The room was thick with voices — overlapping, panicked, shouting. Every oil-lamp flickered under the tension; every shadow stretched long with movement.
Deren stood with arms crossed, jaw clenched. Ana leaned heavily on her tall mace, face drawn. Elric sat with his back to the wall, eyes half-closed - resting as much as he can in anticipation of what is to come. Ryel had said nothing since entering, clearly deep in thought.
"—we can't just let it stand out there!" barked Bailiff Hevrick, a thickset man with a proud red tabard and a sword that looked too clean. "It's causing fear. People are packing their bags already."
"They should be," Ana said quietly.
Hevrick turned to her, his expression cold. "You're one of the adventurers. Didn't you report killing this... thing?"
"We thought we did," Deren answered, gravely. "It collapsed. Its armor cracked. We left it in its hall, and we barely made it back alive."
"Then you failed." Hevrick's voice was sharp and accusatory. "And now it has brought whatever twisted abomination followed it. They're both just standing there. Not attacking."
"It's waiting for something," Ana said, gaze distant. "Or maybe… it's lost."
Harren slammed a fist on the table. "Nonsense. It's a monster. I won't let a shadow of the dungeon start haunting Blackreed. It's our road this thing blocks. Our town it threatens."
A lieutenant entered, sweat on his brow. "Sir. The men are… nervous. A few are asking if we should wait for orders from the main city."
Hevrick's jaw worked. "Orders will take a week. We act now."
Deren stepped forward. "Listen to me. That thing isn't a beast. It's not like the ones that roam the wilds. That's a dungeon guardian. Its strength is unfathomable. And now it's outside of its restrictive cage, planning god knows what. No one can predict what it is capable of. We need to exercise absolute caution."
"Fleeing in panic is out of the question. You city folk may have a place to run off to. But for us, we have nowhere else to go. Abandoning this place would be too great a loss." Hevrick spat. "Before spreading fear, do you have anything actually useful to offer?"
"It shouldn't exist anymore," Ana said. "No guardian returns to life after being slain. At least, none ever has. And no dungeon monster leaves its dreadful home. So aside from the report you've already seen, I'm afraid we have no more knowledge to offer you."
"So, a dungeon guardian that should have been dead is now alive and well, wondering around with its repulsive pet outside a dungeon it shouldn't have been able to leave? Great," Harren said scornfully. "Maybe it came here out of pity - to help you finish your job."
Ryel said quietly: "Or maybe someone sent young kids who destroyed whatever was keeping these monsters from leaving."
Before Hevrick could respond, Deren stepped in: "This is not the time to quarrel over spilled milk. Ryel, those young adventurers did what we were planning to do anyway—they went into the dungeon. We don't hold a monopoly on entry. If they hadn't gone, then the only difference is that we'd be the ones who failed to return, and they'd be standing here instead."
Ryel, visibly dissatisfied, turned his head away without responding.
"Hevrick, since it was our job to ensure that the dungeon was cleared, we will aid you in every way we can. But I would prefer to help you evacuate the residents rather than taking part in a suicide charge" - Deren continued.
After a pause Hevrick responded, the sneering disdain gone from his voice: "...My men will not accept abandoning their livelihoods and what their families have painstakingly built over generations. Not without putting up a fight first."
Deren said nothing in response, his frown speaking for itself.
"We'll fight beside them. And die beside them. Comforting symmetry, I suppose." - shrugged Elric.
- - -
Torches lined the battlements. Archers stood in loose rows; all eyes fixed on the tree line.
The dungeon boss hadn't moved.
It stood there, like a statue too large for the world around it. The moon caught the curve of its helm, the ragged cloak, the dried blood on its armor. The smaller creature — the shadow-lurker — crouched behind its legs, low to the earth, unmoving.
"Loose!" came the cry.
A flight of arrows screamed across the dark.
They struck. Some pinged off the armor, some stuck. The creature didn't flinch. It merely turned its head slightly, as though watching the sky for rain.
Then, after several breaths — it took a step forward.
Just one.
The panic broke like a damn bursting.
Such was the sheer weight of its presence, and the hopelessness of the untrained garrison militia before this force of nature.
Screams echoed across the outpost as soldiers scrambled to prepare. Some dropped spears and fled toward the woods. Others rallied to the gate, forming lines. The second volley of arrows was looser, more desperate.
Ana was chanting under her breath. Elric poured a dark liquid onto his blade. Deren stood atop the wall now, watching the guardian approach with clenched fists.
"It doesn't look angry," Ana murmured, barely audible. "It's just… coming closer."
The guardian walked without urgency, with that same dreadful rhythm. The smaller creature followed, low and twitching, weaving around the surrounding flora.
The gates shuddered open — the garrison's bravest stepping forward. A squad of ten spearmen sallied out, flanked by armored swordsmen.
"Drive it back!" someone shouted.
The dungeon boss stopped.
It tilted its head — the same way it had in the woods, in the dungeon.
Curious.
One of the soldiers jabbed forward.
The creature raised its mace-bearing arm—like a conductor signaling the start of a final symphony—and brought it down.
One.
Just one.
The shockwave cracked bones and dropped half the front line instantly. The lurker darted forward like an uncaged spider and tore the left flank apart with dizzying speed—its mandibles severing limbs, its abhorrent appendages ripping scales from its own body and hurling them as poisonous, lethal projectiles.
Swords rang out. Voices cried.
But no real fight ever began.
It wasn't war.
It was a recreational hunt carried out by an iron huntsman and his rabid crimson dog.
- - -
Buildings were falling apart. Horses screamed. Townsfolk fled in hysterical droves through narrow alleys as the outer gate crumpled.
And through it all, the dark figure walked.
It did not pursue.
It did not shout, or roar, or swing wildly.
It walked, as if through the dungeon still.
As if this town, with its wood and stone, was nothing more than another chamber.
It reached a well in the center square and stopped.
Then it looked down into it — for a long, quiet moment — seemingly searching for something lost.
The lurker skulked nearby. Waiting.
From the shadows of a ruined stable, the adventurers emerged. Ana, burnt and with one of her eyes shut. Deren, streaked in blood. Elric and Ryel behind, all that remained.
They saw him standing there. Looking into the well.
"What a self-absorbed creature it turned out to be. Casually admiring its reflection after slaughtering hundreds. Proud of its work, no doubt," said Elric, breaking the tense atmosphere.
"Glad to see the poison only damaged your lungs, not your sense of humor" - Deren responded with a pained grin.
Ryel raised an eyebrow. "You speak with unusual mirth for a man at the end his line. Feeling fortunate, are we?"
"How could I not be, we have finally discovered the identity of the one that caused us so much grief during our last raid. Though I did not expect its form to be so repulsive. Still, I welcome the chance to pay it back for hurting our precious healer."
"I appreciate your sentiment Deren" - said Ana with a gentle smile. "But I'm afraid our efforts won't be enough today."
Ryel concurred. "No, most certainly not. We have no hope of winning."
Elric said nothing—the sound of his raspy breaths the only noise in the sudden stillness.
Deren simply nodded, his eyes taking in the horizon.
Then, together—without command, without hesitation—
They stepped forward anyway.