The battered monk stood over the damned knight or whatever he was. The kobold was a challenge, and a dangerous one at that. His breath attack and final attempt had sucked some of the literal life from her body. And the weight of lost time was heavier than she could imagine.

But she had no time to consider things as ashes began to fall from above. Looking up as the stone doors began to grind open, the gnoll saw the spider ceiling burning away. One of the kobold twin’s fire breaths had sent enough sparks and flames up to set the ceiling alight. Burning through it quickly as from the central tunnel, out flew three wyverns, with one small, black scaled rider.

“You… Madra’s He-hefty mounds…” The gnoll growled and glared for the first time at the pit master’s booth.

***

Silence filled the booth filled with elite fighters. As the weight of wrath and confusion filled the room.

The minotaur stared out at his prized wyverns being ridden by a kobold he had procured not even two days ago.

“Krieg… Get Prior and Grend” The master let out in a low rumble. And one of his guards bowed and dashed out of the room. “What is going on in my Pits?...”

***

“Tanny.” Glora stood and ordered their daughter with the seriousness of someone contemplating murder.

The Tabaxi was already standing, withdrawing her lever action as the wyverns crested the lip of the pits before falling back to circle forty feet above the gnoll down below.

Spoke stood quickly as well, taking a stance to cast if ordered. But the clan head holds them both back, watching as a guard, and then several of the controllers, leave their booths and rush down the stairs into the depths of the pit.

“Spoke, be prepared to take us’se down when I’se say.” Glora snapped out as the smaller goblin prepared and readied his spells. A glowing circle kept in his hands, ready to expand into a door. “If that damned bull keeps trying things, I’se gonna rip his horns out his skull.”

***

The pit kings all knew what these creatures were. They were the prized wyverns meant to grow and be groomed into a fierce swarm. A hell of wings and stingers poised to pounce and challenge the kings. The master had explained that these wyverns were to be the center piece of his challenges in this year's Gauntlet.

A trained flock, that he hoped to increase to five in total by then, would be the final challenge for the party that completed the Full Gauntlet. These creatures were to be trained agaisnt the kings themselves. To hone their hunting and instincts as a group to a new height. For the gnoll down below, who had yet to fight these creatures, the monk couldn’t take this as anything but an insult to her abilities and position.

On top of allowing a kobold to ride it, was simply insane. Beyond the bounds of the rite. He wants her to die, to fail. Otherwise, he wouldn’t risk the prized creature’s lives.

Something burned in the monk’s heart, pride and anger. She was not the greatest of the Kings, but she was not some helpless training doll for these flying lizards. The monk had slayed hundreds this day. Spiders, wolves, rats and lizards. She would kill these beasts... No... She would slaughter them.

***

Brelta stood in a mostly empty guild hall. His eyes were locked on the scrying screen with the rest of his staff members. The insides of the hall had been thrown into anarchy as an emergency notice to all guilds that a suspected attempt to rig the pit fights was leaked to the public, who took it as truth and stormed from their tables and chairs, carrying slips of proof for their bets.

Every citizen who entered the guild hall after this, was taken aside, briefed quickly, before they ran from the hall with wrath and anger in their eyes, after placing their bets of course.

The screams of anger carried throughout the Gold District. This was not a rite of blood and sport meant to challenge a warrior, as more and more clearly well armored slaves exited the tunnels with magical weapons, the cries grew louder.

The citizens of Barg’s Refuge who held tightest to the tradition of their city, saw the Pit Master’s “clear meddling” was an insult to their practices and trust in the Pits as an organization. In there eyes, this was the same as if the Mayor began to arrest the heads of clans or guilds in a political move to consolidate power. But with coin and reputation instead.

A growing crowd of nearly two thousand betters were marching down the district streets, swelling with numbers and weapons as they kept sweeping towards the pits. This was the Barg’s Refuge, a city of acceptable and reasonable levels of crime and corruption. No citizen viewed this riot as silly; most were jealous because their duties kept them from aiding in the demand for accountability. Not in the act of attempting to rig the rite, but the clear disrespect the former pit fighter turned master seemed to hold.

Thousands of people watched and cheered on the march as it went down streets, passing shops that handed out daggers, wooden spears and other simple weapons to the protesters. Their only goal was to reach the Pits and demand an explanation from the powerful and influential man who was trying to rob them of their sport and tradition.

***

In the depths below the pits, in the darkest recesses and most isolated of connections, a group of Drow gathered. Three females and a male stood around a crystal of onyx missing a large chunk form its form. Resembling a gouged-out eye that cast around the aura of undeath that dug into the group’s body like parasites. The “eye” was taken from the vaults of the Pit. A tool meant to reanimate those fallen creatures to be used in another, lesser challenge.

“Merge with it.” The shortest of the drow barked to the male. Pushing the foul creation closer to him.

He simply bowed and reached down to touch it. In seconds, his fingers and hand began to rot. Turning green and grey as flesh slowly dripped from his bone with chunks of skin and hair.

The three living drow watched the lesser silently transform, a battle of will against the alure of those who truly hated life in all forms, the call of the undead to take revenge upon those still clinging to their lives.

Slowly, the rotting extended up his arms, across his chest and up his neck. Leaving his face and head the last living portion of his body. He had succeeded in resisting the eye’s temptation. But he received no congratulations. For he had one last task to perform before he eventually lost the war with the eye.

***

The monk withdrew from their shoulder their sling and slowly began to load it. She watched the wyverns fly in circles, listening to the kobold scream in her draconic tongue. Curses and prayers, orders and threats. The gnoll had little interest in their rambling.

Pulling from her pouch, she withdrew three sling bullets with a single ice blue stripe drawn across its mystical patterns. Once the group was circling and began its decent, the monk broke out in a whirl of leather and fur.

One lead bullet struck the lead wyvern as the other two followed behind it on either side. The bullet thunked into the lead’s left wing, glancing off to leather hide to slam into the one on the far right. Where it detonated in an orb of ice and chill that completely submerged the beast before its speed carried it out the sudden storm of cold.

The gnoll repeated the attack, mirroring it to ricocheted and hit the leftmost creature to similar results. With the lead wyrm screaming down towards her, she dashed forward, sliding under its dive and missing its extended talons by inches before spinning on her knees and hurling the third bullet into the wyvern’s back. Where it bounced up and into the rider’s back, slamming it directly in the spine.

But just as the kobold was lost in a storm of cold and sudden snow, they managed to cast out a pair of magical bolts. One consisting of force, and the other a corrosive green acid. With two thin trails of cold, they streaked out and were dodged by the monk as they turned to meet the remaining two wyverns with her claws barred.

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The two beasts were diving down, their claws extended down and creating a whistle through the air as they snapped down at the monk. But, with perfectly timed strikes, she brought her fists up to collide with their maws, slamming them shut before they could snap down on her flesh. And slid into the space between the wyverns as they zipped past with intense speed.

The trio and rider pulled up into the air with powerful beatings of their wings. Climbing up forty feet or so before circling the gnoll yet again, trying to find a good strategy. The gnoll however, did the same. And after a moment of standoff, the rider began to whisper and touched her chest and the back of the wyvern. For a moment the kobold glowed with a light blue power, while their mount burned between the scales as if fire and magma burned within their veins.

The trio then separated and staggered a dive down to assault their prey. At the head, the rider and her mount dove down. Raining on the first pass a spray of fire that drew a wide path nearly forty feet in length over where the gnoll had been just a moment before. The rain singed the fur of the monk but did little more than that as the second wyvern fell with claws extended and tail prone to impale them.

But with a quick roll, both were missed. Leaving an opening for the gnoll to drag their claws along the stomach. Wetting them for the first time with the blood of the wyrms.

While right behind, the third repeats the same performance. This time however, the monk had to deflect the stinger as it encroached upon her throat, barely slipping past it and the claws that tried to shred her to ribbons. Leaving a deep gouge from her claws into the stinger itself.

The lead had swung around again, bringing themselves along so the rider could attempt their own breath of their draconic blood. A spray of chill and ice was launched on the second approach, hoping to catch the gnoll before they could roll away.

Not giving the rider the opportunity, the gnoll dashes towards the flight path of the wyvern, leaping through the air just before the cold breath could be brought across her form. Drawing her claws across the face of the wyrm and the chest of sorcerer. Only for a bubble of blue energy to deflect the claws at the last moment. Leaving just the wyvern harmed as it zipped past and suddenly sought the air again.

Again, the sorcerer circles and whirls through the air down at the gnoll. With overlapping breaths descending upon the gnoll as the other two seek to sweep up and keep the monk from gaining a footing when they pass by. The monk dashes towards the wyvern, leaping to drag her claws across its underside before the breath can leave its mouth and effectively dodging both.

When the remaining duo dove down, their performance was even worse. Growing frustrated, the sorcerer ordered the wyvern to hover as her spell of breath came to an end. With a glare and snarl, she pointed to the stone and sand below the gnoll. From which a sudden, defining boom exploded. Rattling the gnoll’s bones and organs and throwing them several feet to the sands. Just as the trio began their dive once again, seeking to tear into the monk before they completely recovered.

She managed to escape the new frenzy with only a nick of claws across her back. While still landing retaliatory strikes against the wyvern. But looking up at the sorcerer, the gnoll could read the look of mad glee in her eyes at seeing the monk wasn’t able to escape the vibrations of thunder and sound in the same way she could fire and ice.

So, the pattern repeated, the sorcerer would cast her spell that shattered the air just before the wyverns dove in to attack the gnoll, trying to take advantage of their concussed state. But even still, with each eruption of sound, the sorcerer’s magic was running out. She could not withstand this before her well ran dry. Just as the monk’s was.

With a chuckle, the gnoll took a deep breath and grasped at her heart again as it beat and sent shock waves through their body, in time with the shattering of air beneath her.

***

Six times, SIX TIMES!

The First Sorcerer wanted to scream her frustrations to her Lord. But she did not dare. For the battle was not yet won. Three times this beast had managed to escape the clutches of her trio of wyverns. Over and over, they had attempted to rip and dig their claws, jaws and talons into the flesh of the gnoll, but each time were barely effective.

The only thing in her arsenal that the monk could not avoid, seemed to be spells that did not care about how fast one moved. A fireball could still miss, but shattering the air and creating a ripple through it that slammed into the creatures at the speed of sound could not be escaped with footwork and training. It could only be endured.

Falling from above for the seventh time, the oldest and most magically gifted of the Plague Dragon’s cult, could see nothing but the red leaking from the lips of her prey. The speckles of blood as beating of thunder and sound slammed into them for the fifth time.

She did not notice her flagging mount. She did not notice its unstable flaps, or the trail of blood it was leaving as gash after gash across its underside ripped free scales and flesh.

Shuddering under the wight of thunder, the gnoll caught wyvern across the throat. Splitting the flesh and scales. And sending the lesser wyrm skidding across the sands and throwing its rider.

The aged sorcerer rolled across the dirt, eventually managing to straighten and see the two other wyverns turning up again into the air. Leaving her alone with her dying mount on the corpse riddled sands.

With a horrific smirk, the white and yellow fangs of the gnoll were spotted with his own coughed up blood, the gnoll stared down at the kobold that lay just forty feet from them. And charged.

The sorcerer did not panic as she was introduced to the fear of mortal danger once again. Dashing away from the wyvern, she began to cast another spell. Glancing back, she watched the gnoll dash around the side of the wyvern and with a powerful palm strike slammed its head into the sands. While pulling his hand away, he dragged with it what looked to the kobold to be the soul or life force of the wyrm and devoured it without breaking stride.

With speed that far outclassed her own, the gnoll caught up and swung his claws towards her back. Once again, her shield sprung up to intercept the claws. Except this time, the sharp extensions of death punctured and slammed into the kobold’s stomach as she finished gathering her power for her spell.

“Lord’s St-ep!” With a gurgle, and the deathly cold embrace of her master, her scaled form was pulled into a dark mist that suddenly enveloped her form. Relocating it atop the form of the descending wyvern.

With barely any time, the monk still managed to dodge as the sorcerer was rocked from the sudden momentum transfer required to maintain her place on the wyrm. With heavy gasps for air, she managed to call down another shatter on the gnoll just after the second wyvern left the spell’s range.

Taking a moment in the sky, she had them circle for a few extra moments. Staring down at the gnoll, the toll of a bell rang from somewhere. And taking it as a sign, she hissed for the beasts to dive yet again as she launched her spell for the seventh time.

***

As the latest shattering to air rattled the monk’s body, she barely remained standing as she started to vomit blood. Her heart had felt on the verge or rupturing as the vibrations rattled every cell in her body.

Throwing herself to the side, she rolled away from the claws screaming through the air for her. Unable to attack, as every movement felt as if it would be what forced her heart to finally explode.

Avoiding both yet again, she stood and pumped ki into her heart, hoping the natural energy would alleviate some of the pain. Only for the eighth shattering to throw them once again.

Growing tired of this game as blood leaked from her lips, she growled and met the two descending wyverns head on. Dodging between their claws and jaws to rip chunks and scales free from the underside.

As they circled around for the tenth or eleventh time, the monk could not remember as her vision was slowly shrinking. The field of clear death and destruction was growing ever so slightly blurry.

Bracing herself for the shattering of air, the gnoll was not met with it. But rather was met with the descending wyvern and two bolts of purple crackling lightning that both sunk deep into her chest. Falling to the earth as the ability to stand was temporarily removed, by the luck of a god she had not offended yet in her life, missed the claws that tried to separate her head and shoulders.

With the few precious seconds that seperated the first and second wyrm’s attacks, the monk managed to steady herself and duck completely under the final claws.

As the wyverns climbed back into the air and turned, preparing for another run, the gnoll felt it. Her heart was close to giving out. She had maybe half a minute before she needed that healing potion if she wanted to survive this remainder of this rigged rite.

Standing straight, the gnoll prepared herself. Walking slowly towards the side of the massive wolf that lay across the pit floor. She kept her eyes on the descending beasts and sorcerer’s magics.

Two fire bolts formed in her hands as the wyrm dived. She threw them, only for the gnoll to dodge them by leap dashing forward and up the side of the wolf, bringing the monk above the wyvern’s claws and wings. Where the gnoll pushed off the wall of flesh to throw herself at the sorcerer and knocking her to the earth.

Landing on her feet, the monk braced and looked up the second wyvern as it altered course and came straight in at her. Without what appears to be any effort, she slipped yet again under the jaw of the creature as soared past. Parting its throat and ducking under the claws as it climbed up into the air. The wound being serious, but nonlethal.

But not giving the caster another moment to prepare herself further, the monk spun on her heel and came down with a powerful strike that punctured through the kobold’s chest and heart. Piercing and tearing it with sadistic satisfaction.

With a pained, ragged chuckle, the gnoll withdrew her dripping claw. The lifeforce, the foul ki of the kobold was pulled up with it. Bringing the ki and raw flesh to her lips, she devoured them both as her eyes turned to the wyverns that now look on from above, their rider and controller now dead.

As the monk licked her claws clean of blood, she continued to laugh. The high, unsettling sound carrying up and over the sound of their massive wings flapping. Looking between themselves and their unconscious sibling sprawled on the floor, the two wyrms flew higher and took perches on the booths up above. Where an elven man was shoved out and appeared to be wrangling in the mighty beasts.

But before the gnoll could turn to demand the healing potion before her heart completely gave out, the tunnel from the fighter’s entrance, the one the gnoll had entered from began to rise.

And out stepped an undead Drow, clutching a magical item that the gnoll had fought the consequences of quite often. His face seemed unmarked, but rotting flesh and fluids trailed each of his steps. Before he broke out into a sprint and dashed towards the body of the werespider drow.

The drow pressed the orb into their chest and suddenly brings the monster new undeath.