we do dungeon?”

“Well said, Lash.” Tarn kept his tone firm. “Narsol, let’s hear what you know.”

“As you ask.” If Narsol’s confidence was shaken, it didn’t show. “The Axe Dungeon is different than your Sword, at least for my team. We experienced no visions, no shifting hallways or passages, no rooms build from our memories.”

“Good,” Tarn said with a sigh. “I think we could all use something a bit more straightforward for a change.”

“Yes. Its rooms and hallways are torch-lined, built with cobblestone. Wooden doors and iron bars. Everything I would think either of our cultures would expect a ‘dungeon’ to be.”

“A mystery in itself,” Urthin said. “How Ak-Thanon and the Realm could have such a common touchstone. But perhaps that question is for another time.”

“What about the monsters?” Isca slowed her pace, leaving Lash alone at the vanguard. “Are they more of these Progenitor-modified?”

Narsol shook his head.

“The Axe is vast, but not to the depths we saw. We faced nothing intelligent, just beasts and creatures. But they were still challenging and had dungeon-granted abilities. We also witnessed the Progenitors having to combat them as well.”

“Our enemy walks an unwilling road?” Bog grinned at the news. “That could be a help. But it still consumes resolve points, and grants you abilities?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“It does give abilities.” Narsol tapped the golden gem in his chest. “But I had not encountered ‘resolve’ points until I walked into your Sword. The Axe Dungeon consumes only one thing: Blood.”

“Umm, okay.” Tarn shook his head. “Dark, but in-character maybe. Any other differences?”

There was a far-off whine that echoed through the passage. For a moment, they all stopped out of concern it was the whistle of an oncoming train. But as it raised and lowered in pitch, it seemed to be the Bridge’s wind trying to penetrate the tunnel.

“Two major differences, then. The first is basic but significant – there is no automatic healing after a battle.”

“Lash heal you all in battle!” Lash spread his tiny arms wide. “What more need for heal is there?”

“Indeed,” Urthin said dryly. “Please continue.”

Narsol took a moment to chuckle at the gremlin, his smile strangely wistful. Does he have any family? Tarn hadn’t thought to wonder, and the orc hadn’t mentioned anyone. But the drive and passion Narsol pushed through everything with had to come from somewhere.

“The second change is in the layout. Your Sword is variable, ever-changing. The Axe is fixed. There are no hallways, just a series of connected rooms. Each room will lead to others, usually more than one. Multiple paths to a final, locked room where a challenge will await. There will be an elite combat containing the key to that last chamber. But you may only move forward – any room you enter the door behind you will vanish.”

“Hmm.” Tarn rubbed the back of his neck. “No backtracking, no changing our mind. Well, I guess we’re already used to committing to our decisions. Any way to get a better idea of which paths to try?”

“Yes. Just like your Sword, the Axe wants you to progress as it is fed by combat. At the entrance you will get a map on your interface. From there you will be able to see a few levels deep into the layout, two tiers of rooms. But you cannot always see what type of room is next.”

“Type of room?” Isca’s voice matched Tarn’s own confusion. “What types of rooms are there?”

“Merely four that we found. Most are simple combat rooms, a basic fight that will yield either your death or some small rewards – gear or ability augments.”

Gear and augments? The Sword had offered neither of those, though he supposed the bridge had given them gear. But ability augments sounded excellent.

“Oh!” Tarn perked up. “That sounds new, and pretty good actually. I’d love to get some new options for abilities I’m already used to using. What about the other rooms?”

“There are elite combats,” Narsol continued. “Deadlier challenge, but greater reward As I said, defeating one is required to unlock the door to the final chamber.”

“I surmise there is a healing location,” Urthin interjected. “If the Dungeon’s goal is to sustain itself through our progress, it would make sense to provide a way to restore AP.”

“Yes, there is.” Narsol sounded impressed. “There are camp rooms that allow you to heal or level up, but not both. Finally, there is a ‘redeem’ location. Here you can offer the Blood points you’ve earned to the Axe in exchange for rewards.”

“Rewards?” Aryo looked around the room, as if he expected the walls to answer. “What kind of ‘rewards’ is a dungeon supposed to give us?”

“Okay,” Tarn nodded, ignoring Aryo’s question. His focus was more immediate, on the entrance to the dungeon itself Ahead he could see a faint light growing ahead down the tunnel, but slow and steady. Rather than a train, it was their destination. The beginning of this next leg of the journey. “And where does all this lead? You said there was a final challenge room?”

“The exit.” Narsol said, his voice growing strained. “No matter where you enter the Axe from, it seems to only guide you to a way out. In this case, it will lead us to Ak-Thanon. If your adversary Yarex survived the bridge, it will lead him there as well.”

“Then it’s up to us to get there first.”

As he spoke, Tarn could feel a faint vibration coming from under his feet. The tunnel remained silent, other than their own footfalls.

“Perhaps,” Narsol said. “But the door will not open. In the end, the Axe will have its prize – a fight to the death. The Axe will see the great source of Blood points you both represent and will refuse to open until its thirst has been sated.”

“Ahh!” Bog clenched her fists. “That is glorious. An entrance opened only by the pain of battle. Two teams enter, only one survives and- “

“Everyone stop!” Isca shouted suddenly, peering into the darkness. “I think – something is coming.”

Tarn didn’t wait for her sight to be confirmed. He trusted Isca, and the sudden rumbling underneath his boots.

“Get to the side!” He shouted. “Train!”

In an eyeblink, a red, hellish light burst into the passage. As a great warm wind began to gust toward him, Tarn threw himself to the smooth brick of the tunnel’s side. He whipped his head back and forth, trying to take note of everyone.

Aryo was directly behind him, his body pasted against the wall. Across the tracks, he could see Narsol, Jental, and Lash in similar positions. The gremlin’s eyes were still wide with excitement. Then the red light of the train overtook his sight.

Tarn turned away immediately, his eyes shut as they burned from the brief sight of the hellish engine hurtling down the passage, a demon-metal of fire and anger. The thunder of its engine and the screech of the wheels multiplied and echoed, becoming a cacophony of madness.

Feeling the flaming heat at his back as it passed, he opened his eyes and gasped silently. He had expected to see nothing but the cold brick an inch from his face. But as the train passed, he saw he could see through the material and into a second tunnel beyond the wall.

There was a group of figures transiting the passage, their torches held aloft as they made slow progress. Tarn could see the same brick tubes his own team now walked through, the same curved tracks and wooden slats. It almost appeared to be a memory of his own team, a vision from just minutes ago.

But there were four figures only. A woman led the way, carrying a blazing lantern before her. Behind her a smaller man hovered slightly off the ground, while his massive companion thumped along, dragging a huge tree branch behind him.

In the rear, as if he had all the time in the world, Yarex somehow looked in Tarn’s direction and smiled, his grin one of confidence and recognition.

Then the scene was gone. As the hellish crimson light of the train passed, now only hardened brick appeared before Tarn’s eyes once again.

His heart pounded. His ears rang with the cry of the departed train, while his lungs ached from the aftermath of soot and smoke it left behind. But none of it mattered.

The bridge was behind them, but an even greater challenge lay ahead. Another dungeon hungry for their blood, with its own rules and secrets. All of it leading to a confrontation that had started on the docks outside Lurim’s palace.

His mind tried to focus on the goals ahead, but Tarn could see was Yarex’s smile, one borne of confidence that the monk was right, and that he would succeed in stopping him.

Like hell.

“Come on people,” he said, breaking into a run. “It’s time to move!”