As the rider detached from the dead horse with a wet, tearing sound, it rose to its full, lanky height. In its hand was the long spear, silently pulled from the stone, now drawn back for a lethal thrust aimed at Andri's back. There was no time to warn her. He immediately ran to intercept, but in an instant, he knew. The distance, the impending strike, the weight of his greatsword. He wouldn't be fast enough. He'd never reach her in time.
He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, a sharp intake of breath, before making his choice. He let go of his father's legacy. The greatsword fell from his grasp, slowly falling towards the stone floor.
Freed from its weight, Orin exploded, bursting forward so fast that even Andri's sharpened senses couldn't track him. The air seemed to crackle around him. He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, his bare hand shooting out to grab the head of the Klavee's spear just as its tip was inches from Andri's spine.
The sharpened point sliced deep into his palm, blood welling instantly, but he held on. He winced, then his composure returned. With a guttural roar, he twisted his body, striking up through the shaft with his other hand, snapping the spearhead clean off. Using the broken head like a dagger, he faced the now-disarmed rider. After Orin dodged a desperate, clawing strike, he sidestepped a second, then drove the rider's own spearhead deep into its chest. The creature collapsed without a sound.
Orin stood panting, his hand bleeding freely. He looked back to check on Andri, only to find Eryndra standing right there, a small, knowing smile on her face. She reached out and quickly, playfully messed up his hair. "I was about to step in, Orin. But then you dropped the sword. You saw the only way and took it. You didn't need me for this one… Good work, Orin."
The praise snapped him out of his trance. "My sword!" he responded, his voice filled with panic. He rushed back and collected his greatsword, holding it tight before returning to Eryndra. As he did, the spearhead in the rider's center dissolved into light, reforming into a sleek, dark dagger. He stared at it for a moment before retrieving that as well.
Before they moved, Andri reached for Orin's shoulder and turned him towards her. "Yes?" Orin asked.
Andri smiled, dropped her head and took a deep breath. "Womb Tomb."
"No! I could just bandage it!" Orin cried out before being swallowed by the egg and brought underground.
As the egg pulsed underground, Andri squatted over it, tapping the dirt lightly with her hand. "Thanks, mighty 'tall' of you," she whispered.
The adrenaline of the fight began to fade and Lynder approached Roy, his face a mask of professional chagrin.
"Captain," he began, his voice tight with self-reproach. "My apologies. That was a failure of intelligence on my part. I have personally slain hundreds of Klavee in the southern countries, and never once have I witnessed a rider detach itself from its mount. I will remain extra vigilant at all times now."
Roy just laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it, Lynder. It's all good. Eryndra could have killed it a thousand times over before it even got close to Andri."
Lynder's expression remained skeptical. "I don't mean to be rude, Captain, but that was an impossible situation. The timing was perfect. Even the likes of Lady Kalistar would have struggled if she only noticed when Eryndra did."
A smug smirk touched Eryndra's lips as she stepped closer, having overheard. "Well, let's be happy that it was me here and not whoever that is."
A minute later, Orin emerged from the Womb Tomb, feeling completely refreshed and a little sheepish. The healing energies of the tomb had worked their magic, washing away the lingering damage of their previous battle and invigorating his very core. He ran a hand through his hair, a faint blush on his cheeks. He rejoined the others, his steps lighter and his posture straighter.
The Trio rejoined the rest of their companions and was immediately met with Roy's judging eyes. Roy approached the weary Andri as she arrived, her shoulders slightly slumped. He could sense the drain on her magical reserves by her vibe alone, the tell-tale sign of a powerful spellcaster pushing her limits.
"Need a break?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
"Just need to replenish my mana," Andri replied, a small, tired smile gracing her lips. Her eyes, usually sparkling with arcane energy, held a touch of fatigue. "Orin and Rava can take the next floors. I'll be back at full strength in no time."
-
Floor fifty-five's boss chamber was a maze of narrow gullies and thorned scrub. A pack of lean, cat-like monsters Lynder named "Gispin" ambushed them with bursts of incredible speed. The fight was a desperate, chaotic affair that required the Rava and Orin's full, panicked coordination. They won, but were panting and strained by the end.
The sixtieth floor boss chamber presented a daunting spectacle. A vast, silent lake of ink-black water, its surface unbroken save for a slow, rhythmic pulse that emanated from deep within. A sense of ancient power, both alluring and terrifying, hung heavy in the air.
"A Pogorin is there, I feel it," Lynder said grimly, his voice a low rumble. "For these kids, this may present a problem."
The serpentine creature, a leviathan of the lake, remained submerged, its form obscured by the inky blackness.
"I can't get a foothold to brace!" Orin yelled, his frustration palpable as he tried to find purchase on the slick, uneven edges of the lake. His sword, usually an extension of his will, felt useless in this aquatic arena.
"My ice won't hold it; it's too strong," Rava added, voice tinged with desperation. His ice darts, usually capable of piercing tough hides, shattered against an unseen barrier, a testament to the Pogorin's formidable defenses.
"It won't come ashore! Shorty!" Orin shouted, his voice echoing in the cavernous chamber as he slammed his sword on the ground in a futile display of anger. They were tactically defeated, their usual strategies rendered useless against an enemy that refused to engage on their terms.
Lynder sighed, a deep exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of countless battles. "Allow me to—" he began, preparing to intervene, to lend his considerable experience to the struggle.
"Don't worry your old bones, pops," Truman's voice crackled, cutting through the tense atmosphere. The Presidroid, usually a silent observer, stepped forward with an unexpected confidence.
"Pops?" Lynder asked, his brow furrowed, a mix of annoyance and confusion on his face.
The Presidroid extended his palm. A complex runic seal, shimmering with an ethereal blue light, bloomed to life. It expanded rapidly, a ripple of runic energy spreading across the vast lake as an instantaneous wave of pure, absolute cold. In a single moment, the entire lake froze solid, the black water transformed into a monolithic sheet of ice. The Pogorin, caught in the flash-freeze, its serpentine form contorted in a final, silent struggle, locked, fractured, and died, its ancient life extinguished in an instant.
The ground rumbled softly, and the grand, ornate stairs to the next floor materialized, bathed in a soft, inviting glow. Orin and Rava stared at their hollow victory. The ease with which the Presidroid had dispatched the formidable beast left them with a strange mix of awe and unease. A profound silence descended upon the chamber, broken only by the faint crackle of ice settling.
Where the main group stood, Lynder tapped the ice with his hand. "I didn't quite catch it the first time, when that…'Eff Dee Arr' metal-man used his shaped runic barrier," Lynder said, admiring the giant frozen lake, "but this time I think I see. Were you stacking several sets of runes together, conjuring each one in the same space as and letting them trigger each other?"
"Close, but no," Truman responded instantly as he shook his head. "It's more like…combining. I draw the first rune of freezing, then write a secondary rune of projection inside it. Where the anchor points overlap, they form joints. From there I can expand it with a third rune of expansion. Instead of sitting on top of each other, the runes fuse into a single design, and that's what lets me chain, combine or augment the effects."
"Interesting," Lynder murmured. "Runic magic isn't my strong suit, but I don't recall hearing of anyone doing such a thing."
"It doesn't always work. Some runes are too different, too artistically…or maybe…mathematically opposed to fit into the same pattern. But if the shapes harmonize, they will carry each other. I estimate there to be over ten thousand possible combinations. At least based on the runic patterns I have seen in Master Evarran's books."
Lynder grunted with a small sound of approval. "Very clever. You truly are horrifying, and talented, metal men-things." Lynder said with warmth before his tone turned dark. " Tell me, though… can you do the same with spells that aren't runic?"
Truman chuckled quickly. "Ah, that must be what Master Evarran called 'Ancient Arcane Magic: Castration'!"
Without even a second passing, Roy burst out laughing. "Castration!? What!? What sort of dark devil magic is that!?" he yelled.
"It's short for casting in concentration, Captain," Truman answered matter-of-factly.
"Oh… It probably needs a new name," Roy responded quietly.
Lynder raised a hand, interjecting, "The modern name is 'Concraze', but yes, that is the one. So, can you use it? Or maybe its more dangerous sister spell?"
"Maybe you'll find out later," Truman responded before he immediately turned to Roy, overtly shaking his head no.
"Well then," Roy said, cutting through the awkwardness, "this is it, guys, no more skipping floors. This is our new starting point… but first… lets go eat!"