With a fierce battle cry, an orc Berserker cleaved a zombie in twain. His partner, a goblin, incinerated the corpse as fast as she could to prevent it from mutating with its brethren, sweat dripping off her face as she took big lungfuls of air, a telltale sign of low mana for spellcasters. The sailors and adventurers that were on board The Adventurer IV had spent the last three hours clearing out the undead that had boarded the vessel. The first hour was them all desperately buying time for the mages to incinerate the spike that had opened up into a veritable web of boney tentacles to trap the airship in place. Dozens had lost their lives to the Natural Undead, whose ranks had increased with every sailor and unprepared adventurer they slew.
The ship was now several miles away from the city and floating twice the height it had been at while over Urstem. The exterior was blackened with soot from all the fire spells the spellcasting adventurers had used, and a rapidly dissipating aroma of burnt flesh hovered around the ship.
“I think that’s the last of them,” the orc huffed out, thunking his axe handle on his shoulder. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime, big guy,” the goblin grinned from beneath her wide-brimmed pointed hat, her large ears jangling with jewelry. “What were those things anyway? They sure as sure weren’t normal zombies.”
“No idea, but I think the Guildmaster needs us,” the orc shrugged as the dwarf in question beckoned adventurers over to him. The morning sun did little to lift everyone’s spirits, but soon a gathering of twenty adventurers stood about. Walking up to the dwarf as he began thanking them for their help were the three members of the Death Guild that had boarded earlier, the Guildmistress still had a furious expression on her face.
What followed was an incredibly irate gore-soaked vampiress verbally chewing out the dwarf about how this all could have been avoided had he informed her guild months ago, in rather eloquent detail and with word choices in multiple languages that made the various sailors nearby gasp at the new additions to their vocabulary. Several moments later, she sat down on an overturned barrel after releasing the dwarven Guildmaster and did her best to look non threatening. She failed on this, but nobody wanted to say anything.
“There were children on board, Throgard,” she finally said in a defeated tone. “Those who had lost their parents in one of the many wars being waged on this gods forsaken planet, entrusted to my Guild for safekeeping and giving them a decent childhood. They’re down there, somewhere,” she held up a faintly glowing talisman with almost a dozen steady jewels. “And this is my proof, each of them has a necklace tied to this talisman, so that we may always find the lost that are in our care.”
“We’ll find them,” Throgard slowly said, looking at his guilders. “But do you even know where they are?”
“I saw a small skiff heading down towards the wreckage of our guild hall!” A sailor exclaimed, holding the stump of his left arm. “I was looking over the side when I heard a big explosion, and saw it heading down. It looked like the engine was shot, a lot of black smoke was streaming behind it.”
“There’s tunnels under the city, if they’re at the guildhall, we can use those to get there,” Lonlin piped up as he walked over. “I am afraid I cannot provide much help here, the future vision is cloudy and unclear for the first time since I was but an apprentice Oracle.”
This worried several of the gathered adventurers who knew the elven Oracle to always have clear visions of the future. Such visions had saved many of their lives after they had consulted him before a dangerous quest.
“Torruk, Goruna, you both were with us when we escaped Urstem that night,” Throgard looked towards the orc and his goblin partner. “Take a team through the tunnels, be as swift as you can. I need to send a message to the various branches to send reinforcements. We’re also dealing with a Fallen Dungeon down there, and if I am not mistaken, all those creatures were its defenders. As you all know, it’s incredibly uncommon, but not unheard of, for a dungeon to be above ground. Find the children, and if you find it, smash the Core.”
Torruk gave the Guildmaster a warrior’s salute while his friend nodded gravely. Throgard and Lonlin both left hurriedly, calling over several scribes as they went. The green skinned duo looked around the group, who mostly looked away.
“So, who wants to join us?” Goruna spoke up hopefully. An angry expression on her face grew as several adventurers shuffled off.
“Not gettin’ paid for this,” one human in the back piped up. “And I think I speak for everyone here, we just had the fight of our lives, we aren’t gonna risk it for some kids who’re probably dead anyway.”
This drew furious glares from the Death Guilders, who as a whole, stood up and walked over to stand next to Torruk.
“Are we not among the best in the Guild?” Torruk asked as his chrome Guild sigil shined in the sunlight upon his pauldron, gesturing with his arms spread wide. “Rescue missions are one of the most often assigned quests in the entire world!”
“Yeah, and the ones that don’t have a cash reward like this typically don’t have a certain death, nor Fallen Dungeon proximity, caveat,” retorted the human who turned to walk away. “Go ahead and go on, but count me out. I’ll let the others down below that you’re looking for volunteers, however. Don’t know how many would really be willing to join you, though.”
The rest of the adventurers made their way to other areas of the ship, leaving the small group standing there. Minutes passed, with Torruk and Goruna staring at eachother, dumbfounded. Minutes passed, and a large group of adventurers of various species appeared from one of the main stairwells, led by a trio of clerics.
“You’re here to help?” Torruk questioned.
“Yes,” the lead elven cleric replied. His robes obscured his face, a stylized symbol of the sun prominently displayed on his chest, along with embroidered flames dancing up along the sleeves and hem of the robe. “Unlike the majority of the adventurers here who care only for their next payday, we twenty-three are more charitable than they. I am Shimo Smith, cleric of Sola, Lord of the Sun and Justice. With this group, we have six healers, ten fighters six of whom specialize in tanking the others in ranged combat, two rogues, one sorcerer, and one warlock.”
“Well met,” Torruk replied, visibly happy to see the large group. The sound of boots thumping in time on the deck behind him announced the presence of another, slightly smaller group in gleaming white armor in seven distinct styles. Two dwarves approached behind the white knights, both bedecked in brown robes and wielding stone staffs. One of them exaggeratedly rolled his eyes as the duo passed the group who stopped in perfect formation.
“I am known as White King,” stated one of the knights from the center of the group as he did a warrior’s salute. He lacked a helmet, but had a billowing cape and a large sword on his back. “We will accompany you to your entry point and guard it until you return.”
“Rok and Ston Karlsson,” the two hairless dwarves introduced themselves with a nod each. The only way to tell who was who was a circular disc attached to their robes, one with an R, one with an S. “Geomancers. We’ll clear out any caveins, and try to pinpoint the Fallen Core.”
Torruk greeted them, than noted that no more adventurers were coming towards the group. He slowly inhaled, then just as slowly exhaled as he uttered a silent prayer to Barbus, God of War.
“Alright, we’ve got a job, let’s get to it,” he stated and began walking towards a skiff that was currently being moved overboard by several sailors. “Sooner we’re done, sooner we’re out of this cursed land. The tunnels are also extremely long, we’ve got a long trip ahead.”
An hour later, the tunnel entrance lay before the group. One of the large doors had fallen inside, the other hanging on by just a hinge. A thick layer of dust lay over everything, but there was a trail that had been recently disturbed coming from the direction of the lost city heading into the tunnel. There were no tracks of anything coming out of the tunnel, which made the seasoned adventurers wary.
“Alright, we might have a problem,” said one of the ranged fighters as he stood up from where he had investigated the trail going inside. “These tracks are fresh, and from what my skills tell me, there’s between one to several hundred of those undead inside. Is this place just one long tunnel?” He directed the question at Torruk, who shook his head.
“There are three sections of rooms, one about fifty feet in, another halfway to the city, which is also the largest section of rooms, and then a small three-room section at the turn to the Guildhall,” the orc replied. “From what I saw when we left, the latter section was a part of the local Hall’s treasury. The center section is the size of a small city, and has rooms and accommodations for several hundred adventurers, in the past it had been used as a training area for newbies, more recently for smuggling and more off-the-books quests. This last section was empty aside from several heavy gates to keep non-adventurers out. I can’t remember if we left them open or not.”
“Standard adventuring formation then,” Shimo suggested. As the group entered, the melee fighters took the lead, followed by the Karlsson brothers, the ranged fighters, rogues, and mages, and then finally the clerics. They did not have to light any torches, for the passageway was lined with three rows of lightstones, one on either side of the walls, and one along the center of the ceiling. The stones were still glowing, albeit many had started to dim.
Once the last of them had passed by the broken doors, the White King and his group took up a formation with their backs to the gaping maw of the tunnel. The skiffs were tended to by several sailors who watched the surroundings nervously.
Torruk led the group through the passage into the first set of rooms. Aside from an iron portcullis that had been ripped through the center wide enough to let a wagon pass, the area was untouched. The group passed through after giving a cursory examination to the area, finding nothing of value.
As the group progressed deeper through the tunnel, a growing sense of unease filled the air. It did not help that there were some alarmingly large cracks in the floor and walls at random intervals, often plunging the tunnel into semi-darkness due to the light stones being destroyed. The Karlsson brothers stopped frequently to use their skills and fix the damage to prevent any collapses, and at one point had to completely replace the floor due to it falling into a natural cave. There was one Natural Undead below, which the hellhound torched immediately before the floor was sealed.
Two more long hours later, they began hearing strange sounds coming from further ahead.
“Do you hear that?” The hellhound asked, her ears twitching atop her head.
“I do, but I am unfamiliar with the sounds,” a wolfkin fighter replied. “How far are we from the central area?”
“Just through that gate,” Goruna replied, pointing at a large gateway tall enough for a giant to walk through and wide enough for three wagons. It was still a long way off, but was very visible due to the amount of light coming from the area it was in. “On either side of the city is one large room for people to enter and exit from. If you enter, the inside gate is closed, and it only opens once the gate you came from is closed. Something about better security or something?”
The group readied their weapons as they approached the gate, seemingly passing the last mile in seconds. As they approached, damage from the impact in Urstem became more and more apparent. Flanking either side of the gateway had been giant statues of famous adventurers, now all but one had toppled and crumbled into unrecognizable ruin. The last standing one was of a robed wizard who held a giant orb-shaped light stone in its palm, shedding light in the area below. The face had long ago been damaged into unrecognizable ruin, leaving the identity of who had earned such a distinction ponderously unknown. The gate was closed, and strangely undamaged.
Torruk walked up to the statue’s plinth and after searching around for a minute, managed to push a secret button in the rear. As he rejoined the group and readied his axe, the sounds of undead moans, as well as curious popping sounds emanated from the other side of the gate as they waited. Two agonizingly tense minutes later and the giant doorway began to rise into the ceiling.
The gathered guilders tensed for the worst as the gate fully opened, revealing a room that was surprisingly undamaged, and had several beds, tables, and chairs laying off to one side, and in the opposite lay a table filled with fresh fruits and even fresher loaves of bread, some of which still had a light steam rising off of them. The last side of the stadium-sized room had few cracks, mostly due to age rather than tremors, and the gate there was closed.
“What?” One of the clerics, who wore dark robes, gasped aloud.
“Everyone in, be wary of an ambush,” Torruk ordered. He was the first in, and nearly caused everyone behind him to fall over as he felt an incredible sense of peace fall over him, which oddly enough filled him with dread. One by one, the adventurers passed by him until they too felt the same feeling, stopping in place. The only ones who did not were the Death Guilders, who advanced into the room without fear.
“Come along adventurers,” Ravenna called sweetly. “There are no Naturals in this room, but I do sense them on the other side of that gate.”
“The safe room,” Gobruna muttered. “We’ve entered a dungeon.”
As the adventurers finally fully entered the room, some turned in alarm as they heard the gate behind them slam shut. The gate on the other side began opening quickly. Far quicker than Torruk or Gobruna remembered from the last few times they had passed this way over the years.
The gate stopped when it was open slightly taller than Ravenna, and everyone watched as a single Natural Undead tried entering the room. It slammed on an invisible barrier, and that’s when they heard the distinct sounds of gunfire, the yelling of various warcries, as well as an increase in the volume of the undead’s noises.
Ravenna immediately attempted to use a long-range skill to kill the Natural, but was bewildered that nothing happened.
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“We’ve entered a dungeon, Guildmistress,” the animated suit stated in a bored tone of voice. Twin orbs of fire lay behind the visor of the iron helmet it utilized. The suit itself was made of a mismatch of several different types and eras of armor, many with dents and rends along the surface. Strangely enough, the parasol it had first arrived with lay undamaged in a special holster on its back. It turned to the Dungeoneering Guild’s members and asked; “If I am not mistaken, this is the safe room?”
“It is,” Shimo replied, walking forwards. “No hostile entity may enter as long as it is occupied, and no damage may occur here. Such has been Dungeon Law for as long as we have records. Several dungeons in the past have attempted to circumvent, or remove the safe rooms entirely, but all have failed and were discovered to be Fallen Dungeons.”
“What are the Fallen, exactly?” The hellhound asked as the group began taking a long walk across the safe room. Most eyes were glued to the sole zombie, though some of the fighters were appreciating the room’s decor.
“According to the International Dungeoneering Guild’s charter, any dungeon that is found to be Fallen is to be exterminated,” The cleric who had gasped earlier explained. “This was an order explicitly given to our guild by Donjon, the Dungeon God himself, thousands of years ago. From one of these Fallen the Deadlands of An’kod sprang up on one of the faraway continents, due to not being dealt with in time. It took our entire guild at the time to overcome and slay that dungeon, but the lands lay manaless and barren to this day. Some of our current technology, like steam engines and gunpowder, were recovered from various Fallen Dungeons. To the best of my knowledge, all have been hostile to the various peoples of the lands they find themselves in, and none exactly know how or why a dungeon gets classified as Fallen though as I mentioned, there are ways we’ve found out over time. It is incredibly rare, however, for a newborn dungeon like this to be a Fallen, I wouldn’t believe it save the declaration came from the Guildmaster himself.”
This drew mumbles from the adventurers, who had heard this story before, and quiet introspection from the Death Guilders. The suit’s head snapped upwards, spying something everyone else could not, then just as suddenly returned to staring at the Natural that had beaten its arms to stubs on the barrier. The suit mumbled something that only its fellow Guilders could hear, and they nodded.
The hellhound rushed out of the room, and as soon as she was through the barrier her halberd ignited in blue flames as it spun around and split the zombie in two, both halves igniting into flame that reduced it to ash in moments.
“Shall we?” She smugly asked, tail wagging slightly as she rested the handle of her weapon on a shoulder lightly.
“Yes,” Ravenna replied, holding the talisman in her hand. The gems on it were glowing brighter than they had upon the ship. She held it up and the gems glowed even brighter. Her face grew worried, but in between inhaling and exhaling her gaze hardened as she walked up to her subordinate.
“Is it just me, or are they interrupting the whole dungeon-delve thing we’ve got going?” One of the fighters quietly asked Torruk.
“I doubt they’ve ever done a dungeon-delve before,” he replied with a shrug. “We keep to our formation, the three of them had held off the majority of the undead back on the ship from what I’d heard the sailors say. Any of the undead get behind them, we’ll handle it. You two,” he pointed to the two rogues, both of whom just screamed ‘assassin’ in their attire. “Scout for traps.”
At this, the adventurers returned to a modified version of their original formation and exited the safe room, none noticing that they were being watched. As soon as the last adventurer exited the room, a new noise appeared within the area, with an accompanying System popup in front of every newcomer.
Life in Stereo (Ambient) Dungeon Skill activated.
Now Playing: Hell March 3
Dungeon Defenders: +15% movement speed, increased cohesion
Dungeon Invaders: (Hostile entities) -15% movement speed, decreased cohesion
“What?” Was the unanimous exclamation from everyone in the group as they listened to the music that sprang up out of nowhere.
“My Goddess warned me about this a week ago,” the last of the clerics outright stated, her robes decorated in music notes. In her hands lay a flute. “I... I’m not sure if I can help with the Guildmaster’s request.”
This drew the eyes of all her guildmates and she shrank back.
“The God of Music, Maestro, wants this dungeon dead, just like Donjon, but his wife Soprana, who I follow, does not. You all saw the skill’s name, right?” The cleric fell back just a little more upon the glares the other clerics gave her. They all nodded. “It’s a brand new skill, available for all Bards and followers of Soprana. If we kill it, the skill goes aw-”
“We kill the dungeon, and that is our primary mission,” Shimo commanded flatly. He drew a mace from his side, its surface adorned with symbols of his god, and aimed it at her. “If you wish to continue with us, you must do your utmost to help us in this task. If not, go wait in the safe room, the guildmaster will decide what to do with you when we return.”
The woman looked to her fellows, finding a few ashamed faces, mostly from the melee fighters as well as Gobruna, as they did not come to the cleric’s aid for fear of the Guildmaster’s displeasure. The Death Guilders were already far out of eyesight, having moved ahead on their own. Sobbing, the music cleric attempted to flee back into the safe room, but nearly fell back on her rear as the door slammed shut. Her flight however, did not end there, as her legs carried her away far off into the distance of the city.
The rest of the group pushed deeper into the city, noting that the way forward was completely clear. There was no rubble, though there should have been judging by the many buildings they passed being in states of complete disrepair, some having even collapsed and were short walled outlines. The sounds of gunfire rapidly became clear that it was no mere guns, but more akin to the roar of cannonfire, as they approached the central area of the underground city.
The whole place was a mishmash of various building styles, with the oldest and generally most intact buildings clearly being made by dwarves. The second-most intact were clearly inspired by the Oni Kingdom on one of the far Eastern continents. Above them, embedded in the ceiling, was a massive lightstone that lit everything as if it were daytime outside. The shadows did not help the adventurer’s nerves, making them tense up near each open glassless window. Nothing popped out of the shadows at the group, eventually finding themselves finding the wolfkin ranger of the group who steered them towards the area where the noises were coming from.
The wolfkin’s ears twitched and he held up a fist, halting the group. He peered around a waist-high wall, then waved the group to his location. Torruk could barely hide his body behind the short wall, and as he looked over he inhaled sharply.
Below them, in a large circular clearing that used to house the training arena for the guild in bygone days, laid the remains of countless Natural Undead. Some were mere scraps of bone and seared flesh, rent by violent forces; but the vast majority were entombed in glimmering ice formations, flash-frozen in place with their wounds in clear display for anyone to see them.
However, as impressive as the sight was, the point of interest was at the other side, where the undead were converging. The sound down below, coupled with the music playing around them would be deafening, had they been near the fighting. As it was, they could still talk reasonably well without having to raise their voices.
A wall of living iron and fury, twenty two constructs belched trails of acrid smoke out of their backs that glowed with caged infernos inside. The red machines were not elegant, nor lithe, to any experienced eye they were built to take as much damage as they could dish out with their slabbed armor panels.
The constructs moved slowly, for their frames featured stubby legs, but speed was not important as the battle came to them, not vice versa.
“Shit, constructs,” one of the fighters spat out. “I hate fighting those things.”
“Why’s that?” The informative cleric from earlier asked. His robes were adorned with the symbols of a portcullis in front of two torches, indicating he was a Cleric of Donjon.
“Constructs don’t follow the System’s leveling, for the most part,” the fighter replied. “You never know how strong one is until you fight it, even using Scan or Analyze won’t help but get you the pattern of construct and its armaments. It could be weak as a level one Dirt-rank, or as strong as a goddamn, pardon the language sir clerics, dragon. And if it’s a dungeon-construct, well, you know that in the future if you kick enough of their asses, it’ll try to make them stronger.”
“I’d wager they are more dangerous than that, whatever is commanding them knows how to exploit their strengths, look!”
A wave of undead flesh crashed upon the first line of six constructs, all of which were equipped with rotary saw blades and strange cannons for arms, having some sort of revolving mechanism in the rear. Six arms rose and they swung in crimson arcs of steel that left behind trails of gore and hacked body parts, it was a typhoon of steel fighting against a flood of decaying flesh.
A large armored undead made its way through the horde, it was a rampaging behemoth that decided to plow through the curtain of iron; and in response an eruption of soot and fire signaled the stampede of a construct with wedges for fists that met the behemoth in a face-first slam that shook the bones of all those that were present. Flesh gave way to iron in a sickening crunch as the wedge-fists slammed forward on massive pistons and the behemoth rolled back, its dead bulk crushing its comrades by cartload, yet many more came. As soon as this happened the constructs adjusted their fighting arcs and the plow-construct retreated back into the circle where another of its kin awaited dormant for a challenge to test its mettle.
“Holy hell. You saw that? That hit could have killed a dragon, for sure!” One of the fighters hissed out. This was quickly challenged by his friends, who had faced feral dragons before and were fairly certain he was exaggerating.
“I’m more worried that we’re only seeing six of them fighting... What happens if they get overwhelmed?” Shimo rubbed his chin in thought, standing instead of crouching along the wall with the others.
Then the answer came, for at the back of the line eight constructs began their attack as the undead horde threatened with overwhelming the spinning death of the saw-constructs.
Four of the newcomers were pretty similar to the saw-constructs, but instead of saws they were armed with crude axes; clearly more meant for self defense than for front line fighting. However where the frontliners had quick but wimpy cannons, these had huge egg-shaped bombards that never stopped roaring once they began their attack, once lit volley after volley hammered the incoming masses blowing sky-high mangled corpses and breaking the momentum of the horde.
The other four also joined into the fight as soon as the undead began to use whatever they could from their brethren to mutate and strengthen themselves. These red armored behemoths were the definition of the term juggernaut, each sported twin cannons on their backs that firing wildly into the sea of undead and rapidly had to cool off, thus a rotation of two by two meant the hammering barrage never stopped.
“What’s the point of artillery if the undead will just use the parts of the fallen to grow stronger?” Torruk questioned, slightly thankful that the nightmare that was the undead foe before them was focused on something else.
“Their numbers have a limit. Sure, they grow strong, but eventually they will reach the point where there’s only a handful of behemoths and mutation is impossible I reckon,” the Dungeon Cleric spoke his thoughts aloud.
“What about the last six, Torruk? No artillery, but their weapons are shrouded in mist and ice. I can see it from here, my mage-sight tells me that winter is imbued in that steel,” the sorcerer spoke up for the first time. Frost misted the air around her, leaving her separated from her allies by several feet.
“That’s pretty obvious given the garden of popsicles we see. Those are probably the most dangerous ones since they are guarding the flanks of that formation, the part where you need the veterans. Look, few undead make it to them, but as soon as one is struck it becomes an ice sculpture. We need to avoid those at all costs!” Torruk replied, wondering if he was in over his head with this mission. One of the constructs froze a larger undead solid, then picked it up with its open hand and tossed it into the field of frozen meat popsicles.
“Look, the exit is over there behind the constructs,” spoke the ranger, who had been eying the rest of the room while the others were focused on the fighting.
Indeed, the door leading to the next chamber was kept safe by the constructs, but it opened wide and through it marched three squads of smaller iron-skinned constructs, ten, ten and two. Or so it would have seemed to an inexperienced eye; however any seasoned warrior could spot the iron-wrought discipline that was the mark of any veteran infantryman. The movements were not crude like the constructs, they were as cold as the winter-weapons they sported, and as unyielding as the thick slabs that made their armor. More black smoke billowed out from the backs of these newcomers, though far more restrained than their massive brethren.
“Is it possible to have constructs made out of flesh?”
“No, for anything that crafts the flesh is necromancy and that is incompatible with the Lore of Artifice for constructs,” the Dungeon Cleric replied. “At least, to the best of our knowledge. Many dungeons had tried, and we saw their failed attempts. None managed to make it work, thank the gods above for small miracles.”
“Well, then things went from challenging to hardcore. Those new constructs, look, they move in the same configuration as their peers. Halberds and shields for long range fighting, war hammers for crushing anything that even dares to approach them.”
“And what about that pair? The ones festooned with pouches?” Gobruna asked.
“Easy to spot a combat engineer, or an utility construct for the record. What better way to keep your units at the top of their game if you bring the workshop to the front? Even if they have weird tools, you can always recognize a hammer and a spanner,” interjected an artificer who was among the melee fighters. He wielded a massive hammer-wrench, obviously one of the adventurers who helped the sailors fix the ship occasionally. “When we manage to take them down, I definitely want to take a look at that gear.”
For the time, however, the newcomers stood there at the front of the gates, their backs silent; they were idling, releasing a small amount of smoke, clearly not wasting their energy. However, one thing that all of the dungeon’s defenders shared was the symbol emblazoned prominently on their armor plates: a triangle with a short line on each tip--that was either brass or gold, only gods could tell from this distance.
“And for a new dungeon like this to have such advanced constructs... It can only be Fallen,” the Dungeon Cleric stated. “Question is, do we fight the undead, or fight the constructs?”
“I say we let them bleed eachother dry,” the warlock piped up. “Those constructs will run out of ammunition eventually, right?”
“Probably,” Gobruna squeaked, having to stand on one of Torruk’s legs to see over the wall as a new noise was heard. “But uh, I think it’s going to get a bit more complicated, look.”
Life in Stereo (Ambient) Dungeon Skill activated.
Now Playing: Rock and Awe
Dungeon Defenders: +17% movement speed, +5% hp/mp regeneration per minute
Dungeon Invaders: (Hostile entities) +5% damage taken
The group looked where she pointed, and many an adventurer’s eyes widened in shock as they saw a giant blue horseless carriage move into the room off to one side of the small constructs, two identical chunky turrets on the top, aimed in the undead’s direction. When it stopped, they saw it seemingly come apart before disappearing before their eyes. Fear crept into the group as they noted that several of the smaller constructs had also disappeared from view.
Another group of ten constructs, this time blue and yellow, trundled into the room on the other side next to the hammer-wielding constructs. Large blocky chunks of metal were strapped to their arms, and none of the group could identify their function. Three of them bore a flaming paintjob, and had little flames on the ends of their arms. The leader of the group had what appeared to be a drill of some sort on the left arm. The ranger took small comfort in the fact that several of them were clearly humans based on their open-faced helmets, indicating that these newcomers were likely just normal people wearing suits of thick armor.
With a roar, a smaller, green colored horseless carriage flew into view. Torruk could identify two humans wearing strange green armor and wielding even stranger weapons in the front seats, while the rear held another construct. It jumped off with a loud crunch of stone as it hefted a large blocky chunk of metal, looking for all the world like a cannon with a tiny barrel. It bore green armor, a golden visor, and red shoulder pads. The torso armor around the clearly identifiable head was yellow in color, and the construct towered over the humans who dismounted and walked to talk to the red constructs, who while still taller than them, were still shorter than the green one. A trio of mismatched floating round constructs also dismounted from the rear of the vehicle, each of them with a trio of eyes and arms. One of them floated towards the twitching corpses of the undead and sprayed fire upon them.
“I think... we might need to come back with reinforcements,” Shimo gulped.