Harsh red light pours angrily into the cave opening. The sky of E'guna is blindingly, searingly red. The entire expanse above radiates down crimson heat, scorching any creature foolish enough to venture out during the years long day.

His wickedly barbed spear clutched tightly at his left side, Bruen stands fifty ubits away, where the tunnel begins to descend. He wears the standard uniform of the Empire, black tunic with a silver belt. Hanging from the belt are a dagger on the right and a pouch containing emergency rations and a few supplies on the left.

With him are the nine casteless soldiers under his command, standing where the cooler air inside can wash over them.

The searing wind carries fine dust that adheres to the thin coating layer. It makes its way into every joint in their carapaces, itching painfully. Bruen thinks longingly of the cool brine baths he left behind. Melancholy overtakes him, remembering his final days at the estate.

He dismisses the distracting thoughts. It's time to move.

Glowing spear raised silently over his head, he signals his troops. Gliding quietly on their many tentacles the troopers descend into the territory of their hated enemy. Bruen waits at the back, checking his troops one final time as they pass.

A sound from outside that doesn't belong, quiet but unnatural, alerts Mos Bruen that not all is right. Turning rapidly, his spear held before him defensively, he sees them.

The charred remains of protective shrouds drape them, bits burning of as they enter the cave. Smoke hides the details of their forms from his three central eyes. They are easily identified by the sheer variation before him. Some are large and looming. Others cling low the ground on many short limbs. As the smoke begins to clear more details can be seen.

Tribals. He slaps forcefully at the walls as he runs, the noise alerting his troops. The first he comes to is the advanced scout, a slim yellow creature with long scythe blades at the ends of tentacles sprouting from where the head should be. Long sinuous body stretching out tens of ubits behind it and covered in small scales, the only weakness Bruen can spot is the single compound eye between the bases of the attacking arms.

He lunges at it, wrapping his tentacles around its own, binding them to the body. A single downward thrust with the enchanted spear ends the scout's life. On either side of him his troops stream past, clashing with their own foes.

The barbs of the spear prevent it from coming out, and he struggles with it, still caught in the moment. A point of pain blooms in his back and cuts deeper painfully while he struggles to pull free his weapon. He silently curses his carelessness.

Activating the runes inscribed into the shaft drains a portion of its stored energy. Bruen continues pulling but also dodges to the right. The head rematerializes on the butt end, coming free like a fired shot and impaling the hulking brute behind him.

Dropping the spear, he pulls free the dagger stuck in his belt. He turns to face his new opponent. It stands on three legs and seems not to care that there's a spear in its massive chest. Its tiny head is immobile upon its thick torso, iridescent compound eyes on short stalks tracking Bruen's every move.

The tribal reaches forward with the heavy scissoring claw adorning its left side, keeping the two smaller pinchers on the right back defensively. The cutting edges of the thick claw are serrated, and gleam with an oily finish. It overwhelms Bruen's rushed parry with the short blade and impacts with a thud. Bruen manages to roll back on his tentacles and pulls his tendrils free before it snaps shut. It leaves behind a visible scratch, but not very deep, and rips a large gash in his uniform.

Bruen regains his balance while the oversized tribal is still over extended. He spins rapidly in place, dropping low to the ground. Bruen whips tentacles and tendrils at the tripod legs of his adversary, and accidentally ducks a stray blow from a thin pale creature fighting one of his soldiers beside him. The asymmetrical brute falls and is quickly dispatched by another of Bruen's casteless fighters, but not before managing to slice one of Bruen's tentacles with its small sharp pincers.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

He stands ad looks around. His troops are wounded but alive. Around them mismatched corpses lay on the tunnel floor in multihued puddles, odd limbs strewn across each other in cold embrace. He reclaims his spear before addressing the healer.

"Zek, get your kit out. It's your turn to have a go at them."

Her gray robes mark her as a thaumatist of the Somner caste. Around her thorax is a simple leather bandolier with padded pouches.

If she survives this engagement, she'll be considered a full member of the Somner caste, at any rate. Long seasons of training under the guidance of experienced thaumatists have earned her this chance. Rendered sterile by the dust they consume, thaumatist castes must recruit from the rare energy sensitive offspring of the common pools.

She pulls a dark ceramic vial from the leather bandolier and brings it to her mouth, Zek prepares herself to begin. She takes stock of the wounded, deep cuts and many severed tendrils. A deep inhalation and she's ready, radiating a white energy visible only at the edge of vision. Her robes rustle softly under the influence of her powerful aura.

Her ministrations have rapid effect, though the workings remain a mystery to the young general. His education had not included many such details. What little he does know had been gained by observing his former master argue with his healers.

He leaves her to her work and looks through the bodies of the fallen tribals. They are unarmed and mostly naked. The lopsided creature that had stabbed Bruen is an exception, wearing the tattered remains of three-legged pants. The rest are adorned only with simple fetishes, imitations of those the chief wears.

"Mission's not over, team," he says to the soldiers gathered in a tired group against one stone wall. As he speaks, he wraps a bandage around his bleeding thorax. "Zek is going to have you all battle ready soon enough, and we need to get down there as soon as we are. Mos Riyl's squad needs back up. We took out a small group here, but the real fight is further down."

Grim nods and tightened grips on weapons answer his words. He waves at the least wounded to follow and starts quickly down the tunnel. "Catch up soon as you can, Zek," he gasps out before breaking into a full run. He ignores the burning spreading itself through his insides as he leads the charge.

The enemy supply depot has been vital to their ability to hold the mountain range. Taking it would be a major blow to the Southern Tribal presence on E'guna. Somehow the tribals had gotten word of the two-pronged attack and set their own ambush.

When he reaches the opening to the enormous cavern, tens of thousands of ubits across, he sees that Mos Riyl's squad has been busy. Bodies of various races already decorate the ground. Supplies are scattered everywhere, spilling from damaged sacks and barrels as the fight wages.

Jumping into the thickest part of battle, Bruen takes advantage of the distracted state of the tribals and impales a green and brown hairy creature. The creature's long limbs collapse under it. Reversing the weapon with the last of the stored energy he turns to seek a new victim.

His team adds momentum as they join the fray and soon the tribals all lay dead on the cavern floor. Adrenaline that had been keeping him going fades as soon as Bruen stops moving. He falls to the floor and blacks out, shocking the soldiers around him.

---

"He's coming to," Zek's concerned voice sounds far away but comes from right above him. "I think the poison is all neutralized, sir."

"Good. Thank you, Somner," an older voice answers. Mos Riyl, leader of all the forces on this planet, is the first sight to greet Bruen as his vision returns.

Bruen quickly sits up, then sways as dizziness assaults him. His pedipalps spasm in mortification.

"Easy there, youngster," laughs the old general. "Poison tipped dagger. Sound familiar?"

Recovering himself, Bruen nods slowly. "Jsen venom. The old one would be mad if he found out, after all the warnings he gave me." He turns to look at the young healer. "Thank you, Somner Zek. I owe you my life."

"And don't you forget it," she says cockily before sauntering out. "Sir."

A look passes between the two generals when the tent flap shuts behind her.

"You must have impressed her, up there. She said you took out six of the enemy by yourself. And that you charged down without bothering to wait for healing," rasps out the senior general. "You should keep her around; a happy dust eater works harder."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir, though she exaggerates," Bruen replies before walking over to the cold box in the corner. He returns with two bottles, one of which he offers his elder. "She does good work."

Riyl takes the bottle and twists the top off. A sharp hiss of escaping gas can be heard clearly before he starts drinking. "Thanks. Get some rest, we'll be loading into the hauler and moving out in half a day. Mos Louni's coming to take charge here. You did good."

Drinking from the bottle he holds, Bruen is left alone in the tent. Thoughts of the last battle run through his head. Every mistake he had made, each failed attack or mistimed order playing again and again.

Putting down the emptied bottle, he grabs his spear and begins going through the forms, thrusting and spinning mechanically until a soldier comes to escort him to the armored hauler.