Jeldorain bellowed, Frostchain swinging in an arc over his head. To our side, I noticed Kevinar level a hand crossbow and fire, its twang unheard as its bolt popped forward to shatter against the wizard’s dome.

Above us, the air crackled with the tension of an impending storm. Dark storm clouds swarmed together, the sudden crack of deafening thunder booming through the hallway. A droplet of liquid flame dripped down, sizzling as it scorched the stone beneath us. It was followed by another, and another.

“Damned be all mages,” yelled Ike as he charged forward past us, launching himself at the right flank of the dwarven formation and plunging through the barrier of the shield. A dwarven fighter moved to meet him, swinging his ax in a wide arc, but Ike ducked under it, dropping bodily to the floor and using his impetus to slide through the warrior’s legs. As he did so, he plunged one of his daggers into the dwarf's Achilles heel. A scream, raw and laden with anguish, filled the air as the dwarf crumbled, his ability to stand ruined by the precise, debilitating strike.

Continuing on with his attack, one hand now free, Ike scrabbled at the earth as he slid, gathering a handful of dirt and gravel. Bounding up with incredible agility, the kobold leapt to his feet and, with a flick of his wrist, he cast his gathered detritus into the eyes of a second fighter. Cursing and blinded, the dwarf lashed out in desperation, his strike landing not on Ike, but on one of his own, knocking the third dwarf back into a fourth one.

The disturbance caught the attention of the mage, and the energy shield broke as he turned to face the crazed kobold. Raising his arms, an arcane chant echoing unnaturally from his lips, crackling energy formed in both of his upturned hands . . . only for two blades to push through his back. A booted foot kicked the mage forward, knocking him to his knees, and Kevinar emerged from the shadows. The dark elf stomped on the back of the wizard’s head, ending him even as he raised dual blades to block the overhead chop of a fifth fighter.

Ike turned towards this new opponent and threw his dagger, lodging it in the same dwarf’s eye. The dwarf bellowed and kicked out, booting Kevinar backwards, but Ike ran forward and dropped, bowling into the unsteady warrior’s knees and knocking him down to the ground before popping up, weaponless, to face the next warrior beyond him.

Meanwhile Jeldorain tore into the ranks of the already disoriented dwarves, engaging his Whirlwind Attack almost off-handedly as he stared at the hated cleric. The raining flame of the storm had gained strength and volume, fat pearl-sized droplets all homing in on us, steaming into our icy skin and scorching craters into our hide.

The priest narrowed his eyes, making contact with our own. Snarling, he clapped his hands together and a massive bolt of electric lava tore out from the storm above, seeming to suck the energy out of the storm as it lanced into us. I watched in horror as it ripped bodily through us before exploding, throwing everyone but the cleric sideways to skitter against the walls.

“Begone, foul infernal of the frosts. Your kind are slaves, not worthy of our king,” he bellowed.

Jeldorain tried to rise, but I could see a litany of heavy debuffs imprinted on his soul. His spirit staggered. “Jezebel,” he whispered, confused.

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Hey there, buddy, I said reassuringly, grabbing his spirit by its shoulder. Let me take over from here. At least until the debuffs are over.

Jezebel, he moaned again, incoherent. I pushed him over to the side, then took over our body, feeling the sudden pain of having a bloody hole torn through me. I groaned, but pushed myself up, now seeing firsthand the wet liquid insides of Jeldorain spilled over the floor before me.

I stood, my eyes wide and unbelieving as I saw that my hit points were in the single digits. The cleric . . . that spell . . . he’d almost ended us in an instant.

I’d have to do something clever. And I’d have to do it quickly.

Jeldorain, I called. Cast ASSERT, now!

Moaning and confused, Jeldorain’s spirit raised a hand up and the chill of icy mana swirled within us, cycling outward in a blasting shockwave that exploded outward, slapping against all of the magic around us.

The cleric's eyes widened in alarm as his incantations stuttered to a halt. The dwindled storm above faltered, the liquid flames and electric lava dissipated, and all but one of the dwarves’ armored suits lost the glow that gleamed from their runes.

The cleric, though surprised, was quick to recover. His lips moved in silent fury, but his spells found no purchase in the disrupted magical field. Around us, the sounds of battle resumed, steel clashing with steel, but I could see that our enemies were faltering, their morale about done.

I glanced at Frostchain, making sure its magic was still intact. With the knowledge that it was, I charged, casting Minor Healing on my way.

The cleric stumbled back, his mouth agape as he struggled to comprehend his sudden impotence, his hands weaving meaninglessly through the air. “My magic! You took my magic!”

“No, Jeldorain did that. Scion of Thrymheimr. Behold the might of the frost infernals,” I growled, pissed at what this man’s god had done to Jerldorain’s people. Roaring, I swung my shield out in a downward arc, smashing it into the top of his skull. The cleric collapsed, muttering confusedly in a sudden and obvious swarm of debuffs.

He tried to rise, but I smashed him again, a satisfying crack echoing as he crumpled to the ground. Unthinking, a sudden and boiling rage coursing through my body, I swung Frostchain into him repeatedly. The cleric screamed once, before falling silent.

I wasn’t sure when that silence started, but I knew I’d been pounding the body for some time when the combined hands of Ike and Kevinar brought me back to the present. I peered dazedly around the battlefield, seeing that the dwarven warriors had fled, leaving their dead comrades behind.

“Take it easy, Jeldorain,” Ike said gently. “The fight is over.”

“Jeldorain’s on the outs,” I replied, coming to my senses. “I’m back in the driver’s seat.”

Kevinar cocked his head, his eyes unreadable. “Beware this shared soul of yours. It might be that the both of you are drifting together and becoming one.”

I growled. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. You don’t know Jeldorain’s story. This man and what he represents . . . I just gave him what he deserved.”

Kevinar nodded and turned to face the gate to the chamber room. “Whatever the case, it would seem that we are now at our objective. Sadly, I am entirely without magical weapons now.” He held up his blades, and I noticed their lack of aura and sparkle. “Can you assure me that your vengeance has been meted, and that we are going to approach the king with a measure of strategy?”

Sighing, I held up a finger, signaling them to wait, while I turned to Jeldorain’s soul for consultation. Is everything alright over there? I asked.

Vengeance has been meted, oh great champion. I will stay here for a while and rest. Today has been . . . emotional.

“Jeldorain says everything is as it should be and we’ll proceed strategically,” I translated. The infernal hmphed and grinned sadly, before turning away and retreating deeper into our body.

“Strategic, eh?” Ike said, grinning. “Sounds like it might be a good time to loot these bodies.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Kevinar added. A moment later, he was nowhere to be seen.