Fire and chaos engulfed what remained of August's drop. From the deepest darkness a Beholder what many considered to be among the apexes of monsters had emerged. A hundred tentacles each with an evil eye capable of petrification rays, and the creature itself was capable of the most destructive magic of all fire.
Hapara had been knocked back by the initial blast. And most of the camp had been caught off guard. Tristin covered behind a pillar of stone as the battle raged between those still standing and the monster. His ears were ringing and he could barely see through the fire and smoke.
The beholder wasn't alone, Living armour, headless knights made up of hollow armour, with ancient blades and shields. Skin snatchers only spoken of in urban legend. Fogeyes floating spectre like worms with eyes hidden within their mouths that swooped down to attach themselves into men like leeches. The creatures who had arrived with the dark were stronger then anything on the first, second or third floor. For the poor surviving adventurers the odds seemed grim.
Running and quivering as he went Tristin took rest against a stone which to his horror was revealed to be a petrified Latto. So much for that debt. In the fire and the fury he could see August himself valiantly swinging around his Warhammer. Well as well as he could to most he appeared just like a walking heap of metal too slow to hit anything. But with the strike of a living armour's sword his fate was sealed. Right through his back the old rusty sword went emerging with a stream of blood on the other.
For the other guards of August drop the story seemed to be the same, Either they were slain, ripped apart or devoured by something unspeakable. Quite a few were turned to stone alongside most of the adventurers who ran away. The beholder could only fire two beams at once but it was enough.
"{[]}{[]}" A distant whistle echoed across the maze-like pathway. The elf girl. The pretty one Hapara had introduced as his sister deployed a magic barrier. A Golden vail that seemed like the surface of oil spread out in a dome to cover her and the rest of her party. The beholder's beams bounced off its surface and the living armour's couldn't penetrate the barrier with their sharpest swords. "GO" she shouted as both the tall horn elf and the elf warrior dashed towards the hovering behemoth of a beholder.
In all this chaos Opip was nowhere to be found. Where could she have gone? Tristin didn't have time to wonder. He had to focus on his own survival. If he could reach that barrier he would be safe. Yet the path there was filled by nothing but danger. Swords clashed into the floor as he ran. Long arms reached towards him from the dark but with a single stab of his dagger they rushed back. A fog eye dived down to meet him but he avoided that danger by throwing in a statue to take his place.
He was almost there just a little bit further. And then he felt a metal mace slammed right into his stomach. A dark armour emerged from the darkness. Silver emblems detailing its metal folds. The strike sent Tristin flying. In the chaos he could see the battlefield in full. So many people, so many monsters, what kind of hell was this?
He hit the ground with a thud. In his mouth he could feel blood surging up from his lungs. In his life he had had many bad days. He wasn't strong and he wasn't wise. He made mistakes again and again, mistakes that cost his brother his life. Yet he was still here, for what, to what end. This miserable existence. Wouldn't it be better to just let it end. The armour approached slowly and with the way it swung its mace it seemed as if it was just toying with him.
But despite the pain, despite his mistakes. Tristin crawled, one hand after the other to reach the barrier. Closer and closer came the armour. Yet he soldiers on, because Tristin Daehult wanted to live. "If there are any gods watching, if there are any heroes in this world of man, then please send one" he whispered with his battered breath, a silent prayer too low for any gods to hear.
Dust and stone were tossed aside as she ran through the battlefield. Her sword was gone. Her armour far below in the dark. Yet her mind is at ease. For it was in a battlefield like this she was the most at home. A steel warhammer of fine quality she borrowed from the dead August, an acceptance of a greedy man's final will. And with one swift blow she ruptured the dark armour into a thousand pieces.
Sorry I'm late, I was looking for my sword, I don't think it's out here" Opip reached out a hand. And Tristin managed to somehow get back on his feet with his friends' help. "Better late than never" Tristin coughed.
"See that barrier? Think you could get me there?" Tristin pointed towards the golden veil. A few adventurers had gathered beneath it alongside the elf mage who seems to be preparing a magicians ritual.
"Sure easy" When Opip grabbed him by the collar of his shirt Tristin realised the mistake he had made. In a second he was flung across the broken corridors. Straight into the barrier only he didn't bounce, he went clean through and down into the stone floor. Causing his previous injuries to become just a little bit graver. It seemed like the gods had sent him an idiot instead of a hero.
Opip turned her attention to the battlefield. The elf party was just fine even without their leader. Their warrior Neyman easily weaved through the living armour's poor excuses for swings and he was able to keep quite a few of them at bay. But his tiredness was showing, his skill was tied to his breath and Opip figured he'd run out of it in about seven minutes.
His companion the tall martial user Polak easily decemated his opponents leaving a row of enemies behind. But he lacked defence. His large body already carried serious wounds, wounds which he didn't seem to care about.
Now overall, of the remaining adventurers counter to the remaining monsters you could say they were outnumbered about one to five. Which spoke very poorly of their chances of winning. But if they could just take out the Beholder the monsters would lose their momentum.
Neyman fought valiantly in his corner of the battlefield. To him the sword was an artform one which required complete perfection. A true battle needed to be a beautiful storm of steel and blood. Not some brutal mash 'em up. Even when he was outnumbered he still clung to his art. Even when it came close to costing his life as a living armour struck towards his side, or when a fogeye bit off his ear. The hound which had come to join his side displayed none of that but just sheer brutality with each swing of the warhammer she was slowly becoming accustomed to.
"Oi , your name is Yman, right?" Opip didn't remember their names. A fact Neyman found quite insulting as he had already memorised theirs, Trist and Pip. Although the lesser races were indeed too stupid to remember such blatant information. So as a higher being he should forgive this transaction.
"I have a plan to win this thing, you in?" Opip had her eyes on the prize the floating creature at the caverns midst floating above the hole down to the third floor.
"I can't imagine you lesser folk would come up with a good plan, but I'll hear you out, just in case" Neyman said as he cut through yet another armour.
"See that beholder? We need to take it out if we want to stand a chance" Opip pointed her new warhammer towards the hulking creature.
"No shit, so what's your plan for doing that?" This battle was starting to get exhausting. Without Hapara to hold the front like usual their whole party had been thrown of course. That much Neyman could tell. Atleast both Polak and Fidel were doing their best.
"About that, Could you get your big friend over there to throw me towards the Beholder, that way we can catch it off guard and finish it in one blow" Opip thought herself a master of strategy. Who could ever foresee the great throw. And when did it ever not work?
"That's really your idea of a strategy" Neyman seriously doubted it would work. Wouldn't the beholder just see her flying over and turn her to stone mid air? And in the first place was Polak even strong enough to throw her?
"Hmm, Yes" Opip was certain it would work. Why wouldn't it? And although Neyman was hesitant to say it he had no better ideas.
"Polak y leka di reparde hude tyre de beehelor!" It was a quick command in the tongue of the horn elves. It roughly translates to throw this stupid dog against the beholder. And Polak understood the assignment.
Even though he was stabbed in the back as he ran over he didn't show any signs of pain or exhaustion he simply scooped up the more then ready hound and spun around using his massive body for momentum before throwing the hound like an olympic medalist throws a frisbee.
Ever since Opip first threw her first short friend against an enemy she'd wondered what it was like. To soar into the air with a weapon in full swing. And it was just as glorious as she had imagined.
The beholder turned to face her yet to slow in its gaze, The full weight of the iron warhammer beared down right into its skull. Crushing the floating spectre into the ground with a heavy dunce. The stone beneath crumbled shooting jagged ruptures through the entire cavern. So cool was all Opip could think.
But even with all that power, all that strength and might put into a finishing blow was still not enough. Slowly the beholder's sprawling tentacles retracted into its sphere-like shape. And it began to rise. Seeing this Opip decided for another strike but it was reflected instead she was the one thrown back. Whatever was happening wasn't good.
The living armours retreated, fleeing into the dark tunnels alongside all other manner of creatures born from the dark. Leaving the ruins of august drop and the few still living adventurers alongside it.
"What is that?" Tristin said as he gazed out from behind the golden barrier. His wounds had been healed by the Elf magician for free nonetheless.
"That is a black egg," Haparanda said as he slowly regained his consciousness. The previous blast had hit him to the floor quite hard yet those injuries were now gone thanks to his sister.
Floating still in the middle of the room was a black shape, a perfect round sphere of corrosive black flesh meshed together into a singular entity. It was not a beholder nor had it ever been. For it was a sion of evil itself a puppet of the many eyed god a vessel of destruction, a black egg.