Misha was the first to force its way into the relative safety of the underground castle, followed by its mistress and Dusty. Darlac brought up the rear, carrying Wekky's little corpse, still hoping against hope that they would happen upon a Scroll of Raise Dead to bring him back from the realm of his goddess. They flattened themselves against the far wall of the room, watching in horror how the ancient stones gave way, as the shrinking tendrils of the mysterious, omnipresent and all-encompassing plant ceased to hold the building together, killed off by a single spell of Cephal Lorentus. The wizard's magically enhanced voice called after them from the other side of the deadfall.

  "Hang in there! I'm heading to the capital for reinforcements!"

  A few more horrible crunching sounds, stone creaking on stone, debris falling, dust puffing, and the building fell silent.

  "WHAT?" exclaimed the sorceress, shaking small bits of masonry out of her silver hair. "So he comes up with the genius idea of destroying the plant that preserved this fort until today, pushes us inside the building to escape the collapse, and then walks home whistling, because he knew about an exit all along?"

  "The old fart betrayed us," grumbled Dusty. "Reinforcements, eh? What reinforcements? Those eyeless zombies will gobble him up for breakfast. Too bad I won't be there to watch."

  Shakoth laughed bitterly, tugging at her braid, as she always did when she was nervous.

  "I bet he'll tell the baron how General Darlac and her brave companions died like heroes for Varnhold, organise a fancy virtual funeral to nip any questions in the bud, maybe even set up a magnificent memorial to us, and then he'll be free to steer the baron into the direction he wants. Or even dispose of him and take his throne."

  "Enough!" snapped Darlac. She couldn't blame Shakoth for putting into words the exact same fears and concerns as what she began to harbour. But now that Darlac was the only leader they could look up to, she had to prevent resentment from building up in her sorry excuse for a squad.

  "What is done cannot be undone," she continued. "Cephal left, and we are trapped in here. We are on our own, at least until he makes good on his words."

  "If he will," grumbled Dusty.

  "However," said Darlac sharply, "I will not have you speak against your leaders based on conspiration theories born of fear."

  "You know what?" mused Shakoth. "I'm starting to think Cephal did the right thing. Why don't we just skip the boss fight altogether and focus on getting out of here instead? We didn't exactly perform great even at full force, let alone after losing half our numbers."

  "And leave the mission unfinished?" frowned Darlac. "We came here to cleanse this place, because it is a danger to our homeland. Remember?"

  "We are in no shape to solve this problem on our own!" exclaimed the sorceress.

  "Dream on, Shakoth," growled Dusty. "This place will never let us go unless we kill Marquise Fellatia."

  "Even if, by some miracle, we manage to kill her," said Shakoth, "she won't remain dead for long. The veil between this place and the First World is as thin as a spiderweb, almost nonexistent. The Marquise will respawn in a few hours and start her cursed existence all over again, albeit at a low level of power. I don't know about you guys, but I love my life too much to risk it in a fool's errand."

  "Thanks for your input, Shakoth," said Darlac. "We'll soon see what our options are."

  She found herself a beautiful mahogany table, where she could pore over the maps she'd drawn of the dungeon's different levels. It was probably undecipherable for anyone except herself, but she found it immensely useful. Not only for navigation but also for hiding her uncertainty.

  Deep inside, she knew very well that Shakoth was right. Leaving this place and heading back to Varnhold Town would be the best course of action, even if Darlac had to expect a serious backlash from the baron. However, there was no hope for them to dig their way back out through the deadfall. Until Cephal's reinforcements arrived (if at all), Darlac and her squad would have to survive inside this part of the ruins. Which meant they had to clear these rooms and make them safe to stay in. The question of food and drink would also be tricky, unless they found some thousand-year-old Taldan canned food to live off of (fat chance). Not to mention the bear, who was an amazing meat shield but not an ideal roommate, to say the least.

  Darlac marked their current location on the map with a little humanoid head with Xs for eyes, for the very unlikely case they would find a way to resurrect their cleric and have to return for his corpse. However happy he probably was now, finally about to meet his goddess in person, the squad was in sore need of a full-fledged healer.

  Dusty's roar startled her from her musings.

  "Misha, the fuck are you doing? Shakoth, get it off him, now!"

  "Misha, stop! Drop it! Bad bear!"

  The bear had ripped off Wekky's left leg and was now munching on it with the expression of a happy stuffed toy all over its muzzle.

  "Shakoth, do something, or I will!" yelled Dusty.

  "I can't! He doesn't listen!"

  Dusty took his fighting stance and charged at the bear, who paid him no heed, busy with its gory dinner. But before he could reach the beast, Darlac threw herself between them.

  "Stop, you fool!"

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Dusty smashed into her with his full weight, knocking her down and losing his own balance as well. She was quick to push him off herself, get on top of him, and immobilise him by pinning his neck to the ground with her forearm.

  "Get ahold of yourself, Dusty!" she growled. "Are you out of your mind?"

  "We... we can't just let it devour Wekky!" rattled the fighter, struggling for breath.

  "And I can't just let you two kill or maim each other over a corpse!" argued Darlac, as she let go and rolled off him. "To stand a chance at all, we need each and every person and beast in the squad, in the best health possible, and those alive take priority over the dead! I'm not having you get yourself mauled and make me and Shakoth handle all the enemies in duo!"

  Also, at the moment, Wekky was the best source of nutrition for the bear – or at least preferable to living squad members. The thought filled her with self-loathing. Had she really stooped this low while trying to survive this hellhole?

  "Haha, no way, ladies," sneered Dusty, scrambling to his feet. Blood was trickling down his face as a result of an unintended headbutt. "This time you can't win by deploying the magic weapon between your thighs."

  A white mist covered Darlac's brain. Somehow she stopped herself from dishing out a backhand. Even if everyone was losing control, she couldn't afford to.

  "Funny that you fantasise about your superior's vagina, Dusty," she said, "but whatever floats your boat. I won't slap you until we make it out of here, but when we do, you'll get your due and then some."

  Shakoth laughed without mirth. Darlac silenced her with a stern glance, then turned to Dusty. She checked him for injuries, taking special care to let the edge of her cloak brush his skin. This ancient piece of clothing was supposed to have an effect against fear. Darlac prayed it would work. For a fleeting moment, she even considered allowing Dusty to wear the cloak, but she rejected the idea. Loath as she was to admit, her mental state was just as fragile as his, so much that she found herself relying on her gear to keep her sanity. Instead, she found a clean handkerchief somewhere in her bag, probably the last one, and handed it to Dusty.

  "Use this to soak up the blood," she said. "That's all I can do for you at the moment. We can't waste healing spells."

  "What do you think, General?" muttered the fighter, dabbing the handkerchief at his cracked eyebrow. "When are you going to leave us?"

  Darlac froze for a moment. Panic welled up in her. She had never realised this strongly how much these people depended on her. In the next hours, which might well be their last, she'd have to be their leader, their mother, their guardian angel, all in one person. She'd have to keep them from falling apart, going crazy, rushing headlong into certain death, whatever. The fact that only two of them remained didn't help at all. Failing them was not an option, and still, it was all too probable to happen. Alas, glowing eyes or not, Darlac was no angel, just another mortal, too weak to bring about their salvation.

  She squeezed Dusty's arm.

  "I will not leave you. Not until Pharasma calls me to herself. We are in this together, and we will see it through together."

  "Why should I believe you?"

  "Did I ever abandon you?"

  "There is always a first time."

  "Dusty, we cannot afford to lose trust in each other. If we do, we're as good as dead."

  "We're as good as dead anyway."

  Darlac grabbed his shoulders and shook him, forcing him to look into her eyes.

  "Perhaps we are," she said. "But I, for one, will not go down without a fight. If all that remains of me is a memorial plaque at the gates of Varnhold Keep, I want to earn it and fall with honour. No bard will ever sing about my demise, and the jests of the fey will be the only dirge over my body, but I will rest easy because I stood my ground to my last breath. And you? Will you shit your pants in the face of danger, or will you man up and stand with me until the bitter end?"

  Dusty pulled a sullen face.

  "What a pompous bitch you are, Darlac," he said. "Still, I'm a bloody Varnling. I stand with you, up until the moment you walk out on us."

  Darlac hid her face in her palms.

  "I've just told you—"

  "Can't you see the pattern?" exclaimed the fighter. "First they took the captain. Then the wizard. I don't know what they promised to him, but they took him, too. They are taking away our leaders, one by one. You are next."

  "This is why I will send forward the bear, whenever we enter a portal," said Darlac. "As for you, Shakoth, make sure to reclaim control of your pet, as soon as it's done eating. Make it your top priority. From now on, I expect discipline and determination from each of you, including the bear. Understood?"

  "Yes, ma'am," said Shakoth, snapping to attention.

  Misha finally stopped munching and took its place in the formation. Dusty mumbled something under his breath.

  "First of all," said Darlac, "we seize a room where we can rest and recover."

  "Meh," sighed Shakoth. "If there is anything not random in this dungeon, that's the encounters we get while trying to rest. One could even call them regular."

  "True. Still, a short rest is better than no rest at all. Prepare for some more fight until we find a suitable spot. Follow me!"

  "Sod it all," growled Dusty. "I'm done with this shit. I go find a way out myself. You can thank me later."

  He kicked in a door and sauntered into the room behind it. Soon enough, the two women heard him swear like a cartman. The two women exchanged a glance. The cloak trick seemed to have worked either too well or not at all.

  "More fey," said Darlac, shaking her head.

  "Serves him right," shrugged Shakoth.

  Darlac didn't have time for despair, and just this once, that was a good thing. It was increasingly hard to keep them in line. She was set up for failure, cornered, with a depleted squad losing its morale and discipline. Still, she had to persevere. There was no other way.

  "You stay back and go invisible," she commanded to Shakoth. "Don't attack. Keep the healing potions and scrolls ready. I'm going in with the bear."

  "Yes, ma'am!"

  The sorceress vanished from sight. Darlac drew her sword and burst into the room, with Misha in tow.

  "For Varnhold!"