The way ahead sloped down as Talon led the party into a dank, fungus-ridden chamber. Rock formations lay shattered. Parts of the ceiling were torn away. Double doors fit for a demigod, and a hole born straight through the dungeon's walls. Talon’s eyes moved from the doors, one blown off its hinges, and the other swung wide – to the hole.

  A moment of hesitation, he had… responsibilities. There was no turning back. The party stayed unusually quiet, even baby Trog, as they made their way across the room, approaching the doors, a single line of text scrawled to life, emblazoned across the top, ‘We whisper in the root-realms. If you hear it, you’re already too close.’

  “Equi! It's the gobelins – Jynxx, you were right.” Noxx clapped their hands together as his brother moved up beside him, baby Trog in his hands, “See, I told you it wasn’t a false coin.” So saying, he pulled a small gold coin from his waist pouch, bit its edge, and proffered the soft metal disc – etched onto its surface – a world tree, and its network of roots, like the sky above.

  Pryuuk frowned as he held out an open fist, “Let me see that.

  He turned it over to see a figure with pinched features and a wicked smile beneath their hooded cloak. His frown deepened as he rubbed a thumb across the surface, testing its texture. There was something off about the coin…

  “This isn’t System made–”

  Noxx swiped the coin, “Thanks, Pryuuk!” He sidestepped the [Teacher], dancing around Talon, “Come on, what are we waiting for?”

  Talon gritted his teeth, “I hope there are goblins and brownies – let them have you.”

  Eldrin paced his chambers while Bergm?nch tended the [Dreadsphere], watching as the colossal shamblers wreaked havoc.

  “I need answers, servant. Who are they, and how have they destroyed my thicket so easily!” Eldrin spun to face Bergm?nch, an expectant look on his face.

  “Lord, we have sight of them.” Bergm?nch absent-mindedly poked at the quicksilver, swapping limbs – his head changing angles every so often – like a mantis, watching its prey.

  “Excellent! I want the wearer of those boots – some revenge, that's what I need, that will tide me over, yes–” Eldrin paused, and his eyes narrowed, “What is – the Spire’s wards –

  Eldrin fell to his knees, gripping his head, features contorted in agony. Bergm?nch dropped from his perch, his limbs flowed across the ground, “What ails, sire – speak!”

  “Garzha!” The cry was ripped from Kythan’s mouth, even as he watched the vatagand pull its bulk across the district – sweeping aside barracks and guards like reeds, a monster in a playground.

  Kythan’s eyes shifted to the main gate, as he tipped into a dive – he shouldn’t have left – what had he been thinking?

  He swept beneath the vatagand’s tail as it raked through the air, banking to the central courtyard with reckless abandon – he snapped his wings to their full length, “[Cutwing]!” Wing-spines radiated a razor-sharp light. The guards were like a swarm of spelled bloodfly – frenzied – Karn’s call shattering their minds and warping their bodies.

  Kythan rocketed through the entryway, his wings removing heads like bok from the field. He rolled into the Main Hall. The [Reaper] sprang from the floor, his wings out wide – he was a whirlwind of death, around him a charnal house.

  “Garzha!” Kythan pleaded, his shouts drowned out by the chaos.

  “Kythan – there are too many.” Marraka’s fists struck like thunder, shattering skulls as an incapacitated Alyndra lay at her feet.

  Karn hurled his sceptor – it flipped end over end, striking Kythan, breaking his guard – the cranekin careened into a mass of guards.

  Krogh’s bellow peeled paint, and he backflipped, spinning his sword in a dazzling display of might.

  The frogkin slammed into the ground near Kythan, sending enemies toppling over one another…adding to the pile – his broadsword flicked in and out, skewering Kythan’s attackers.

  Krogh fought on, desperately. More adding to the scrum all the time – Alyndra appeared at his side, her eyes two red orbs. Alyndra ripped guards limb from limb, tossing foes like ragdolls.

  “You're too late!” Karn’s scepter tore from the pile, recalled to its master's fist.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Kythan shot out of an opening, “Garzha!” He hit the ceiling, redirecting as he rocketed towards Karn, a trail of blood and feathers in his wake. Before impacting the massive brute, he dove to the side, crashing into Garzha’s mutilated corpse – wrapping her tight.

  He came up into a crouch, his eyes locked onto Karn. “You!”

  Spittle leaked from Karn’s mouth as he contorted his lips into a smile. “Come winged pest, Eldrin awaits.”

  Kythan dodged, avoiding another of Karn’s scepter tosses. Alyndra barreled into Karn, her jaws clamping around his shoulder and neck – shaking her head, predator and prey, she sought to kill – claws raking out, showering the area in gore. Karn staggered.

  Marraka dashed up the dais, before launching herself into a flying kick. Karn’s knee shattered like splintered wood, and he dropped like a sack of grain.

  Krogh charged, leading with his sword, bloodthirst pushing him to another level – his gaze fixated on Karn’s exposed neck, until a massive blast sent him sprawling.

  An army of teeth erupted from the wall, as a shockwave rocked the room. A cavernous opening, as the vatagand ripped the wall open – letting loose a soul-shattering screech – a killing intent flooded the room.

  Gorthow counted down the seconds, the armada was formed, and the portal collapsed.

  The only way back – mana – lots of it. Not that Gorthow intended to return; this was the beginning of the end. Soon, this world would fall. The System had blessed their mission.

  “Sir – bombardment in five…” Gorthow lowered his visor as he rose into the air.

  He loved this part.

  The first cannon blast pierced the air, and one by one, the newly designed mana panzers discharged their payloads.

  Gorthow tingled with expectation. The first shell… vanished in a puff.

  Gorthow zoomed his visor in, confusion wracking him – shell after shell – tendrils of fog swirling and striking – disappearing the artillery like popped bubbles.

  “Hold…fire in unison, on my mark, [Hammer of the Emperor], in five – four…

  Barrel tips erupted like matchsticks; the armada was empowered.

  He raised his palms to the sky, a look of triumph on his face, “...One! Fire at will!”

  The Crstyal Plains erupted.

  Ren listened intently as Mitzy filled him in on the finer points of what seemed to be an evil corporate empire. According to her, they were a conglomerate democracy, but she preferred to label them separatists and be done with it.

  Their tech sounded way more advanced than anything on Earth, including their own AI, something called Majordomo.

  Ren interrupted her as she enthusiastically recalled the time she single-handedly – no pun intended – took down a squadron of shock troops with little more than spit and gumballs, and of course her lightsaber – Ren needed one of those – bad. “Do they have EDM?”

  Mitzy pinched her chin in thought, “Hmm, I’m not sure – what is it?”

  Ren spun his fingers and channeled his core – his decks shimmered into existence.

  Mitzy clapped her hands, “OooO, pretty colours – what does it do? Can it make candy?” Her boots bounced.

  Ren smiled, his fingers danced across the deck, flipping switches and tuning sliders, “I’ve been thinking a lot since I’ve been here – about animals, we don’t have beastkin where I’m from, we mostly just eat them, sometimes we keep them as pets.

  Ren’s smile grew to his ears as he thought of Animals, by Martin Garrix, and its wooden xylophones and haunting pops. He laughed a deep belly laugh, as he pictured beastkin – getting rowdy, clapping their hands, and generally doing as animals do. He rolled his shoulders and bobbed his head, even as he kept up his speed – the mana flowed, Ren hit the master switch – and the music was there, slow, rapidly growing, and electronic.

  “This is the song that comes to mind, Mitzy, it’s called Animals – and where I’m from, we call this fire.”

  Meen-Tra sat in the back of the wagon train, doing her best to ignore the frightened, unnamed orcs. She should really do something to ease their spirits. She was too worried about Ren, the army of giants, and — Garzha.

  She adjusted the strap on her sandals and wondered if there were mysteries they had yet to reveal, or if they were done ruining her life.

  Her eyes flicked to the green colossus lumbering their direction. Yep, they're still coming, and we’re still doomed.

  She shook her head; at least her skill was silent – for now.

  Her eyes narrowed. Was that him? What is he…

  What was he holding? The flashing lights – like a cityscape – was that…is Mitzy dancing? Ren was getting close; dust and shimmering symbols swirled around him.

  Mitzy spun like a top clamped to the edge of Ren’s deck, her arm out wide and legs bouncing. Meen-Tra gritted her teeth – there was…music?

  Heads turned, the train alerted – a murmur of fear, frightened folk assuming the worst.

  Meen-Tra’s eyes grew round; he was going to. Ren slid to a stop, his sandals kicking up a cloud. Mitzy went flying. Spinning through the air, grinning like a madwoman, “Oomf.”

  Meen-Tra looked down, and the face of mischief looked back, “Hey there, little miss cobalt.” She sighed.

  They were all going to die.

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