Malcolm heard Valgrin mutter, “This isn’t good.”
“I agree,” He answered. “Should we attack or wait? Maybe the test is to see if we don’t attack?”
“I don’t know,” was Izzy’s answer.
Ylnah joined in, “I’m the same as Izzy.”
The pink-haired figure's fingers twitched, which caught Malcolm’s eye, he exploded into action, “Valgrin, Ylnah get down Pinkie is getting ready to do something!” He watched both his friends duck just as lightning cracked the air, sizzling through the space where Valgrin's head had been. The stench of ozone scorched Malcolm's nostrils. The ice elf answered with a spear of ice right to the midsection of his assailant. Not sure Pinkie was immune to cold. Then, chaos. Pure, unfiltered chaos.
Tomato-red hair bounced as the figure turned and ran toward Malcolm, matching him blow for blow. This one has the speed to match. Each swing was countered by the target, sai clanging against long-dagger blades. Suddenly, his attacker disappeared in a bank of fog. “Damn Mist Cloak,” Malcolm growled. He slashed his sai with a broad stroke, hitting nothing but air. Setting himself for the next attack, he felt something slash against his thigh. A mottled gray hand had slipped out of the fog and tried to cut his leg. I got one of the Valgrinish monsters, too. Malcolm quickly thanked his Armored Cloth and swung again, with the same result. Really, two hiding in the fog and not one hit? He allowed his follow through to carry him to the side of where he thought the red hair attacker was, the fog followed his movements away from the group. In the few seconds the move bought him he decided to match fog for fog, casting Mist Cloak for himself. The other cloud of fog backed up a step and hesitated. Trying to figure out how to attack? The pause allowed Malcolm let his attention flicker to his friends.
Through swirling mist, Malcolm caught sight of Izzy, a blur of motion and determination. Her bow, unstrung at one end, whistled through the air as she wielded it like a quarterstaff. Each precise movement kept her attacker at bay, but the crimson streak down her forearm made his heart skip. Blood. Yet she fought on, seemingly unfazed. Looks like she’s got things under control.
His gaze darted frantically toward where Valgrin should be. Nothing. Just flashes of blue between shifting bodies and crackling energy. Was Valgrin still standing? Malcolm strained for any sign.
A pained shriek pulled his attention to Ylnah just as Purple staggered backward, clawing desperately at its eyes. One of her Explosive Airs had found its mark. She’s doing well too. Then he saw the dagger. Half-buried in her left shoulder, its hilt quivered with each of her ragged breaths as red blossomed across her top like a deadly flower opening in time-lapse. Damn, hope Valgrin or Izzy can get to her, not sure I can.
The opposing fog surged toward Malcolm like a predator scenting blood. No time. He exploded forward, sai slashing a desperate arc through the mist. The blade connected with a sickening thud, tearing through unseen flesh. Malcolm roared and drove the weapon deeper, twisting savagely until he felt something give way. Hope that hurt. He ripped the sai free, hot blood sprayed across his face, metallic on his lips. Two frantic steps backward, then he hurled himself into a combat roll, muscles screaming as he tumbled toward Izzy. His childhood fantasy of battle acrobatics shattered by the jarring reality of bones meeting stone. A wild glance over his shoulder revealed Izzy still several steps distant, while the fog hurtled toward him with unnatural speed. A dagger flashed out of the gray fog, missing Malcolm by fractions of an inch. Malcolm’s counter found nothing but air, again.
“Close!” Skwilly shouted.
Malcolm slammed his eyes shut, a flash of light fought his eyelids almost immediately after he shut them. He opened them just in time to see death hurtling toward him. The dagger blade whistled through air, its point aimed directly at his heart. Malcolm hurled himself sideways, spine cracking against stone as he crashed to the floor. The dagger shrieked past Malcolm's ear, close enough to slice a few hairs. Red's silhouette loomed above him, fog stripped away, exposed and lethal. He launched upward, muscles burning, and drove his sai into Red's thigh with a primal roar. Blood erupted through torn armor but not enough, not nearly enough. Red staggered back, face contorting with rage as he executed a violent, slashing motion with both arms. The air itself seemed to warp around him until his daggers transformed into monstrous battle axes, their edges gleaming with hungry malice.
How can he manage both? Will he sacrifice speed? Did he shut his eyes too? A sudden lunge, followed by a flurry of attacks, drove Malcolm back. Nope, no speed sacrifice. Gotta be magic. He got set to counter another round of attacks, the axes glinting as they tried to cleave him in half. My Mist Cloak is gone! How? Negate magic spell or something? He stopped thinking beyond blocking the next blow, and the next, and the next one. Red backed off again, giving Malcolm a moments respite, then the storm of axe blows began again. Mist Cloak! He felt relief when the familiar fog formed around him. He dove to the floor, trying to close the distance between Izzy and himself. The landing ended up being louder than expected, he saw Red turn and focus on where he lay. A quick scramble across the floor put enough distance between him and the axe that gouged a chunk out of the stone floor. Panting, he crab-walked further away while wishing the fog bank was larger.
Malcolm risked a frantic glance backward and his heart skipped a beat, Ylnah lay crumpled on the stone, a crimson pool widening beneath her motionless form. Izzy and Valgrin had formed a desperate barricade over her body, their weapons slick with gore as they fended off relentless attacks. Pinkie, face contorted in rage despite a gaping wound across its torso, had joined Midnight Blue in a frenzy of violence. The bald Valgrinish monster circled like a vulture, its mottled skin glistening with sweat and blood. Purple and the hairy Valgrinish creature lay sprawled nearby in twisted heaps, dead or merely unconscious, Malcolm couldn't tell through the haze of battle.
Stolen novel; please report.
A bestial roar shattered Malcolm's focus as Red transformed one battle axe into a throwing weapon, the metal warping and shrinking with a sickening crack. The first axe flew through the air before smashing into stone, spraying chips that stung Malcolm's face. Another materialized in Red's hand. Clang! This one struck closer, close enough for Malcolm to feel the rush of displaced air. Malcolm rolled forward as Red unleashed a barrage, each weapon whistling death as it carved the air around him. Sweat stung his eyes. Okay, time to fight fire with fire. Lungs burning, he surged upright in his fog shroud and launched his hammer with every ounce of strength. The impact stunned Red the sound of the impact reverberated through the room. The creature's eyes rolled back as it staggered, but only for an instant before it unleashed an ear-splitting howl that made Malcolm's teeth vibrate. Three axes flew, their edges gleaming. They're going to tear me apart. Malcolm slammed himself down, feeling his shoulder pop as he hit the floor. The axes screamed overhead, then agony exploded in his side as a fourth axe, appearing from nowhere, buried itself into on of his lower ribs. His Armored Cloth absorbed some of the blow, but it still embedded itself into bone. White-hot pain detonated through his body, followed by a bone-deep cold that stole his breath. Frost crystals formed around the wound, blood freezing as it welled. Fucking ice enchantment. Malcolm's vision tunneled as he clawed forward, each movement ripping at the axe, leaving a crimson smear that steamed in his wake.
Skwilly shouted, “Close!” A flash of light hit the room.
Malcolm's eyes snapped open to find Red lurching blindly, battle axe and throwing axe still clutched in its fists. Didn't get your eyes closed this time, did ya. Malcolm wrapped his fingers around the axe buried in his ribs and yanked. A scream tore from his throat as frost-rimmed flesh ripped, blood spraying in a crimson arc. Metal shrieked against bone. A thunderous crash jolted his attention upward, an axe ricocheting off stone, sparks cascading like falling stars. Silence. No more grunting or screaming. Malcolm scrambled backward, leaving scarlet handprints smeared across the floor. An arrow punched through Red's throwing shoulder with a wet thunk. A second arrow slammed into its opposite shoulder, it staggered as the battle axe clattered to the floor. The third arrow struck center mass with such force that Red stumbled backward, blood fountaining from its chest. With a final, guttural roar, Red hurled its remaining axe in a wild arc before collapsing in a twitching heap, dark blood pooling beneath its massive frame.
Malcolm turned his head and gave Izzy a nod of gratitude. “Need to cast some healing on myself.” He craned his neck to look behind him and saw a tattered Valgrin bent over Ylnah. “How is she?”
Skwilly’s head popped up from helping care for her, “She lost a lot of blood and the healing isn’t taking. Should we use the Potion of Whatever on her?”
Izzy fumbled with her bag and pulled out a lavender colored potion, “Valgrin, catch.” She tossed it to the ice elf. “That’s a strong heal wounds and illnesses potion, try it first. If it works, yay. If it doesn’t then we try the Potion of Whatever.”
Valgrin nodded, uncorking the bottle then turning to administer it to Ylnah.
“Got any more of those potions.” Malcolm grinned, “Save me from casting a bunch of healing spells.”
<
The axes? Wait, did all their weapons do that?
<
“Don’t give Ylnah the potion yet. She’s been poisoned. Anyone who’s been hit by one of their weapons is probably poisoned.” Malcolm shouted to the group.
“Too late on stopping the first potion.” Valgrin responded.
“That potion should handle poison as well.” Izzy reassured everyone.
“Magical ones?” Malcolm asked.
Izzy scrunched her mouth, pausing for a moment, “I think it should. If it doesn’t we can try a Deactivate Poison spell. Not sure if they’d handle magic poison either.”
“It’s the delivery that is magical, more so than the poison.” Malcolm repeated what the Structure told him.
“Valgrin, here’s one for you, Skwilly, and if she needs it Ylnah.” Izzy tossed over a potion each time she named a name. “Need one Malcolm?”
“Not according to Sandy.” He replied.
“This ones mine then.” She removed the stopper and guzzled the potion.
The monotone voice of the Narrator interrupted, “It would seem I was mistaken. I will talk to you before it is all over. Each one of you, other than the one you call Skwilly, which seems to be his name, so it is a good thing to call him. Anyway, everyone else here has been poisoned. The poison nullifies nine out of ten healing points, so it takes much more to heal you. Two of you were critically injured. You will have to decide who gets the Potion of Whatever before this room will be considered successful.”
“You guys aren’t doing a great job at reading the room. I’m immune to poison and have been successful in fighting this one off, guess I may be fully immune to magical potions. It may take me a while, but I have enough healing to be fine. So, Ylnah would be the one to get it and the rest of us will be fine.” Malcolm shouted up at the ceiling.
The Narrator answered, his voice a deeper tone than before, “That would be in the spirit of the dungeon. If all of you are stable, with or without the Potion of Whatever, the dungeon will be considered successful.”
“And we each get our own Potion of Whatever?” Izzy asked.
“Yes,” the Narrator left it as a one word answer.
“In that case lets feed the potion to Ylnah.” Izzy walked it over to Valgrin, “Didn’t want to throw this one.”
“Her breathing is already better,” Valgrin looked up at Izzy, speaking loud enough for Malcolm to hear as well. “Her pulse is much stronger, too. Should we wait or go ahead and give this potion to her.”
Malcolm called out from across the room, “I vote give her the potion. Rather be safe than end up in a situation where its not good.”
Izzy nodded, “I agree. Be nice to save the potion, but more important to save our friend.”
Valgrin put the Potion of Whatever to Ylnah’s lips. Her instincts kicked in, again, and she swallowed.
The room went silent save for the thundering of their own heartbeats. One minute crawled by, each second stretching into eternity. Two minutes. Malcolm's pulse hammered in his ears. Then Ylnah's chest heaved violently upward, her eyes flying open as she choked and gasped, clawing at her throat while color flooded back into her ashen face.
“Wha…how…whe?” Ylnah sputtered as she propped herself up on her elbows.
“Magic poison and actual damage.” Valgrin handed her a waterskin, she grabbed and took a long drink.
“Remember that. Knocked me out?” She asked after handing the waterskin back.
“Yep and you were a kind of touch and go.” Valgrin looked at her completely healed shoulder, “Critical hit, but the poison wouldn’t allow us to heal enough to get you out of critical. So you got the Potion of Whatever. Good news, we all survived so each of us will get our personal vial of it.”
“Hey Narrator guy.” Malcolm raised his voice in hopes of getting a response.
The Narrator answered in his deeper voice, “Yes?”
“Can we stay here for a couple of days? To recover.” Malcolm asked.
“I can turn off the auto-reset. You can stay for a couple of days, as long as someone else doesn’t come to the dungeon.”
“Auto-reset?” Valgrin joined the conversation.
"Yes,” The Narrator answered. “If you are still in the room and unsuccessful the room resets five minutes after the last of your attackers dies. All six of your opponents would have reappeared in the niches, fully healed. You would face them in whatever condition you were in.”
Izzy shook her head, “That isn’t fair.”
“Fairness was never promised,” The Narrator pointed out.
Valgrin grumbled, “It never is.”