The Sun-Elven Imperial Champion, Sir Vaelith, clenched his teeth and vigorously rubbed at his burning eyes. The cursed gaseous mixture these otherworlders used clung to everything and more vigorously than a night with a woman of the might. It made the blonde Imperial Baronet want to claw his eyes out.

  Each moment, the irritants in his lungs and eyes grew more painful unless he drank water. Unfortunately, Sir Vaelith had gone through canteen after canteen with little relief. One of his men quickly pushed a rough water skin into the Baronet’s hands, which he immediately upended over his face. It was just a pitiful dribble because of its design, but Vaelith would take anything to wash away the worst of the chemical burn.

  "Damn these chaotic demons!" Vaelth snarled, coughing and spitting as the water mixed with whatever alchemical torture the otherworlders had deployed.

  Baronet Vaelith’s throat felt raw and his sinuses on fire, but he was still alive, which was a lot more than he could say about his peers. This surprise attack was an absolute disaster, leaving no one with a clue about who was in charge. Sir Vaelith had spent the past hours running around trying to hold the otherworlders back at every turn, but each time he faced an overwhelming force.

  Sure, he had slaughtered a few here and there once he got amidst them, but reaching that point caused Vaelith to deplete so much of his forces that it was completely unsustainable. He just hoped that if he survived, the duchess wouldn’t lay partial blame for this catastrophe at his feet, along with General Stask and his command staff.

  They initially detected some kind of enemy presence in the air—those strange aerial contraptions the otherworlders used, circling miles off in the distance like metal vultures. But Imperial command had expected a small reconnaissance element, perhaps a probing force at most. Not a full assault accompanied by whatever horrifying bombardment kept raining down on them from above, collapsing entire sections of their underground complex with each thunderous impact.

  Vaelith rubbed his eyes again, hacked, and spat a glob of chemical-tainted phlegm onto the floor. "Lieutenant Theron!" he bellowed out angrily.

  "Yes, Captain!" came the response from further down the hall.

  Cracking his eyes open, Sir Vaelith squinted to see the young lieutenant running toward him from further down the tunnel with his bladestaff in hand. However, the boy stumbled just after another series of earth-shattering blasts rocked the complex, collapsing sections of the ceiling on top of a group of poor souls much further down the tunnel.

  The explosions were shaking the entire structure to its core. When they initially constructed the place, it was meant to act as a command and control center, tucked away snugly, deep into the forest. Command had never imagined that anyone would be brave enough, or more aptly, foolhardy enough, to send an expeditionary force through the bordering zones of the Druids' territory.

  Initially, they aimed to protect this complex by wedging themselves between their main forces and the rogue or even feral fae that were lingering on the outskirts of those damnable druids. It was a simple strategy that was unanimously agreed upon by the command staff. However, they had been wrong. They had been very wrong.

  Lieutenant Theron was a young, clean-cut Sun Elf who had just been conferred the rank of Journeyman mage less than three months ago. The poor boy was as green as a newborn baby, with the only experience he’d ever encountered being a simple subjugation test that elevated him from a Lesser Mage to a Journeyman.

  So imagine his surprise when Theron was suddenly thrown into the worst and bloodiest fighting the Empire had seen in centuries. The poor boy snapped his eyes toward the sound of screaming and saw that half the tunnel had collapsed onto Imperial auxiliaries, who were now shrieking bloody murder and begging for help while a few others frantically tried to dig them out.

  That section of the base was the officers' quarters, now filled with the all-too-familiar muffled cracks and snaps of the otherworlders' unholy weaponry. Those thunder-sticks spat death faster than any crossbow, and it seemed every otherworldly man, woman, and child possessed them.

  Sir Vaelith marched over as Imperial regulars and auxiliaries hurried past carrying the wounded. "Theron!" he yelled between violent coughs, spitting again. "What is the status of General Nervyn!" He managed to get out before squeezing the water skin and forcing as much water into his eyes as possible.

  Theron finally got to his feet, but his eyes were almost swimming in his head when he saw his captain and what was behind him. Just under a hundred meters away was something that Theron could only describe as a nightmare. The hallway was a horrifying macabre tableau as both mundane and mana-capable auxiliaries desperately trying ot limp away or drag the wounded to safety.

  The floor was slick with blood, causing people to slip as the dead and dying lay everywhere, and the ghastly injuries on these poor bastards were terrifying in their own right. It looked as if projectiles had punched clean through bodies, with entry wounds about the size of coins and exit wounds large enough to fit a fist. Whatever the otherworlders used moved horrifically faster than anything any mage could properly conjure.

  But the oddest addition to the scene was a huge metal vault door slammed into the bend of their tunnel system. Theron immediately realized the piece of metal was originally intended for the pens to hold those feared Wyrms—semi-sentient serpentine monsters that were to Drakes what Wyverns are to dragons. Worst of all, these terrifying creatures grew to enormous lengths and were usually extremely hostile to anyone who wasn’t their handler.

  One of these monsters holding the door was lodged into the wall to serve as a makeshift barrier. It didn't cover the entire tunnel opening, but it was enough to make squeezing through the gaps nearly suicidal.

  Was whatever enemy they were fighting so horrible that they needed to use a barrier designed to contain creatures that made even seasoned warriors and mages scream in horror when one came slithering toward them? The irony wasn't lost on Theron. They were using defenses meant for nightmares to hold back something arguably worse.

  And it was failing…

  Vaelith growled and grabbed the young lieutenant by the scruff of his shirt, shaking him vigorously. "Theron! Pay attention!"

  The tunnel shook as more of those blasted explosive orbs detonated against the makeshift barricade. Each concussive wave seemed to knock more sense into the lieutenant as his eyes blinked rapidly.

  "I-I'm sorry, sir," he stammered, trying to formulate some kind of coherent response in his jumbled mind.

  "We have to move NOW!" The Baronet's personal mage, a raven-haired human Woman named Minette, yelled over the chaos. She kept her bladestaff raised toward the barrier and the corner they had just fought over, glaring hatefully while heaving heavily from exertion. "I don't think I can take another round of this!"

  More explosions erupted as those dreaded little balls were thrown around the makeshift barricade, each blast sending shrapnel and debris flying. This caused Sir Vaelith to growl and grab Theron by the arm, pulling him along as they stumbled through the chaos.

  "Have you heard from the General?! His adjutant?!" He had to yell over the explosions and muffled otherworldly weapon fire. "Gods damnit, have you heard from ANYONE?!"

  When his Captain asked that question, Theron could do nothing but stare at him with a blank, confused expression as his mouth floundered like a fish gasping for air. "I... the General... I..." He stuttered a few more incomprehensible words before shaking his head vigorously. "N-no, Sir Vaelith. I… They."

  His voice cracked as he continued, "T-the officers' quarters, it..."

  The young elf went silent as Vaelith basically dragged him along. "EVERYONE FALL BACK! Save those you can!" The Baronet stopped at the corner and bellowed over the chaos. "Leave those too wounded to move—they're dead anyway!"

  Vaelith then spun back to his lieutenant, whose collar he still had balled in his fist. "Theron! What have you seen?!" He snarled angrily, but his Lieutenant still seemed to be suffering from shock and couldn’t find the words.

  The poor Lieutenant continued to stutter uselessly until the Baronet decided to snap Theron out of whatever was plaguing his mind and shook him vigorously. “Theron! Answer me!”

  Theron finally found his footing, causing Vaelith to release him. "I... I just found bodies, sir. Mostly of the staff, but there were..." The lieutenant responded and stood upright. "There were bodies of commanders… especially Marshal Ketran. I believe you're the highest-ranking officer this side of the complex, Captain."

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  It was Vaelith's turn to go silent as he stared at his Lieutenant as if he were growing another head. But before he could question if that was true, Minette came marching over, still heaving heavily, and holding her head from such aggressive expenditure of mana. The mage glanced down the hall toward the officers' quarters. "We can't stay here. We need to start moving before it's too late."

  Vaelith brought his hands to his eyes and pressed them in deeply, gritting his teeth against the pain and frustration.

  Suddenly, Minette's hands shot up, forming another barrier—this time facing the direction Theron had come from. A thunderous barrage of otherworldly weapon fire slammed into it, causing ripple effects across the magical shield. Meanwhile, the Auxiliary reservists still pulling people from the rubble or fleeing were caught in the back and dropping like wheat before a scythe.

  Snapping out of his shock, Vaelith instinctively ducked behind the corner as if trying to dodge the otherworldly assault. But he quickly peeked back around and looked disdainfully at the foliage-clad soldier unleashing fury upon them.

  The intruder fought in a way that made the Captain's skin crawl. Only a small portion of the enemy's body was exposed, but it was enough for his weapon to spit death at them. And once this infernal thunder-stick clicked empty, the soldier simply slipped back into cover, vanishing from sight before another took his place.

  "COWARDS!" Vaelith roared. "Face us properly, you craven dogs!"

  Minette groaned as the spell flickered and her knees wobbled, but through sheer determination, she kept her spell active. The mage stood there, tanking the flood of projectiles as they sparked and ricocheted all over the place. Once there was a pause in the onslaught, Vaelith wasted no time. He grabbed his mage's arm and yanked her into cover just before more projectiles sparked off the walls.

  Theron, seeing his superiors in danger, did the only thing he could think of. His hands rose, and with words of power spilling from his lips, he pulled at the earth above them. The hastily cast spell caused a rough half-foot-thick slab of shaped stone to come crashing down and seal them in.

  A guttural growl escaped Minette’s throat as she struggled with the aggressive mana depletion. While potent, her barrier was never meant to tank this insane amount of a damage. The woman stumbled forward, barely catching herself on the wall before shooting a bloodshot glare directly at Theron.

  "You... fool!" she hissed between ragged breaths, her brows furrowing so deeply that veins bulged at her temples as she fought against the withdrawals clawing at her mind. "Why didn't you… Why didn’t you just collapse the damned tunnel?!"

  Just as she said that, as if right on cue, a horrendous, continuous hammering erupted against the conjured wall that made conversation nearly impossible. Round after round slammed into Theron's hastily conjured barrier, each impact sending vibrations through the stone that they could feel in their bones. The thunderous cacophony was like being inside a drum during a particularly violent performance.

  Orderly! ORDERLY, damn you all!" Vaelith roared over the deafening din pounding against Theron's makeshift barrier. The noise was apocalyptic—like being inside a war drum while giants rapidly hammered at it with picks. Because of the cramped nature of this cursed tunnel, each impact sent reverberations through the stone that made teeth ache and ears ring, but fortunately, the wall was holding. For now.

  The Baronet cursed viciously as panicked support staff and reservists shoved and pushed past him in the narrow corridor. The men in the hall had lost all semblance of military discipline and turned into a panic mob, fleeing from certain death. Not that the Vaelith nor any of the real Imperials present expected any less of them. There were no proper soldiers in this unruly crowd; they were just conscripts and reservists—throwaways pulled back into service or villagers armed with spears. Men who’d only faced down Kobolds or Scroungers, not interdimensional terrors wielding weapons that defied their understanding of warfare.

  "You craven dogs!" Vaelith snarled as one reservists nearly knocked Minette over in his desperate flight. The small contingent of Imperial regulars that formed Vaelith's personal retinue tried desperately to maintain some semblance of order, but they were fighting a losing battle against the tide of panic.

  Finally, Vaelith had enough. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade as he channeled the arcane. "The next man who doesn't move in an ORDERLY fashion gets a sword through his spine!” The bellow caused everyone to gasp and cringe in pain as their eardrums started to ache. “Knight Kellick! You and the men start executing anyone who breaks ranks!"

  The threat hung in the air like an executioner's axe. Everyone froze for a heartbeat, with the only sound in the tunnel being the relentless hammering against stone. Knight Kellick, a weathered veteran with more scars than teeth, and the rest of the Imperials drew their swords slowly and deliberately. Mages spoke words of power, and the air around them distorted as they prepared to unleash their spells on the reservists or supply staf.

  "You heard the Captain," Kellick growled, his voice carrying the promise of violence. "Nice and orderly now, or I'll gut you myself and save the otherworlders the trouble!"

  The effect was instant. The panicked crowd shifted into something resembling an organized retreat, with the reservists moving carefully despite the terror in their eyes. Vaelith wrapped his arm around Minette's waist, supporting her as she leaned heavily on his shoulder. Her breathing was strained, every step seeming to cause her pain as the mana withdrawal devastated her system.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the hammering stopped.

  When it came to warfare, silence and stillness were always far worse than the enemy being open and making their intentions known. Everyone paused, heads turning back toward where they'd come from, straining to hear what came next.

  "Did... did they give up?" Theron asked, his voice barely above a whisper, hope creeping into his tone.

  Minette let out a pained laugh that turned into a groan as she clutched her head with her free hand. "Of course not, you fool," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut against the splitting headache. "They're probably going to go through that damned thing in a much more... kinetic fashion. Or just collapse the tunnels on top of us."

  "MARCH!" Vaelith's voice cut through the expectant silence like a blade through silk. "And make sure you’re ORDERLY! Three lines, NOW!" The effect was immediate.

  The mob of auxiliaries hurried into formation, their fear of Imperial’s magic and drawn blades stronger than the enemy just beyond the walls. Three ragged but working lines lined up in the tunnel and started moving as men shuffled into position with the desperate efficiency of those who knew that while the otherworlders were terrible, their Imperial masters were worse.

  Knight Kellick and his squad of Imperial regulars positioned themselves along the procession like shepherds watching particularly stupid sheep. Their expressions were carved from stone, with their hands resting on the hilts of their swords or the contours of their bladestaves. Each Imperial carried themselves with the casual readiness of men and women who'd gutted better soldiers than these for lesser infractions. Each auxiliary that passed received the same cold assessment—move properly or be cut down where you stand.

  Minette was still in a bad way as she hobbled forward under her charge’s support. The poor woman found it hard to focus on anything. It was too the point where her footing suddenly gave way and her legs buckled like a newborn foal's. She would have crashed face-first into the blood-slicked stone if Vaelith hadn't tightened his grip, practically lifting her entire weight with one arm.

  "My head," she groaned, the words coming out slurred and pained. "Feels like... like it's splitting in half. Can't... can't think..."

  Heavy, ragged breaths escaped her lips as she fought to keep moving. Vaelith looked down at his mage with a mix of frustration and genuine concern. They had stood by each other through thick and thin for years. From subduing those massive brutes to the nightmare skirmishes with the Unseelie undead that left half their company as walking corpses. Each campaign they faced was for the Duchess, and each time Minette pushed herself to the limit, but never like this. Never to the point where she couldn't even stand.

  Yet she kept moving. Minette’s very life depended on taking one agonizing step after another. The woman was to the point of simply dragging her feet across the stone, and when she tilted her head up, she met Vaelith's gaze with bloodshot and unfocused pupils dilated from the mana withdrawal.

  "We need to... move faster," she gasped, each word clearly costing her. "Whatever they're doing back there... it's going to kill us all. I can feel it... They're preparing something..."

  Vaelith bit his lip hard at the thought. The Baronette’s brow knitted sharply, and the taste of copper filled his mouth as blood dribbled down his chin. Vaelith’s mind raced through their dwindling options. They were trapped in these tunnels like rats, with an enemy that fought without honor, using weapons that turned warfare into slaughter.

  His eyes darted around the intersection, searching for anything that might help until they landed on something curious—a sign carved into the stone wall, partially obscured by blood smears: "WYRM PENS — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY."

  An insane idea started to form in his mind. Most of the Wyrms were on the surface fighting those mechanical monstrosities that spat death like a water faucet. The ones left below were wounded, dying from the horrific injuries those iron contraptions inflicted—wounds that punched through scales and left gaping holes that even Wyrm constitution couldn't easily heal.

  But there was one...

  Vaelith remembered it from his inspection three days ago. A younger bull, not quite forty feet but close, with deep gouges along its flanks from where otherworlder weapons had struck. Wounded badly, yes, but still able to move and still incredibly dangerous. Its handler would be with it—they never left their charges unattended, especially when wounded. The Monster’s handler would most likely be maintaining control and soothing it while a healer tended to its wounds.

  If they could convince the handler to release it, or even just agitate it enough… That’d buy them enough time to get the hell out of here.

  "Change of plans," Vaelith announced, his voice cutting through the nervous murmurs of the auxiliaries. "Knight Kellick, I need you to take Minette and keep these fools moving toward the barracks. Theron, you're with me."

  Kellick's head snapped around, and his eyebrow lifted. "Sir?" His scarred face creased with concern.

  "We're going to buy time," Vaelith said grimly, already moving toward the Wyrm pens as Kellick pushed towards them and supported Minette. "Get to the communication room, send word to the Duchess we’re being overrun. Then get everyone you can to the barracks and out of this death trap."

  Behind them, a thunderous sound shattered the air—not the pounding from earlier, but something much worse. The otherworlders had finally broken through the temporary wall and were preparing to advance.

  Without waiting for a response, Vaelth grabbed his Lieutenant and broke into a sprint.

  They had a minute at most before death came their way.