On their bellies men lay down on the cold room floor trying desperately to peek under the boss's door.

Some tried magic spells.

Others tried mechanical gizmos.

Everything came back with the same results.

We were in the dark.

Totalling nine men, eight if you left out Muller as he continued off by himself muttering sobs of forgiveness to a God that listened but never responded.

Could we possibly defeat the boss?

The conjoining dungeons feed into this singular resting chamber, with the absurdly obvious door which leads into the dungeon's "final boss".

Whose power level would be scaled to that of a party of 15.

We were half that.

On the other side of the door we knew who to expect, but not confident with what may actually wait for us.

George Giantic awaited, we thought.

Father of Owen, Elliot, and Robert; this dungeon being their homes.

He's expecting their giant sons to return, only to become enraged when a group of adventurers enter his home unannounced instead.

Impetuous brats, he would scream...

This leads to a boss fight that is nothing more than dodging a giant warrior past his prime swinging a club the size of village homes.

Frightening but simple.

Now, as our party lay gutted, we thought it wouldn't be as simple and even more frightening.

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Time had passed and we had all rested and recovered.

Still shaken, we decided to hold a council by flame.

"Let's just get it over with."

Shelly barked with a confidence that tried to overpower a situation that required tact, not force.

"Maybe we haven't looked hard enough for more answers."

Someone replied with a voice unsure of itself, making it a weak repost against Shelly's verbal strike.

We've gone back and the sections are blocked off…

There is no returning.

There is only progressing forward…

Continued Shelly on her offensive.

Another unfair and brutal mechanic of our world.

Its dungeons often close off exits when reaching the bosses chambers. Like warriors stranded on a beach, our realm decides to burn the boats behind us.

Looking around the flames and into the eyes of my men I saw fear.

In Shelly's, the one who talks of moving forward, there was still that glint behind her eyes, one that told of a hiding place for a terror unknown.

Good, I thought,

This was the only way we had a chance.

With fear comes respect.

With respect comes a patience that would save the lives of our men.

Not with a spark or with a sudden urge that is often attributed to resolution, I had made up my mind.

With a deep breath.

I took charge.

We are broken and beaten.

But we aren't dead.

Defeated but not done.

Listen to me men and listen to me well.

With a flame that barely held its own.

To a group of men that shared its strength.

I said.

You are scared…

Good.

You are fearful…

Good.

We are going to need that for whatever lies past those doors...

I pointed a solemn finger towards the doors that stood massive and still.

Now, let's go clear this dungeon and then we will hold a service for our fallen men.

With eyes that glowed and hummed with an aura of confidence that comes from a great warcry, we turned and walked straight through doors that lurched on ancient hinges, opening itself wide, embracing us for what was to come.