The first revenant-chimera lunged, its rusted axe arcing down toward Marx with a speed that belied its lumbering frame. Marx darted aside, the axe slamming into the stone floor with a spray of shattered rock. Ember flared around his fists as he hurled a knife into the thing’s chest — flame following like a hungry serpent. The creature recoiled, blue-green mana bleeding from the wound as the fire bit deep.
“Come on, you moss-covered bastard!” Marx snarled, his other blade already flashing toward the next.
Kaelthari was a force of sheer, brutal grace. She surged forward with a sharp breath, her bardiche cleaving in a low, vicious arc that caught one of the bone-forged beasts at the hip, sending vine-wrapped limbs flying. The charms and crystals hanging from the chains between her horns jingled a sharp, high note as she pivoted, her bardiche’s haft catching another chimera’s descending club.
Ralyria’s spear darted in like a serpent’s fang — precise, silent. Her pale eyes locked onto the faint pulse of mana where the ley-lines fed into the constructs. She ducked a wild strike and drove her weapon deep into a joint of bone and root, twisting sharply. Mana burst from the wound like a sickly mist, the creature collapsing in a heap.
Arelis fought with wild, desperate ferocity. His longsword wasn’t as refined, his strikes less disciplined, but fear had sharpened his focus. He screamed as he drove his blade into a revenant’s gut, catching its ribcage and pushing through, bracing with both hands as he shoved the beast back into a waterlogged pillar.
“Stay down!” he spat, wrenching his blade free.
ProlixalParagon moved through the chaos like a shadow, never staying still. He darted in behind the things, his dagger flashing for tendon-vines and brittle bone joints. One lunged at him — he dropped low, flinging a palm-sized makeshift caltrop cluster beneath its feet. It stumbled with a sharp crunch, vines snagging on the crude, spiked traps.
He didn’t give it a chance to recover.
A quick jab to the hollow socket where its eye should have been — mana spat out like liquid light, and the creature fell.
“Keep ‘em unsteady!” he shouted, already pulling a mana snare from his satchel.
And then — PillowHorror moved.
The Quang was a blur of silver and shadow, his chakram spinning in a whistling arc through the air. It caught one of the beasts clean across the throat, severing root and bone alike in a clean, glimmering slice. The weapon snapped back to his palm as he followed through with a wind-charged strike, his open palm crashing into a chimera’s chest. The gust of air cracked ribs and sent the thing sprawling into its kin.
A column of water burst upward at his call, conjured from the standing pools around their feet. The liquid took the shape of jagged tendrils, striking with the precision of a snake’s fangs, ensnaring limbs and driving them to the ground.
“Your god’s pets,” PillowHorror murmured to the downed creatures, voice low and hungry, “should have stayed buried.”
The remaining monsters hesitated for half a heartbeat — enough.
Kaelthari drove her bardiche through one’s chest, cleaving it near in half. Marx hurled another flame-wrapped blade, the explosion sending another chimera into smoking ruin.
ProlixalParagon triggered the mana snare, a pulse of binding light locking down the last two revenants as they staggered in.
“Ralyria—now!”
The automaton’s spear shot forward, piercing one, pivoting, driving into the next in a single, clean motion.
Both went still.
And then, there was nothing but the labored sound of breath, the faint crackle of mana dissipating, and the distant, steady drip of water.
The chamber was still again.
ProlixalParagon wiped a smear of grime from his brow, his pulse still hammering.
“That all of them?” Marx asked, voice ragged.
PillowHorror retrieved his chakram with a satisfied flick. “For now.”
The ley-lines beneath them still pulsed — stronger now, like something deeper down had felt that clash and stirred in its sleep.
And ahead, another passage waited.
The ruin hadn’t finished with them yet.
They didn’t wait.
No one spoke. No one suggested rest. Not after what they’d seen. The ruin’s air clung to them like damp cloth, thick with the stink of burned vine and sour mana, the last wisps of blue-green mist still curling around the edges of the chamber.
ProlixalParagon kept his dagger ready, his pulse a drumbeat in his ears. Every instinct screamed to get moving, and the others clearly felt it too. Ralyria gave a small nod, her spear steady. Kaelthari’s charms whispered with every careful step, her face drawn but resolute. Marx pulled his last knife free of a root-twisted corpse and fell in at the rear.
Even Arelis moved without hesitation now, the desperate flicker in his pale eyes replaced with something cold and resigned.
And PillowHorror — calm as ever, tail swaying behind him — gestured toward the far corridor with a tilt of his head. “This way,” the Quang murmured, voice low and dark. “We’re close.”
The ley-lines beneath their feet thrummed, stronger now. The steady pulse had quickened, a slow throb rising to a deep, bone-vibrating hum. ProlixalParagon felt it through his boots, a warmth crawling up his legs and into his chest, like standing too near an open forge.
They moved into a narrow passage, the walls slick with moisture and tangled with dead roots. Faint glyphs, long faded, pulsed weakly in the gloom. The air thickened, growing hotter, carrying the scent of old stone and some deeper, resinous tang like scorched sap.
The further they pressed, the heavier it felt — as though the ruin itself was watching.
PillowHorror’s chakram spun idly in one hand, the weapon catching what little light flickered from ProlixalParagon’s torch.
“You feel it?” the Quang murmured, sharp teeth glinting in a crooked smile.
“Yeah,” ProlixalParagon muttered. “It’s… waking up.”
Ralyria’s voice, steady and flat: “Pressure rising. Mana levels surging.”
Kaelthari’s tail flicked, the crystals on her horn-chains chiming softly. “Something… ahead.”
They came to a broad, arched doorway, half-choked with collapsed stone and heavy vines. Beyond it, a vast chamber loomed, cloaked in oppressive gloom. No torches burned here. No glow from ancient crystals. But the ley-lines flared in the space, heat rolling off them in waves.
And in the center of that cavernous hollow stood a massive, ancient stone monolith — its surface etched with spiraling, alien runes that gleamed faintly with Infernal and Shadow magic.
ProlixalParagon’s stomach clenched.
A large, round depression in the floor ringed it, where something heavy had once lain. Chains hung from the ceiling, rusted and broken.
Ley-line energy bled up from cracks in the floor, the pale light casting long, clawed shadows across the walls.
“Final trial chamber,” PillowHorror whispered, with a note of reverent satisfaction. “And not a moment too soon.”
The ruin thrummed beneath them — old and hungry.
Whatever came next would either bury them or let them crawl out with blood on their hands.
And there would be no turning back.
A sharp pulse rippled through the chamber.
The ley-lines beneath their feet surged, heat blooming from the stone in a wave of bone-deep pressure. The monolith’s runes flared in eerie, shifting light — Infernal crimson twining with cold, oil-slick Shadow hues — the colors twisting together in impossible patterns that seemed to pulse in time with their racing hearts.
A deep, echoing chime sounded from the stone, low and resonant, and the ruin itself seemed to shudder.
Then the runes shifted.
The monolith awoke.
A long, vertical crack split the stone down its center, bleeding a dense mist of pallid grey light. The ley-lines convulsed, and with a violent, wet tearing sound, something rose from the depression in the floor — a mass of bone, black-veined root, and mana-twisted flesh, half-chained, half-formed.
The thing took shape as it climbed free of its ancient cradle.
A towering figure — part humanoid, part beast. Its body a patchwork of charred bone, scorched muscle, and tangled roots binding what was left of ancient corpses. Skulls crowned its misshapen head, their empty eyes burning with sickly Infernal fire. A gaping hollow burned in its chest where a heart should be, instead filled with a swirling knot of ley-line energy.
A title scrawled itself into ProlixalParagon’s vision.
The temperature plummeted, and the ley-lines howled.
It spoke — if the grinding roar could be called speech — a voice like stone dragged through flame.
“Unworthy… flesh… shall… burn.”
“Here we go!” Marx barked, flames already licking up his arms.
Kaelthari braced, bardiche at the ready, the charms at her horns chiming furiously.
Ralyria stepped into formation, spear poised, her mana core burning brighter.
ProlixalParagon’s dagger gleamed, his other hand already fishing a makeshift mana charge from his satchel.
PillowHorror grinned like a serpent, chakram spinning lazily.
“I’ve waited for this.”
The Bound Herald let out a second roar, lifting a massive arm bound in broken chains and slamming it down. The impact shattered stone, sending ley-line energy streaking through the floor.
Boss Battle Commenced.
ProlixalParagon’s heart pounded as combat prompts flared in his periphery.
No turning back.
“Positions!” he shouted, voice hoarse but steady. “Hit it hard — don’t let those ley-line pulses build!”
The ruin screamed around them as the fight began.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
And the Bound Herald charged.
The Bound Herald charged.
The ley-lines shrieked beneath its weight, and the chamber’s air thickened with heat and choking mist, every breath tasting of scorched earth and old, dead stone. It moved like a collapsing wall — huge, ungainly, but with terrifying momentum.
ProlixalParagon moved first.
He flung a mana-charged caltrop cluster low, scattering sharp-edged iron shards across the floor. As the creature’s bulk thundered forward, one heavy foot came down on the trap — a burst of pale mana snapped the crude binding glyphs active.
Boom.
A snare flare of light burst upward, locking its leg mid-stride for a heartbeat.
“Now!” ProlixalParagon shouted.
Kaelthari was already moving.
The Cataphractan’s mulberry scales shimmered in the ley-light, and with a sharp pivot, she brought her bardiche down in a brutal overhead cleave. The blackened blade struck the beast’s arm just above a half-rusted chain shackle. Bone and root split with a wet crack, a gout of Infernal flame bursting from the wound.
Her charms screamed a frantic chorus as she leapt back.
Marx followed.
Fire burst from his fists, crackling down his carving knives like molten ribbons. He sprinted forward recklessly, knives flashing as he drove both into the sundered flesh. Flame poured from the wounds, flesh and bone searing, the Herald howling as mana bled out.
“Come on then, you overgrown tinder pile!” Marx snarled, hurling himself aside as a spiked chain whip lashed down.
Ralyria darted in.
While the others battered limbs and defenses, she slipped through the melee like a spear-wielding shadow. Her eyes locked on the swirling ley-knot in the Herald’s hollow chest — the unstable heart.
With cold, perfect precision, she thrust her spear forward.
The tip struck true, piercing the seething mass of mana. A ripple of light burst outward — but the Herald staggered, not felled.
“Core destabilizing,” she reported, already bracing for the counter.
PillowHorror was a blur.
The Quang Monk spun his chakram with impossible speed, launching it in a curved, wind-charged arc. The weapon sliced through the air, carving deep into the beast’s flank, water magic surging through the wound like acid against dead flesh.
The chakram returned to his hand, and PillowHorror followed, fists lashing out in a flurry of water-and-air-imbued strikes. Each hit burst with sharp gusts and mist-laced impacts, staggering the beast a half-step.
Arelis came last.
The elf’s face was pale, eyes wide, but resolve hardened in his jaw. With a raw shout, he rushed forward, blade raised overhead. The Herald swung its remaining massive arm, chain whistling.
Arelis ducked low — the chain cracked against the pillar behind him — and drove his longsword deep into the beast’s knee joint. He screamed as he forced it in, the runeblade cracking bone.
Mana bled like thick smoke.
“Now! Drop it!” ProlixalParagon shouted.
The Herald reeled, one leg snared, one arm half-crippled, wounds spitting mana mist.
It roared, the cry shaking loose dust from the ceiling as the ley-lines screamed around them — but it was wounded.
It was mortal.
The first brutal exchange was theirs.
But the Herald wasn’t done.
It raised its free hand, and the chains scattered across the chamber’s walls rattled violently, lifting like snakes in midair.
Phase Two was beginning.
And ProlixalParagon’s pulse hammered as system prompts flared to life.
“Brace!” he barked.
The ruin’s darkness shifted, and the battle was far from over.
The chains rose.
One by one, the rusted links that had hung forgotten from the ceiling now writhed to life, animated by the Bound Herald’s raw, seething mana. They lifted like skeletal serpents, rattling and clinking in a discordant, ear-splitting chorus.
ProlixalParagon’s stomach dropped as a system prompt blinked bright red across his vision.
>Environmental Hazard Active.<
>Chain Seeker Strike: Target Randomized.<
“Move!” he shouted.
The first chain struck.
It lashed down toward Ralyria like a hunting viper. The automaton spun aside in a flash of silver and brass, the chain smashing the stone where she’d stood into splinters. She retaliated immediately, driving her spear into one of the Herald’s pulsing leg wounds, mana spitting out in misty bursts.
Marx ducked low as a second chain hissed toward him, the air around it shimmering with infernal heat. He hurled a flame-sheathed dagger mid-roll, catching the chain dead on — the rusted metal screamed as the fire bit deep, severing a section mid-flight.
“Too slow, scrapheap!” Marx called, breath ragged, sweat slicking his olive skin.
Kaelthari gritted her teeth as three chains converged on her at once.
With a sharp exhale, she planted her feet and swept her bardiche in a wide defensive arc, the heavy blade cleaving through one chain and deflecting a second. The third struck her shoulder, the impact sending her stumbling, the charms on her horns shrieking like bells in a storm.
ProlixalParagon’s mind raced. The ley-lines were flaring in pulse-like bursts, signaling the next move. A large concentration gathered in the Herald’s hollow chest — it was priming a wide-range pulse attack.
“It’s charging something — big!” he barked.
He hurled another mana snare beneath its feet to slow the build.
PillowHorror was already moving.
The Quang Monk launched his chakram, the weapon curving high before slicing through one of the ley-pulsing chains as it descended toward Arelis. He landed beside the elf with eerie grace, wind magic coiling around his fists.
“You’ll want to stay close to me, little paladin,” PillowHorror purred, eyes gleaming.
The Herald roared again.
Infernal light burst from its chest cavity, and a pulse of ley-line energy exploded outward in a wave of searing shadowfire.
>Shadowflame Pulse Imminent — Defensive Action Required.<
“Cover!” ProlixalParagon yelled, diving behind a half-fallen pillar.
Kaelthari threw herself flat, bardiche clattering beside her.
Ralyria pivoted behind one of the raised workbenches, shielding herself.
Marx crouched low, a hastily summoned wall of flame forming at his hands to buy precious seconds.
Arelis hunkered down behind PillowHorror as the Quang raised both hands, conjuring a spiraling barrier of water and air. The pulse struck, the twin affinities clashing in a hiss of steam and searing heat.
The ruin shook.
Stone cracked. Chains whipped.
The Bound Herald loomed, barely staggered by its own attack’s backlash.
But they were still standing.
ProlixalParagon’s grip tightened on his dagger.
His caltrops were spent. His snares half-burned.
But the ley-lines were reacting now — and he could feel them shifting toward him.
He grinned, teeth sharp.
“I’ve got an idea,” he muttered.
The fight wasn’t done.
Not by a long shot.
The chamber reeled from the Shadowflame Pulse’s shockwave, loose stone tumbling from the ceiling, ley-line light flickering wildly like a storm-tossed flame.
ProlixalParagon’s head snapped up.
His pulse hammered, every instinct screaming to keep moving — but his eyes weren’t on the Bound Herald. Not entirely.
The ley-lines.
They’d flared at him in that moment, like a tug at his bones, a pulse at his fingertips. The old workbench by the wall, half collapsed, was thrumming in the backwash of the pulse — and something in the shattered glyph-etched tools scattered nearby still held a charge.
Scraps. Mana wire. An old dispersal rod.
His thoughts came in a flash, the plan forming as fast as his hands could move.
“Cover me!” he shouted, voice sharp over the din.
Kaelthari, battered but standing, roared in response, stepping between him and the advancing Herald. She swung her bardiche wide, the heavy blade catching a descending chain and knocking it off-course in a screech of metal and sparks.
Ralyria surged up from cover, jabbing her spear into one of the beast’s legs again, buying a crucial heartbeat.
ProlixalParagon was already moving.
He dove for the broken workbench, snatching up a frayed length of old mana-conductive wire, a half-burned ley-rod, and a tarnished dispersal charm. Not much — but enough.
He set to work, his fingers flying through the motions like a player who’d lived in systems menus, jury-rigging salvaged traps in back alleys and half-glitched ruins.
Wire to rod. Rod to dispersal charm.
Clamp the rig to one of the ley-line fractures in the floor.
Prime it with the mana charge he’d been saving since the Salt Flats.
The improvised device hummed to life — a crude but functional ley-field destabilizer. Not a bomb. Not a snare.
A mana siphon.
He grinned.
“Kael! Lure it closer to the break by the monolith!”
Kaelthari didn’t hesitate. She swept her bardiche toward the ley-line fissure, hurling a chunk of debris to draw the Herald’s attention. The creature turned, blood-fire eyes narrowing.
ProlixalParagon activated the device.
A pulse of light burst outward, snaring the ley-line energy in a tethered pulse. The air warped, mana shivering like heat haze. The Bound Herald’s movement faltered, its limbs slowing as the siphon yanked power from its body — especially from its exposed, flickering core.
Its roar was weaker this time. Strained.
“Now!” ProlixalParagon bellowed.
“Hit it with everything you’ve got!”
PillowHorror didn’t need to be told twice. The Quang surged forward, wind and water magic twisting around his chakram. He vaulted over a fallen chain, chakram slicing in a gleaming arc as twin magic affinities surged behind the strike.
Marx flung a searing flame bolt, the fire catching along the siphon’s stream, feeding the tether’s heat.
Ralyria drove her spear once more into the ley-line knot in the Herald’s chest.
Arelis, trembling but resolute, followed through, sword raised in both hands, slamming the blade into the same weakened point with a ragged cry.
The Herald buckled.
Chains whipped one last time, striking wildly.
“Pull back!” ProlixalParagon called.
They scrambled away as the siphon reached critical pull — and with a final, gut-deep roar, the Bound Herald exploded in a burst of blue-green and infernal crimson mana light, the ley-lines screaming one last time before falling eerily still.
A shockwave rolled out, extinguishing flames, cracking stone.
Then… silence.
ProlixalParagon straightened slowly, chest heaving, the crude siphon a molten ruin by the monolith’s shattered base.
The ley-lines settled. The ruin quieted.
And they were still standing.
Barely.
But alive.
The chamber still smelled of scorched vine, old stone, and mana mist. Flickering ley-line light clung to the shattered remains of the monolith and the molten ruin of ProlixalParagon’s improvised siphon.
The others were catching their breath, weapons lowered but not yet sheathed. The ruin’s silence was thick, but this time it felt… broken. Not waiting anymore. Whatever ancient will had once stirred here was dormant again — for now.
And then the system prompt appeared in ProlixalParagon’s periphery.
A second chime followed.
<+2 Attribute Points Earned>
<+2 Affinity Points Earned>
>New Items Acquired:<
< Bound Herald Sigil Fragment: An ancient token once worn by the temple’s guardians. Can be used as a trap catalyst or reforged for enchantments.>
A tired, crooked grin pulled at the corners of his muzzle. No matter how grim things got, that pulse of recognition — that earned surge of progress — still felt good.
He exhaled hard and brought up his stat sheet.
The points allocation window hovered nearby, waiting.
ProlixalParagon’s thumb hovered over Dexterity out of habit — but no. It was Wisdom that had mattered here. Reading the room. Feeling the ley-lines. Predicting their turns.
<+1 Wisdom.>
<+1 Wisdom.>
His Wisdom stat rose to 16.
Affinity points next.
Fire was tempting after what Marx pulled, but the ley-lines didn’t speak in flame down here. They hummed in Metal and whispered in Soul.
<+1 Metal.>
<+1 Soul.>
New passive notifications blinked into existence:
>Soul : Greater sensitivity to ley-line fluctuations, +5% resistance to spirit and curse effects.<
>Metal : Improved durability on improvised devices, +3% damage with crafted traps and mechanical constructs.<
Player Name: ProlixalParagon Level: 8
Class:tinkerer
Subclass:None
Profession: None Specialization: Hexwright Machinist
Currently Active Title: -
Most used Skill: -
Alignment: Chaotic Grey
Health: 145/145 Mana: 128/128 Stamina: 85/85
Points Earned: 10
Reputation:
-OakHaven - 10
-Vermillion Troupe - 115
-Pella - 0
-Marx - 50
-Lyra - 100
-Kaelthari - 10
-Arelis - 5
-Lord Elmsworth - (-100)
-DustReach - (-100)
-Draggor - (-100)
-Yendrals Hollow - 50
-Soohan - 50
Attributes:
Strength:11 Constitution:11 Dexterity:20 Intelligence: 20
Wisdom: 16 Charisma: 12 Piety: 0 Luck: 10
Karma: 10
Combat:
Attack: 14 Accuracy: 8 Agility: 15 Speed: 8
Critical: 0.21 Endurance:10 Focus: 13 Defense:10
Magic Def: 10 Armor:10 Hygieian Meter: 15 Perception: 10
Affinities:
Earth: 0 Water: 0
Fire: 0 Air: 0
Blood: 0 Soul: 3
Celestial: 0 Abyssal: 0
Lightning: 0 Ice: 0
Metal: 4 Wood: 0
Currently Equipped Gear:
Worn Leather armor (Durability: 7/45)
Tinkerers beginners tool set (Durability: 22/45)
Low grade iron dagger (Durability: 8/25)
Makeshift trash Caltrops (Qty: 31 Pcs)
Marx’s Woven Cuff (Durability: 45/45) (Accessory — +1 Dexterity, +5% Mana Efficiency)
Jury-Rigged Mana Snare (Single Use)
Active Status Effects:
Abilities:
-
Titles
-
Passive Skills:
Improvised weaponry , Salvager’s Insight , Master Tinkerer’s Insight, Herbalism (Novice), soul sensitivity, metal sensitivity.
Feats:
-
Character Background:
Fennician, Scholars Apprentice, [Hidden]
Inherited Traits:The Lost Workbenches of the Master Tinkerer
Lunar Reflexes , Unrooted Identity , Magical Burnout, Knowledge Retention, [Hidden]
Currently active Quest:
The Lost Workbenches of the Master Tinkerer (3/7)
ProlixalParagon’s eyes skimmed the numbers, already turning over where to slot the new points — what would keep him alive the next time something ancient and awful came crawling out of a ruin.
A faint voice broke the quiet.
“You good over there, Paragon?” Marx called, his voice hoarse but steady.
ProlixalParagon smirked.
“Better than good,” he called back.
He had survived. The ruin had not claimed him. And somewhere deeper in this shattered world, the Lost Workbenches waited.
And he’d be ready for them.
ProlixalParagon grinned.
His tools would hold up better now. And when another one of these forgotten, gods-damned temples tried to bleed through his defenses, it would find the door locked.
A faint chiming confirmed the rest of the party’s loot dispersal in the background — unseen, impersonal. The system sorted what belonged to whom. No debate. No drama.
Marx was already leaning against a pillar, rolling his shoulders. Kaelthari inspected the edge of her bardiche in the ley-glow. Ralyria’s spear gleamed clean again.
PillowHorror’s grin remained sharp as ever, the Quang’s yellow eyes gleaming in the dying light.
ProlixalParagon closed his interface with a flick.
“Ready to move when you are,” he called to the others.
The ruin wasn’t finished with them yet.
But neither was he.