Bob stared into the shadows where he’d glimpsed the summoners. A sly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him, the pain of his fallen companions replaced by a cold, calculated rage. They had summoned the Abyssal Reptilian Menace. They were the orchestrators of this madness.

And they were about to pay.

Instead of sending out a scout, Bob chose a more direct approach. He clenched his sword tightly and began to walk forward, his steps slow and measured, careful to avoid any loose stones or debris that might give him away. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind remained sharp and focused. He moved with the shadows, using the natural gloom of The Abyss to cover his approach.

The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and blood, the sounds of battle now distant behind him as he zeroed in on the source of the portal. He could still hear the faint murmur of the summoners’ chanting as he neared, their voices in unison, fueling whatever dark magic kept the Abyssal creatures coming. Bob paused, crouching behind a jagged rock formation, his eyes scanning the dark figures huddled together.

He counted three of them, cloaked in dark robes, their hands moving rhythmically as they chanted, the portal beside them swirling with malevolent energy. Their staves glowed faintly in the darkness, the eerie light casting their gaunt faces in sharp relief. Bob's grip tightened on the hilt of Peace Bringer. He could feel the hum of the sword's magic, waiting to be unleashed. But first, he needed a plan.

Bob closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, as a plan began to form in the back of his mind. He called forth the power of the Summoner's Rolodex, and watched as the reels manifested and spun silently next to him. The Monster reel spun, cards going by faster than Bob could track. Until the Zombie Shrieker card was locked in. Bob chuckled to himself as his lips curled up in satisfaction. Then the multiplier reel manifested and began its spin. Bob watched as numbers kept flashing by until a 6x multiplier was locked in.

Six Zombie Shriekers manifested around Bob, their decaying forms blending seamlessly with the shadows. Their hollow eyes gleamed faintly, their bodies twitching with barely restrained malice. They waited, poised to strike. Bob glanced at each of them and then whispered his command, his voice a low rasp in the silence.

"Two zombies per summoner. Wait for my signal."

The Shriekers nodded in eerie unison, their bodies melting back into the darkness, positioning themselves around the three summoners. Bob remained crouched, his eyes never leaving the dark-robed figures. His heart raced with anticipation, but he stayed still, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The tension in the air was thick, the chanting of the summoners steady, oblivious to the death that lurked just out of their view. Bob took a deep breath, his muscles coiling with energy. Then, with a swift and fluid motion, he drew his sword, Peace Bringer, from its sheath.

The blade erupted with light, illuminating the entire area in a brilliant, blinding glow. The summoners gasped, startled and disoriented by the sudden blaze, but they had no time to react. Bob sprang from the shadows like a viper, his sword plunging deep into the chest of the closest summoner, right through the heart.

The man let out a strangled cry, his eyes wide with shock and pain as his life ebbed away in an instant. Blood splattered the ground as Bob twisted the blade, wrenching it free with a savage pull. That was the signal.

The Zombie Shriekers attacked.

From the shadows, they struck with brutal efficiency. Their bony hands reached out, clawing at the summoners’ throats, tearing into their flesh with savage precision. The summoners screamed in terror, but their cries were short-lived as the Shriekers tore them apart, their razor-sharp claws silencing them forever.

Bob stepped back, watching with grim satisfaction as the portal wavered and then winked out, the dark magic sustaining it dissipating into the air as the summoners’ lives were snuffed out. The Abyss fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint, wet sounds of the Shriekers finishing their grisly work.

The portal was gone. The summoners were dead. But his rage remained, simmering beneath the surface. This was only the beginning. There were more threats lurking in the depths of The Abyss, more enemies to be hunted down and destroyed.

He kept Peace Bringer unsheathed, his gaze sweeping over the bodies of the fallen summoners. The Zombie Shriekers stood silently now, awaiting his next command, their grotesque forms barely visible in the fading light of the sword’s magic.

“Good work,” Bob muttered to the Shriekers, his voice low and grim. He turned away from the carnage, his mind already plotting his next move.

The Abyss had thrown its worst at him. Now it was his turn to return the favor.

The blood of the summoners still coated Bob’s blade, but there was no time to relish in victory. Bob wiped the blood from his sword, his face a mask of cold fury. The echoes of battle still rang through The Abyss, and there were more monsters yet to be slain.

Bob stepped forward, his Zombie Shriekers slinking behind him, their grotesque forms waiting for the next command. The acrid scent of the summoners' blood still hung in the air, but a new presence began to take shape—the unmistakable thunder of wings, echoing through the darkness.

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He looked up, his eyes narrowing as the familiar forms of Abyssal Drakes appeared, descending from the swirling void above. Bob smiled as his Drakes returned, until they screeched at Bob. Bob immediately knew something was wrong. They were fewer than the group of Drakes that he had summoned.

Yet they were still a formidable force. Their sleek, black scales shimmered in the dim light, their eyes burning with primal fury. Bob could see the hunger in them, the hunger for vengeance over the death of their massive ally.

Bob’s muscles tensed as the drakes circled above, their wings flapping ominously. This was no time for rest.

From the shadows, the chittering of small feet filled the air. The Squirrel Soldiers, led by their valiant leader Captain Nutmeg, emerged in formation. Their eyes gleamed with a ferocious determination, tiny though they were. Captain Nutmeg, resplendent in his acorn helm and leaf-clad armor, raised his tiny sword toward Bob, his voice a squeaky but fierce rallying cry.

"Sir! We stand ready!"

Bob nodded in acknowledgment, his face set in grim focus. He had no words for them, only action.

The Abyssal Drakes, sensing their opportunity, screeched and began their descent, their jaws opening wide, spewing dark fire toward Bob’s forces. But Bob was ready.

"Hold the line!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos as he raised Peace Bringer high. The sword shimmered with the last of its magical light, pushing back the encroaching darkness. "Zombie Shriekers, on them!"

With a chorus of bone-chilling wails, the Zombie Shriekers surged forward, launching themselves toward the drakes with reckless abandon as soon as they wrre within reach. Their claws lashed out at the massive beasts, clinging to their scales, raking at their leathery wings.

The drakes roared in anger, twisting and thrashing in an attempt to dislodge the undead attackers, but the Shriekers were relentless. Even as one drake snapped its jaws around a Shrieker, tearing it in half, the undead creature’s upper body continued clawing and biting at its attacker.

Bob charged into the fray, his sword swinging with brutal efficiency as he sliced through the leg of a drake that had swooped too low. The beast let out a guttural screech, crashing to the ground in a heap as Bob delivered a killing blow, stabbing Peace Bringer deep into its throat. Black ichor sprayed into the air as the drake convulsed, then lay still.

Behind him, Captain Nutmeg and the Squirrel Soldiers were a flurry of motion, their tiny bodies darting in and out of the shadows, harrying the drakes with relentless hit-and-run tactics. They scurried up the sides of the drakes, stabbing at vulnerable points—eyes, joints, underbellies—anything they could reach. For all their size, they were fierce and cunning, distracting the drakes long enough for Bob and the Shriekers to strike the killing blows.

It was at this point thar Bob heard the flap of more wings as his group of twenty Abyssal Drakes emerged out of the shadows of the depths and joined the battle. Claw against claw, flames and fangs flashed in the darkness. Drakes fell from the sky one after another, Bob was unsure which were his allies and which were his enemies at this point but he continued his fight.

The battle was brutal and unrelenting, the air thick with the stench of burning flesh and blood. Bob’s endurance was tested as he fought alongside his army, hacking and slashing through the waves of drakes that descended upon them.

The Zombie Shriekers fought with the tenacity of the damned, and though several were torn apart by the drakes' ferocious attacks, their ire never seemed to dwindle. Quite the opposite actually, for every Shrieker that fell, their undying rage surged.

Bob ducked beneath a drake’s swipe, the massive talons missing him by inches. He spun on his heel and drove his sword into its exposed belly, ripping upward with a savage roar. The drake let out a strangled cry before collapsing in a heap at his feet, its body twitching in its death throes.

One after another, the drakes fell, their once-proud forms reduced to broken, lifeless husks. The tide of battle was turning, but Bob knew they could not afford to let their guard down.

He glanced over at Captain Nutmeg, who was directing his troops with military precision. The Squirrel Soldiers had suffered losses as well, but their spirits were unbroken, their resolve unshaken.

"Press the attack!" Bob shouted, his voice hoarse from exertion. "Don’t let up!"

The remaining drakes, sensing their impending defeat, let out desperate, ear-splitting shrieks as they tried to retreat into the shadows. But there was no escape.

Bob and his army pursued them with unyielding fury, cutting down the stragglers one by one. The last drake, a massive beast with deep scars across its scales, let out a final, defiant roar as Bob plunged Peace Bringer into its skull, silencing it forever.

The room fell into an eerie stillness, the only sounds the ragged breathing of Bob and his allies. The bodies of the slain drakes littered the ground, their blood pooling in the cracks of the stone floor.

The Zombie Shriekers stood motionless, their grotesque faces twisted in unnatural grins as they awaited further orders. The Squirrel Soldiers reformed their ranks around Captain Nutmeg, saluting Bob with a quiet respect.

Bob wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest heaving from the exertion. It was done. The room had been cleared of every enemy. The Abyss had thrown its worst at him, but he had emerged victorious.

But then, something strange began to happen.

The infinite darkness that had surrounded them for so long began to dissipate, as if some unseen force was lifting a veil from the world. Bob blinked, his eyes struggling to adjust as the oppressive shadows gave way to an impossibly bright light. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, pure and radiant, blinding in its intensity.

Bob and his companions groaned in pain, shielding their eyes with their arms as the light flooded the room. It felt as though the very fabric of The Abyss was unraveling, the dark magic that had permeated the air dissolving in the face of this new, overwhelming force.

“What… what is this?” Captain Nutmeg squeaked, his voice uncharacteristically nervous.

Bob didn’t answer. He could feel something deep within the light—something ancient, something powerful. It was as if the very essence of The Abyss had been torn away, revealing the true nature of the world beneath.

He tried to force his eyes open, squinting against the brilliant glow, but it was impossible to see anything beyond the blinding whiteness.

And then, from the depths of that light, a voice boomed out. A deep humming sound filled the depths.

It was a voice that shook the very ground beneath their feet, reverberating through the air with an otherworldly power. It spoke no words—at least, not yet—but the sheer force of its presence was enough to send a chill down Bob’s spine.

He stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat as the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. His hand tightened around Peace Bringer, but he knew, deep down, that no blade could protect him from whatever was about to come next.

The battle had been won, but a new challenge was about to begin.

The voice from the light hung heavy in the air, filling the space with a palpable tension, as the hum intensified.

And then… nothing.