Mason ran behind Streak, bow at the ready. The huge wolf filled half the wide corridor, his head practically as high as Mason's. He felt Mason's fear for his friends, his knowledge of danger in multiple directions, his eagerness for a fight.

They were of like-mind now. Their senses had told them enough—this place was hostile and filled with evil things. There was nothing left but the hunt.

More robed figures emerged. These came in a pack of at least nine, three to a row, shoulder to shoulder across the corridor. Their mouths opened in fangs, clawed hands raising from beneath their robes as they hissed and charged.

Mason almost groaned with pleasure at the feel as his Elven bow as he drew. His arms felt the moment of strain, then he released his first shot, the string humming with force. He knew the moment he released that he'd struck. His arrow took the first in the eye.

Streak leapt straight into the disrupted pack. His huge body smashed through the center, the creatures trying to grab and claw at him but unable to resist the speed and weight.

Mason banished his bow and followed with his Claws. Streak had clamped his jaw on one of the creature's throats, tearing back and forth and spraying blood as three or four others tried to get him off. Then Mason arrived.

He slashed both blades downward, cutting through one creature's shoulder and down into its chest, slicing another's arm off entirely. The creatures didn't seem used to pain. They shrieked and howled in fear and agony, seemingly surprised to see their own blood and death arrive so swiftly.

Mason and Streak surprised them a little more.

Neither worried much about their own defence, ignoring claw marks and the occasional bite as they slashed, thrashed, and chewed their way through the pack of creatures.

Then only one was left, limbs cut and broken as it stared up with hate and panic from the ground.

"What is this place?" Mason asked as he activated Shared Pain and let Streak's minor wounds start balancing to him. He hardly even winced now as he felt his flesh open in several places. The creature was staring at him in horror as it coughed blood.

"It's you..." it said, as if in recognition. "How..." it sputtered blood, then laughed. "Doesn't matter. You failed. They're dead. They're all dead. You failed."

Mason felt his hand clench around the handle of a Claw. His patience was running out very swiftly.

"Who's dead? Where are the others?"

"Gone." The thing cackled. "Long gone. Go. See for yourself."

Mason probably should have asked more questions. Instead he hacked off the creature's head.

Whatever concern he felt for Rebecca and the others he pushed down somewhere they wouldn't interfere. Would the game simply kill his friends as part of its 'story'? He didn't think so. It often wasn't fair, and sometimes fucked up or broke its own rules. But he refused to believe it would just kill a bunch of players with no chance.

Which meant the creature was lying or talking about something else. Mason was here to save the ‘nephalai’. Is that what it meant? But how could he save them if they were already dead?

He stood and kept moving, hearing whatever dead creature following him still somewhere behind. It moved slowly, so that was something. He decided to just keep ahead of it until he had no other choice. But he dropped three exploding traps in a row for good measure.

He picked up the pace. He stopped trying to creep or worry about his Sleeves or his bow. He simply jogged down the stone passage with Streak at his side, eyes and ears tuned for danger. It didn't take long to find some.

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The corridor diverged again, this time in two short side halls both ending in rooms. He heard chanting in one of them and went straight for it.

"Maim, don't kill," he told Streak. "I want information."

The wolf made a kind of disappointed huff, and they found a dozen more of the robed figures kneeling at something like pews facing a pulpit.

Another robed figure stood on a platform holding a blade reverently in one hand, some kind of bone in the other. The one holding the blade noticed Mason enter the room, his mouth hanging open.

"It can't be..." he whispered. Then Mason was hacking into his faithful.

Some rose to fight, but most stared or scattered. Streak trampled at least two, grabbing another by the arm to thrash him like a doll. Mason sliced off chunks of leg.

Again the 'cultists' attacked with claws and sharp teeth, and again Mason and Streak mostly ignored them as they literally ripped them limb from limb.

Soon they stood in a room full of wailing, groaning misery. Six or so of the cultists were still alive, crawling and crying out in agony as Mason lifted the head priest by an arm stump.

"Tell me what the fuck is going on, or I'm going to kill every single one of you in this whole place."

The whimpering figure shook his head. "No point. It's too late. We are only worshipers of Daganost. This is his temple. We aren't part of the great story. We didn't kill them."

"Kill who?"

"The nephalai. Isn't that..." The thing paled. "Aren't you here...to avenge them?"

"How big is this place? How many rooms? How many levels? And what's that thing following me?"

Here the priest finally smiled.

"You aren't the arch-angel. You're just some...ignorant heretic who looks like him. I don't know how you got in here...but when the Guardians find you...no, wait! Stop!"

Mason drove his shorter Claw through the priest's heart. Then he butchered the other ‘worshipers’ in silence, ignoring the few pleads for mercy.

He couldn't know for sure, but intuition told him his friends were scattered around this crypt just like he was. And what he needed to do was find them before these 'Guardians' did, so they could fight them together.

At least in the absence of any better ideas, that was his plan.

He checked the room quickly for anything useful, then clicked for Streak, and ran towards the next.

* * *

Phuong opened his eyes to near darkness and the scent of dust. He looked for his friends in silence, touching the stone walls and checking the floors for traps or damage as his vision slowly adjusted. He was alone, which likely meant all of them were alone.

His first thought was clear: he had to find Alex.

Everyone else was strong enough to handle themselves, particularly Carl and Mason. Rebecca was tough and as long as she had mana could probably kill anything that wasn't too terrifying. Seamus could certainly kill what he needed to, and anyway it was Seamus so Phuong didn't much care.

But Alex was a 'support'. His powers were incredible and vital, but by himself he was vulnerable. And he was Phuong's friend.

From a lifetime of careful habit, Phuong crept through the halls searching for danger. He knocked on the walls for secret passages, sliding and tapping his feet on the tiles and their grooves, looking for any change. But he soon picked up his pace.

What would the others do? Mason and Carl would certainly start moving and searching for the others. Would Alex simply stay where he was?

It could be they had to all get past some individual trial and simply 'waiting' wasn't an option. Surely the 'game' wouldn't punish a support class too harshly? Provide them with the same test they might design for someone like Mason or Phuong with no chance of assistance?

He grit his teeth, fearing it might. But all he could do was hurry and find the others.

Soon he found strange robed figures wandering the halls or chanting in rooms. He waited and flattened against the stone, slipping past them and glancing in the rooms before moving on.

At the end of a long hall he found stairs going both up and down, and clenched his grip on his sword. Apparently this place was large. He'd seen no obvious sign or instruction on where to go, though it was possible he missed something, or should try to kill or interrogate some of the robed men.

Ultimately, he decided to go down.

'RoboGod' seemed to have a preference to make bosses at the top of towers or trees. He assumed this place would be the same. With a quick inspection for pressure plates or strange grooves in the roof or walls, Phuong crept down the stairs with sword at the ready.

That's when he heard the scream. It was clearly inhuman—a kind of monstrous howl somewhere between suffering and rage. A small symbol flared to life on the top of the stairs, and Phuong winced.

So, it had been some kind of trap after all. Merely a trap you couldn't see or touch without magic.

Whether the creature howling was now coming for him or simply on the loose for anyone, he didn't know. But he saw no reason to change his strategy.

With a last glance back into the gloom, Phuong hurried down the steps.