The sky above the Tower felt too vast, too empty, as we stepped onto the first floor. Cold bled through my armor, settling into my bones, and the air itself carried weight. Not enough to crush, just enough to remind you it was watching.

  This time, I didn’t flinch.

  The Ironwood team closed ranks beside me.

  We moved west as one, slipping past clusters of adventurers without slowing. A few low-tier monsters prowled just beyond the Safe Zone’s invisible boundary, circling like vultures, waiting for someone careless enough to wander too far.

  “Stay close to me,” Darwyn said. His bowstring snapped once, and the lunging creature collapsed before it could reach us. He glanced back to make sure Elena was still behind him.

  “Don’t be so overprotective.” Muradin nudged the elf’s shoulder with the edge of his shield. “We’re barely outside the Safe Zone.”

  Elena flicked a stray hair from her face as she loosed an arrow. The shaft punched clean through a monster's skull. “So, how far is the Deepnest Tunnel?”

  “Not far,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the horizon. “And the sooner we get there, the better.”

  Orin caught Elena’s tilted head and smirked. “It’ll be crowded. Most beginners head there first.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  The tunnel entrance came into view soon after, an ominous hole that looked less like a passage and more like a wound torn into the earth. Darkness pooled inside it, swallowing the light at its edges. Just standing near it made my skin crawl, like the ground itself knew what crawled below.

  The moment we stepped inside, the stench hit us.

  Squeebs scattered across the floor, small rodent-like creatures with slick fur and too many teeth. They weren’t hostile, but they carried a sulfurous, oily musk so potent it felt like it was coating the back of my throat.

  Elena pressed her palm firmly over her nose and mouth. “Gods… what is that?”

  “Stagnant water.” I spat to the side, trying to clear the metallic taste from my tongue. “Mixed with wet fur and old, sun-baked copper.”

  Orin made it two steps farther before she lurched sideways and retched, coughing violently. She braced a hand against the tunnel wall, face gone pale as she fought to steady her breathing.

  “I was not prepared for this,” she wheezed after a moment. “My nose is filing a formal complaint.”

  Even braced for it, my stomach churned. I clenched my jaw, refusing to succumb to the nausea.

  Orin fumbled through her pouch and uncorked a small vial. A faint, sweet scent like crushed lavender and cold rain spilled out as she activated the Aroma Veil, slicing cleanly through the heavy, stagnant filth.

  Elena inhaled and sagged. “That’s… a lot better. Thank you.”

  “You can repay me by letting me borrow your bow sometime,” Orin said weakly.

  “Don’t… push your luck,” Elena replied, though a small smile slipped through.

  Beyond the entrance, the tunnel plunged into near-total darkness. Only faint, pulsing crystal formations clinging to the ceiling provided enough light to see by.

  We weren’t alone for long.

  Voices echoed from behind, footsteps multiplying as torchlight flared brighter. Adventurers poured into the tunnel in groups, boots crunching through Squeebs and crystal shards alike.

  Someone gagged loudly.

  Another splashed an acrid liquid onto the stone, its sharp scent burning the nose but smothering the rot.

  “Move,” a woman snapped as her party shoved past. “You move like sloths.”

  One of her teammates collided with Muradin, pushing him aside. “Tunnel’s tight. Don’t stand in the road.”

  “Watch it,” Muradin growled, shield shifting as he recovered his balance.

  The man loomed over him, his lip curling in a cold sneer. “Filthy midget.”

  Muradin stiffened, but Darwyn’s hand settled firmly on his shoulder, holding him back.

  Elena pressed herself closer to the wall, bow held tight against her chest. She kept her eyes down, avoiding the other teams entirely.

  Suddenly Darwyn motioned for us to stop. His gaze drifted to the side passages branching away from the main tunnel, narrower paths where the crystals thinned and torchlight never reached. I followed his eyes and saw it too: shallow gouges along the stone, fragments of shattered crystal high above, where no careless boot could have reached.

  Someone nearby noticed and scoffed. “Those paths? Full of traps and things that’ll kill you.”

  “First run?” another laughed. “Stick to the crystals. They’ll lead you straight to the portal.”

  “We’re not going that way,” I said, already turning as Darwyn angled left.

  “They must be insane,” someone muttered.

  “Or idiots.”

  Those were the last words we heard before the main tunnel curved away and swallowed them whole.

  The side passages twisted like veins beneath the stone, endless and bewildering. Fortunately, we had Darwyn and Elena.

  Elves excelled at navigating places like this.

  Darwyn slowed, head tilting as his eyes tracked shadows I could barely see. “Left here,” he said quietly. “Watch the sides. Pressure traps. After the crossroads, left again.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  We adjusted without a word. Muradin took point, shield raised. Darwyn stayed close behind, scanning above and ahead. Elena and Orin moved between them, and I covered the rear.

  The tunnel grew quieter the deeper we went. No Squeebs. No echoes. Just the faint sound of movement where there shouldn’t have been any.

  “Stop.”

  Darwyn’s hand shot up. In the same motion, he drew and released.

  Thunk.

  Something above us hissed wetly, like breath forced from a ruptured lung.

  Muradin raised his shield. “What the hell was that?!”

  Something let go.

  The ceiling disgorged a massive shape that slammed into the ground with a sickening, wet thud. Dust and crystal shards burst outward.

  As it moved, the creature revealed itself piece by piece. Chitin plates scraped together as fiery orange hairs bristled along its segmented body. Massive pincers snapped shut with a sound like breaking bone.

  “Grimlurker!” The name tore from my throat as I pointed forward. “It was stalking us from above.”

  “You sneaky freak!” Muradin bellowed, his boots skidding on the stone as he pivoted. “Nearly took my head!”

  His hammer crashed into its side as arrows from Darwyn and Elena struck its joints with practiced precision. The Grimlurker shrieked, thrashing wildly.

  One pincer swept low, too close.

  Orin ducked and rolled, coming up with a startled yelp. “Oh no you don’t!”

  She hurled a Flameburst Flask straight into the creature’s open mandibles. Fire and smoke filled the tunnel, staggering it backward.

  Wind Cutter howled through the air, and Darwyn’s final arrow buried itself in the Grimlurker’s eye.

  The creature let out a piercing screech before collapsing, legs twitching as its body dissolved into fading motes of light.

  Silence followed, broken only by the sound of our breathing.

  “That was… too close,” Orin panted.

  “Too damn close,” Muradin muttered, eyeing the ceiling. “Good eyes, elf. You saved my beard.”

  Darwyn nodded once. “And that was only the beginning.”

  I stared deeper into the tunnel. Beyond the reach of crystal light, horrifying sounds echoed faintly through the darkness.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Because something worse is already waiting for us.”

  Weapons raised, we moved forward, toward whatever had been making those sounds.

  ***

  Several hours passed as we ventured deeper, cutting down monsters without pause. The floor was littered with drops and fading motes of light, the air thick with the lingering stench of blood and chitin.

  Most of what we encountered were Kobolds, small, hunched, rat-like creatures that attacked in packs, shrieking as they rushed us. Mantipades followed, swift multi-legged insects whose razor-sharp limbs lashed out from the darkness with little warning.

  But the most troublesome by far were the Weaver Ants.

  Not because they were strong, but because they never stopped coming.

  Wave after wave poured out of side tunnels, crawling over one another in overwhelming numbers. Luckily, Orin’s area-of-effect damage wiped them out before they could overrun us.

  “Ugh, I’m going to start dreaming about bugs crawling into my ears,” Orin groaned, scratching at her head. “Way too many legs.”

  “I’ll take ants over another Mantipade ambush,” Muradin muttered, rolling his shoulder. “One more scratch on my back and I swear I’ll lose it.”

  “You mean lose your temper or your backplate?” Darwyn smirked as he crouched to collect monster drops.

  “Both,” Muradin grunted.

  After gathering the loot, we paused. Orin collapsed against a mossy rock and let out a long, frustrated sigh, her fingers stained with Weaver Ant ichor.

  “Still nothing,” she said, flicking a pebble across the floor. “We’re deep enough that rare drops should be common. The Tower is being stingy today.”

  Darwyn wiped a streak of black blood from his cheek, his expression tightening as he caught my gaze. “The pressure is different here. Can you feel it?”

  I nodded. I adjusted my grip on my scepter, the wood humming. “The air isn't moving. It’s being held.”

  We took a few minutes to review the plan. No bravado, just the grim math of survival.

  “Formation is everything.” I looked each of them in the eye, letting the weight of the moment settle. “If we lose the line, the Tower takes the win. Understood?”

  Muradin thumped his chest, the sound dull and heavy in the cramped space. “I’ll be the anvil. Just make sure you lot are the hammer.”

  “I’ll keep the swarms off your heels,” Orin added, checking the seal on her Flameburst Flask. “Try not to stand in the fire.”

  I turned to Darwyn. “We need the eyes.”

  “I’ll find the soft spots,” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, melodic thrum. “Just give me the second I need to aim.”

  We stepped toward the back of the cavern. Muradin stopped before a section of the wall where the stone looked bruised and darker, wetter than the rest. A low-frequency vibration rattled my teeth, a primal warning that we were standing on the doorstep of something that didn't want company.

  “No turning back,” I said.

  Muradin didn't waste breath on an answer, he simply swung the Storm Breaker.

  The impact wasn't a crash, it was a groan of yielding earth. Cracks spiderwebbed outward, and then the wall simply exhaled. A rush of stale, ancient air caught our cloaks as the stone crumbled into a gaping maw.

  We stepped through, and the silence hit us like a physical blow.

  The air on the other side was thick, smelling of old copper and matted fur. An oppressive presence rolled over us, heavy as a funeral shroud.

  And there it stood.

  The King Kobold.

  It was a three-meter nightmare of matted, silver-streaked fur. The crown of fused bone rising from its skull looked less like an ornament and more like a deformity of power, calcified and sharp. Its glowing yellow eyes didn't hold the frantic hunger of the smaller packs, but they held the cold, calculating weight of a monarch.

  “By the Great Tree,” Elena whispered, her fingers trembling as she notched an arrow. “It’s... it’s not just a beast.”

  “A king of carrion,” Darwyn muttered, his eyes narrowing as he read the room. “It’s been waiting for us.”

  The King’s tail slammed into the ground, the spiked tip shattering the stone floor with the effortless force of a siege engine.

  “Careful,” Elena warned, her voice barely a breath. “This isn’t just a brute. It’s a king.”

  Darwyn inhaled deeply, his eyes beginning to glow with a faint, predatory light. “A bone crown still breaks. Let’s see how many hits it takes.”

  Instead of charging, the Kobold King simply watched. It tilted its head, a sickeningly human gesture, as its yellow eyes drifted from Muradin’s shield to my scepter, then finally to the exit we’d just created. It wasn't a beast waiting for a meal, it was a general assessing a breach.

  “It's counting us,” I whispered, the realization sending a fresh chill down my spine. “It’s not waiting for an opening. It’s waiting for its guards to get behind us.”

  The King let out a low, guttural snarl, the sound echoing like a warning drum.

  Around it, movement stirred.

  The ground beneath our feet rippled, stone cracking as something moved just below the surface. Along the walls, shadows peeled away where pairs of red eyes blinked into existence, blades catching the crystal light in brief, poisonous flashes.

  “Positions!” I barked.

  Then the heavy ones stepped forward, hulking forms of muscle and scarred hide, forming a living wall before their king.

  “Grobolds.” I tightened my grip on the scepter until the wood creaked. “Muradin, keep them on you.”

  Muradin grunted. “Well… this looks like it’s gonna be fun.”

  Darwyn shot him a glance. “If by fun, you mean an absolute nightmare, then yeah, sure.”

  Orin didn't wait for an answer; her hands were already a blur as she prepped her first reagent.

  “Control their movement,” I said, scanning the battlefield. “Focus on targets.”

  King Kobold raised one clawed hand.

  Then, with a single slashing motion, it gave the order.

  And all hell broke loose.