"That's ten minutes gone,"
"Three-quarters left,"
"One third d-ooown," announcing the amount of time they had left, this time Mooch ground to a halt.
Unlike his previous callouts, the shifting stone clocks had stopped, halting at 40 minutes remaining.
The halt of the clock wasn't apparent for a time but the hoards of pale monstrosities that bombarded their faltering defences became increasingly more manageable. Whilst any one of the hoard wasn't a particularly difficult opponent, they were strong, unreasonably heavy, and entirely without a sense of self-preservation. Their momentum, as they ran into the teams barrage of attacks, left them surrounded within a growing bowl of twisted bodies. Stacks of bodies had formed quickly, the descent from which only made their prodigious heft harder to deal with.
Given that Mooch had the more specialised senses and was now stood atop several stacked bodies, his vantage point allowed him to see the throng of turgid bodies was becoming less dense. Whilst he couldn't make out exactly what was happening beyond the reaches of the hoard, the deep well of warped limbs appeared lighter than it had been.
"What's going on?!" Rage shouted out, above the sounds of combat.
Whilst, the warped figures of pale flesh couldn't articulate sounds, as the vast majority of them had mouths that were sewn shut or scarred over, they were heavy. If Otis were here the sound would have been hauntingly familiar to the thunderous echo within the halls of PE lessons in his junior years. Yet, even this one constant was beginning to distort, as the sounds softened.
"Looks like it's thinning out," came Bolo's surprised realisation. Although otherwise distracted, the golem's towering stature allowed them to see over the majority of the hoard. Only now did Bolo realise, that the constant outpouring from the walls had stopped. The wider reaches of the arena were once again visible as the constant swarm of constructs began to peter out.
Suddenly, it wasn't just obvious to Mooch, but to them all. None of them had realised but there had been so many bodies in front of them that it had actually grown darker around them. As the orb light permeated the thinning layers of bodies began to permeate their surroundings more easily, so too did a sense of calm.
"The countdown's not changing, it's stuck at forty minutes," Mooch finally confirmed. He didn't continue his line of thinking. Implicitly they all knew that the fight ahead was far from over.
Unfortunately, whilst they were now making a sizable dent in the hoard of warped creations, the constructs continued to attack with wild abandon. Whilst the hoard's numbers were quickly falling, with the countdown at a standstill, there wasn't a reward for continuing to withstand the wave. Every construct they killed was less mana they had to continue to fight. It was mana that would take time to replenish and stamina they'd sorely need as they continued to fight for another forty minutes.
Soon, the hoard was almost entirely annihilated. Only a few stragglers were left and some of their team was taking the opportunity to recover their stamina. Rage and Nightmare had all but collapsed as Zlatan was finally able to more efficiently deploy his aura, kiting the remaining few without having to expend too much effort at all. It wasn't long until the aura unbound several critical areas integral to maintaining the pale constructs. Their many limbs slowly fell apart and they became motionless. Watching what looked like a rapidly progressing form of leprosy as they withered away, the team stood about awkwardly.
Without the manic fight for survival, it suddenly became eerily silent. As usual, they couldn't hear a sound from the crowds but, even if they could, they too were silently waiting for what was yet to come.
Ringed in bodies, the fetid pooling gore smelt of petrol and pennies, in a strange combination that made their teeth ache. Still, without any idea of what was yet to come all they could do was wait, watch, and listen for the next opponent. Although they didn't have to wait long for the next opponent, the thought occurred to several more pessimistic members of the team that their overlords may well turn them against each other. Mooch and Rage, subconsciously conjured flickering auras around their hands, prepared to strike.
Long before any one of them saw their opponent, they heard it. The sheer weight of its movements rang out from one of the tunnels, till it echoed around the silent arena. Whatever it was it was so heavy that each step scrapped along the ground before its weight was crushed down with a bang.
SHEEEESH...BANG
SHEEEESH...BANG
SHEEEESH...BANG
Slowly but surely a figure began to take shape in the darkness of the tunnels.
"It sounds slow, we have to kite and pick it off slowly. There can be no wrong moves."
Mooch needed them all on the same page, they were about to be embroiled in another fight, likely no less dangerous than the last. If they couldn't use the little downtime they had in between fights to prepare better strategies, then they'd burn out well before that time limit ever hit zero.
"Sure thing," replied Zlatan, his voice devoid of its usual joviality.
"Any ideas?"
Bolo's affirmation came implicitly but the longest-serving members of Team Rictus knew each other well enough to get on the same page quickly. Rage stood listening, which they gathered was her understanding of the situation and Nightmare nodded meekly. The shy image of a young boy had once again replaced the bloodied adaptations they had grown used to.
SHEEEESH...BANG
"Zlatan, Rage, you run interference, me and Bolo can support at a range," came the quickly constructed plan from Mooch. "Nightmare, if you can support or adapt to help out in any way do that."
It sounded as though Mooch was marginalizing the boy but in truth his powers were complex and they didn't have the time to figure out how he'd best fit into the team. Besides, the looming figure of their newest opponent was now perfectly visible, as it lumbered through the nearest entrance to the arena.
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SHEEEESH...BANG
Its movements and appearance were almost identical to the variants within the hoard. It lumbered about, shifting its weight from one colossal foot to another as though uncomfortable in its own skin. Of course, the varying shades of pale flesh also suggested that almost none of its skin was in fact its own.
Instead of the collage of seemingly random appendages that adorned most of the hoard, this construct was thematically similar to the others but built with purpose and intention. Each limb rippled as it moved, its own appendages were made with hundreds of others, melded together seamlessly. Walking on all fours the entity almost appeared to emulate a giant demonic wolf-alien hybrid. Even at a distance, the wolf appeared to be twice as tall and several times as long as Bolo. The same square footage in London would make the wolf larger and more hospitable than some bedsits. Staring them down, the wolf didn't have the traditional set of two predatory eyes. Instead, an array were embedded across its being. Eyes looked out from its pronounced jaw, as much as they did from its warped limbs.
"Christ, if this guy was bad enough," Zlatan jested with a nod towards Nightmare, "at least it's slow."
Each writhing limb ended in a bloodied stump. Crushed under its own weight, bloated flesh seeped thick blood seeped out of crushed flesh, that resembled a dangerously infected elephant foot.
As if hearing him the construct coiled and leapt. Its movements were sudden and gangly but somehow it maintained the grace that one would expect from an apex predator.
"DIVE!"
The call had been made in unison and seconds later the construct slammed into the bowl of bodies they had crafted. The creature's heft threw its dismembered brethren like a tide that they all struggled to escape.
As the most central member of the party, Mooch barely managed to escape. His preference for speed and stealth kept him safe but Bolo had several corpses adorning their stone carapace now.
"Lure, it away from the bodies, we need firm ground," shouted Rage.
The two halves of a pale construct around her, showed that her escape was due to more than luck.
Mooch shot out a light flurry of grey bolts of mana that sizzled against the construct's skin again, adding little value. Bolo summoned up sand and stone from the arena floor quickly, where they formed crude spikes. Whipping each of the spikes forward, they pierced the construct's forearm.
"Haha-AHHH"
Bolo's celebration was cut short as the wolf suddenly crashed towards them.
Possessing a surprising level of speed, despite the trail of bloody ooze, Bolo was quickly set upon. The impact was so great, Bolo's form shuddered as the controlling mage struggled to maintain the golem. Pressing the attack, the wolf charged forward, forcing the golem into the ground. From within the weathered flesh of the fabricated beast, groping peeled away from the wolf where they clawed out at Bolo. Targeting one of them so directly, the construct would have no problem picking them off one by one.
"Engage," came Mooch's shout, as he peppered the beast with yet more bolts of mana.
Whilst the others had been caught by surprise, Rage had advanced. Swiping with palms pulsating with the now familiar red aura, she cut tore away at one of the hind legs. Compared to the hoard she wasn't able to cut nearly as deep.
"Whatever it's made of, it's tougher than the hoard. Focus one limb at a time."
Without another word, Rage darted away, moments before a bloodied stump slammed into where she had just been. Although the stump appeared to be an injury it was far more deadly than an ordinary clawed paw. Hundreds of bone shards sought to puncture the skin, as much as the drooling blood threatened to cause slip and fall mishap. The design of the construct was macabre but brutally effective.
"My turn."
Momentarily freed from the beast's weight, Bolo's arms transformed into spiked clubs, in moments. Swinging out, the golem mushed several of the interwoven limbs that Rage had weakened. It was a microscopic win compared to the thickness of the amalgamation of twisted limbs but a win nonetheless. The attack itself was followed by a quick backwards kick from the construct that sent Bolo reeling back. Fragments of stone splintered from the golem as the bone shafts within the limb chipped away at the rock and earth.
"Zlatan."
"Rage."
"Bolo."
Mooch called out in turn, directing them each to attack when there was a new opening.
They continued to press their advantage, slipping in and out of the wolf's range of attack. They learnt how it attacked, learnt to read the twitching of its warped limbs. Only when Zlatan missed a concussive punch did they realise something was wrong. Given the size of the beast, there was no way he should have missed. Suddenly unbalanced and overextended, the wolf appeared to crumple and folden. Without the traditional skeletal structure they expected, the wolf twisted in on itself and redirected its weight to crush the the battle-mage. Suddenly, Zlatan was submerged in pale flesh.
Even in the second of panic that froze them all, they couldn't hear a sound escape from under the construct.
Driven to action, they all threw everything they had into attacking the beast. Bolo threw down its fists with incredible force against the creature's head, trying not to also crush Zlatan beneath. Only the golem could feel how futile the attacks felt on the spongy flesh of the construct. Like punching a pillow, the blows felt powerless.
Rage manically began slicing through the limbs of the beast. She didn't know the man beneath the construct but if he was going to die it would be for a purpose. Every attack from her shredded segments of welded limbs. Zlatan would die but, if she was lucky, the beast might be hobbled.
Tears in his eyes, Mooch ran forward. Charged arrows melted the writhing limbs together but only seemed to cement Zlatan's position. He began punching with mana-coated fists, sizzling away at the flesh. Every punch felt as though it did nothing.
None of them noticed Nightmare's approach. Having taken a hands-off role in this segment of the trial, he had sunk into the background. If they had looked, the team would have seen the perpetual blur around the image of a young boy twisting. Each shift carried with it some hidden change. He had been observing the creature. Something had felt wrong and now he knew why. Standing above the construct his own twisted bloodied limbs revealed themselves. Each long and thick like a gladiatorial octopus, he thrust them into the centre of the construct. Tunnelling through the twisted innards of the construct, suddenly it lurched. Nightmare smiled. Blood-speckled and thrust into a Lovecraftian beast his grin silenced many of the crowd above them.
The beast lept, revealing Zlatan's crushed form.
"UUUGHHHHH," the formerly crushed mage gasped for breath.
"You fucking idiot!" Mooch sighed, rushing to pull up his red-faced sputtering friend.
Zlatan didn't retort. This time he only awkwardly smiled and gave his thanks. He truly was grateful. Crushed under unbelievable pressure, swamped in darkness, he was sure he had been about to die.
"The fuck was that?" Rage interrupted, staring at Nightmare's tentacles.
"It's just like the golem, it had a core... I-if it hadn't moved I would have gotten it."
"See... all part of the plan. I was bait," Zlatan grinned, even when Mooch punched him on the shoulder.
Fighting the wolf-like entity up close changed their perspective of the rest of the hoard. It wasn't that there were so many bodies that the hoards had blocked out the light but an effect of the entities themselves. On the wolf, it was more obvious but it seemed to warp the space around it. Only now, so close to a greater work did they realise the ingenuity that had gone into it. Far larger than it should have been, its shadow loomed and convulsed around them. Shifting to deflect their attacks was one thing but, at the same time, the shadows sought to distract and obscure their target before they even launched an attack. The shifting current of limbs writhed, lightly obscured in tendrils of darkness. Yet again, the prowess of their true opponent behind the constructs showed their genius... and this time they almost succeeded in killing Zlatan.
Regrouping, they stared the construct down. It was time for round two.
Staring back, the construct had lost much of its former horrid grandeur. It oozed heavily from its head and hind legs. Its posture now sloped off to one side. Hidden beneath it, its flesh pulled closer like a continual wave. Nightmare had struck it deeply, it could feel the tendrils in its cold chest even now.
-------------------
Watching the ensuing carnage below, a golden fist clenched.
'They were meant to lose faster than this.'