Elmore pulled the Beast to a slow crawl as they approached the looming black curtain that served as the Dungeon’s entrance. From the outside, the barrier shimmered like oil floating on water, thin ripples of purple and gold undulating across its surface. It looked like something that should stop a man cold—or melt steel.

  Still, he inched the truck forward, his hands tight on the wheel, the big diesel engine growling low like a beast sniffing at danger.

  “I’m not sure she’s gonna like this,” Elmore muttered, patting the dashboard. “But let’s see what happens.”

  As the truck’s front bumper grazed the inky darkness, Elmore instinctively tensed, bracing for a jolt or resistance—or hell, maybe even for the whole thing to catch fire. But instead, there was nothing. No bang, no hum, no flash of light. Just… passage.

  The truck slid through the barrier like it wasn’t even there, like slipping beneath the surface of a calm lake. The world shifted around him, the outside light giving way to a new kind of gloom—one that sparkled faintly with bioluminescent moss. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his chest loosening with sudden glee.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he grinned. “She’s got a taste for adventure after all.”

  He pressed down on the gas, and the Beast roared forward into the dark, tires spitting up damp earth and crunching through thick mats of glowing moss. Insects the size of rats skittered away from the path of the headlights, some of them flying, others simply vanishing into the underbrush with a hiss.

  Van Halen’s “Panama” erupted from the speakers like a war cry, bouncing off the walls and vaulting into the black beyond. The reverb was delicious. Ancient stone, glittering fungus, and wide echoing halls made the song sound like it had been reborn in some hellish, glorious stadium.

  Brent, crouched in the truck bed, let out a wild howl in time to the chorus—half-laugh, half-beast. His face had already begun to shift, fur rising and features lengthening, though he held onto his humor like a man riding a bull.

  “WHOOOO! This is what I’m talkin’ about!” he bellowed, wind catching in his half-formed mane. “This is what I live for!”

  Elmore didn’t answer—just cackled, low and steady, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead as the Beast plunged deeper. The cavern ceiling widened above them like the mouth of some ancient god, thick with hanging strands of star-like slime and bioluminescent vines. Towering mushrooms rose up like trees, their caps glowing green and violet, casting long shadows over fields of squirming insects.

  The path became treacherous, winding and unpredictable. Elmore weaved through sharp turns and crumbling ledges, dodging bursts of steam venting from jagged stone. A sudden cloud of beetles, glittering like polished copper, smashed into the windshield.

  He flinched and reflexively hit the wipers. The smears were thick, rainbow-hued and disgusting.

  “Coulda done without that,” he muttered, squinting as he flipped on the brights.

  As the glow cut deeper into the tunnel, something massive slid out of view to the left—spidery legs, chitinous gleam. Elmore kept his foot on the pedal and didn’t blink. They were making a statement today. Not a single thing down here would forget who came knocking.

  Minutes later, he veered toward a familiar curve. The path narrowed, sloping upward briefly before opening into a vast shelf of stone leading toward the Trial Gate.

  There, it stood: a massive stone arch, blackened with time, etched with script that shifted and danced when you tried to read it. A faint humming buzzed at the edge of hearing, as if the air itself waited.

  Elmore slowed, then braked hard. The tires slid a few feet before gripping, throwing up dust and crushed moss. The Beast came to a halt with a final growl. The music faded.

  Brent leapt out of the truck bed, landing with a solid thud on the cavern floor. He cracked his neck one way, then the other, claws flexing. His form shimmered between human and beast, eyes glowing gold in the cave’s light.

  Elmore leaned out the window, propping an elbow casually.

  “Good luck, my knight,” he called with a crooked smile.

  Brent turned and gave him a sharp grin, tossing a thumbs-up over his shoulder. “Gonna make it sing in there,” he said, voice gruff but steady.

  Then he stepped through the shadowy doorway, disappearing into the Trial beyond. The stone gate rumbled closed behind him with a slow, grinding finality that echoed deep into the caverns. It left behind a silence so complete it rang in Elmore’s ears.

  Alone now, he sat back, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel. His jaw tightened.

  The minutes dragged on.

  First five. Then ten. Then twenty.

  At first, he just waited. Then he started hearing things—muffled crashes, distant snarls. The unmistakable clatter of something huge and angry. His imagination ran wild with it: jagged teeth, spinning claws, some nightmare beast breathing fire and shadow.

  Elmore didn't pace—he stayed in the cab—but his foot bounced on the floorboard like a jackhammer. Every sound scraped against the inside of his skull.

  Then—

  The stone gate creaked. Groaned.

  Opened.

  Brent staggered out, dragging one leg behind him. He was a mess—blood caked his fur in long streaks, parts of his armor were ripped away entirely, and he was holding his left arm like it barely worked.

  Elmore burst out of the truck and ran forward, boots skidding on loose gravel.

  “Damn, boy—look at you!” he said, voice a mix of pride and worry.

  Brent shifted as he limped, his beast features shrinking away, human skin taking back over. He winced as bones popped and realigned.

  “Hell of a trial,” he muttered, breath shallow.

  “Did you win?” Elmore asked, already knowing the answer by the way Brent collapsed into the passenger seat with a groan.

  “Damn right I did,” Brent said, head leaning back, sweat plastering his bangs to his brow. “Thing tried to cut my leg off, but I introduced it to these claws instead. We had words.”

  Elmore chuckled, loud and proud, and clapped his shoulder—gently. “That’s my knight.”

  “You’re damn right I am,” Brent mumbled, already halfway to passing out, but with a grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Rest easy,” Elmore said

  “Well,” Brent muttered, shifting slightly in his seat and immediately regretting it as pain lanced through his ribs. He winced, his voice low and rasping. “Sometimes this place really is hell.”

  Elmore gave a deep, knowing chuckle as he reached for the ignition. The Beast’s engine rumbled to life with a familiar, guttural growl that vibrated through the stone under their feet. He leaned over, plucked a cold water bottle from the cooler nestled behind the seat, and handed it to Brent with a crooked grin. “And yet, here you are—alive. Good job, sir knight.”

  Brent snorted and took the bottle, unscrewing the cap with a pained grunt. He raised it in a mock salute before downing nearly half in one go. Water trickled down the corner of his mouth as he leaned his head back against the window. “Just remind me,” he said, still catching his breath, “why the hell did I sign up for this again?”

  Elmore didn’t answer right away. He stepped out of the truck with a creak of the door and walked slowly around the front of the Beast. The cave’s strange luminescence played across the battered hood as he leaned against it, one leg propped up on the front bumper, arms crossed. His eyes were thoughtful as he watched Brent finish drinking.

  The truck’s speakers still blasted Van Halen—“Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love” this time—echoing through the vast underground chamber. The guitar riffs ricocheted off jagged walls and vanished into the black depths beyond. The beat had slowed from adrenaline-pumping to background pulse, matching their exhaustion.

  Brent shifted, groaning as he pulled a small bottle from his side pouch. The liquid inside glowed faintly—an Aither-infused healing potion. He uncorked it, the scent of mint and wild roots curling into the air, and took a careful sip. The shimmering fluid glided down his throat, leaving a faint chill in its wake.

  Elmore watched closely as the effect set in. It wasn’t flashy—no light show, no dramatic transformation. But the bruising around Brent’s jaw faded from angry purple to mottled yellow. A gash along his temple pulled together, threading itself closed like stitching on invisible seams. His breathing eased, and the stiffness in his limbs started to loosen.

  “There we go,” Elmore said, quietly pleased. “Was worried you might pass out mid-sentence.”

  Brent exhaled through his nose, setting the bottle aside and rolling his shoulders slowly, testing the limits of what still hurt. “Still feel like I went three rounds with a freight train,” he muttered. “But at least now I ain’t bleedin’ from the ears.”

  A faint breeze stirred through the chamber, carrying with it the earthy scent of moss and wet stone. The towering mushrooms swayed subtly, their bioluminescent caps pulsing with soft blue and purple hues. High above, the massive crystalline structures embedded in the ceiling refracted the light from Elmore’s headlights and the fungi below, creating slow-moving rainbows that danced along the cavern walls.

  “You know,” Brent said after a moment, his voice calmer now, “this place... it’s like a fever dream. Gorgeous one second, trying to kill you the next. Makes you question if we’re even supposed to be here.”

  Elmore nodded slowly, letting his gaze drift across the surreal vista. “That’s the trick of it,” he said. “A place like this… it doesn’t care if you’re supposed to be here. It just is. You either carve out your place, or it swallows you whole.”

  Brent gave a tired laugh and shook his head. “Hell of a tourism slogan.”

  They lapsed into a moment of silence, the kind born not from awkwardness, but from mutual understanding—the kind that only comes after facing down death and walking away with the bruises to prove it. The music played on, echoing across that impossibly vast subterranean world, and the cave responded with eerie harmony, like the Earth itself was listening.

  Elmore pulled a smoke from his shirt pocket, lit it with a flick of his thumb against the striker on his belt, and took a long drag. The cherry glowed bright in the dim light, and when he exhaled, the smoke curled into the air, caught in the iridescent shimmer of the nearby mushroom glow.

  He looked over at Brent, who was now sitting more upright, his breathing more even. “You gonna be good to walk in five?”

  Brent groaned but gave a thumbs-up. “If I ain’t, drag my carcass. I ain’t missin’ what’s next.”

  Elmore grinned, flicking a bit of ash off his cigarette. “That’s the spirit.”

  Elmore sighed, his breath visible in the cold cavern air, and glanced sideways at Brent, who was sprawled out like a half-melted candle against the truck bed. His shoulders sagged in a posture that could only be called earned comfort, eyes fluttering shut as the healing potion worked its slow, numbing magic through his system.

  “Hard to believe it, y’know?” Elmore said, his voice low and thoughtful, as if speaking too loud might shatter the fragile peace that had settled around them. He swept his eyes across the surreal subterranean landscape—those colossal crystal veins overhead, the fields of glowing moss that swayed gently in unseen currents, the bioluminescent mushrooms clustered like little lanterns clinging to the cave’s jagged ribs. “Feels like we’re finally getting some real traction up top. Machines are finally working with us. Doing some of the heavy lifting instead of breaking down every third day.”

  Brent cracked an eye open, a lazy grin curling up on one side of his bruised face. “Yeah… 'bout damn time too.” His voice was gravelly, but lighter now. Less pain, more weary contentment. “Got a decent guard rotation runnin’ now. Handful of ‘em are startin’ to actually hold their own out here. Ain’t just swinging sticks and praying anymore.”

  He gave a soft chuckle and shifted to sit up a little straighter, rubbing at his jaw where a bruise was fading into a watercolor blotch of yellow and green. “Feels good, y’know?” He paused, brow furrowing in mild amusement. “Though I’ll tell ya, some of those bruisers still can’t keep up with a flea. Not letting those greenhorns anywhere near this place yet. They’d be worm food before lunch.”

  Elmore smirked. “Guess we all gotta start somewhere,” he said, glancing over with a knowing look—one that spoke of their own first stumbles, of cold nights and blistered hands and fights they barely survived. “And I was asking about the schools, by the way. How’re the kids coming along?”

  Brent’s smirk softened into something gentler. Pride crept into his voice like sunshine through cloud. “Kids are doin’ great,” he said, eyes distant but warm. “I visited ‘em a couple times to check in. They’re picking up stuff faster than we ever did, Chief. It’s wild—some of ‘em already learning to track movement. In the dark and clean bugs like a champ.

  He gave a small, incredulous laugh and shook his head. “They’re practically buzzin’ with excitement. Half of ‘em can’t wait to see what skills they unlock when they’re old enough. It’s... it’s good, y’know? Feels like we’re finally planting somethin’ that might actually grow.”

  Their shared laugh that followed was soft, quiet, and full of weight. It echoed gently across the chamber, not like a shout but like the last flickers of a campfire in the stillness before dawn.

  For a few breaths, neither spoke. The music had faded into a quieter track—one of the instrumental B-sides Elmore kept buried in the truck’s old Radio, something echoey and melancholic. The notes hung in the air like smoke, and the cave took them in, bouncing them off stone and crystal in a symphony of reverb.

  Elmore closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slow. The air was damp, cool, heavy with the scent of moss, iron, and faint ozone. “Y’know,” he said finally, “we grew up with our hands on controllers. Thought danger was pixelated, thought stories ended after the credits. Then the world kicked the door off the hinges.”

  Brent let out a wry snort. “Yeah, and now we’re the ones livin’ the questlines. Only difference is, no pause button, and every side quest comes with teeth.”

  Elmore chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Their laughter faded again, giving way to the quiet hum of the cave. Somewhere off in the distance, a massive insect chirped, a hollow, clicking sound like bone against stone. Light shifted on the ceiling as a glowing cloud passed near one of the crystal veins, painting the scene in new shades of lavender and green.

  The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—of shared history, of things said and unsaid, of blood spilled and ground gained. Of a future they were helping build from the rubble of the old world.

  “You think they’ll be alright?” Brent asked suddenly, voice softer now, almost unsure. “The kids. The new ones. Growin’ up in all this?”

  Elmore took a drag from his cigarette and watched the ember flare against the dark. “If they’ve got you watchin’ their backs and me makin’ the rules,” he said, voice low and certain, “then yeah. They’ll be alright.”

  “Hell,” Brent chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the cool stone, the echo of his voice swallowed by the vastness of the cavern, “we’re livin’ in a dystopia, man. Straight up.”

  The glow of bioluminescent moss painted shifting shadows across his face, catching the crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His boots were kicked out in front of him, one toe absently nudging a rock off into the black. The plink echoed far too long for comfort.

  Elmore stood nearby, arms crossed tight over his chest, his shotgun resting against the pack beside him. He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, eyes scanning the cave walls like they might shift or breathe at any moment.

  “Dystopia?” he muttered, like he was testing the word out for size. “Maybe.”

  His gaze drifted upward, following the curls of smoke leaking from the cave’s natural lights above them, catching faint glimpses of light as it filtered through the cracks and clouds.

  “I’m shootin’ for somethin’ else, though,” he added, voice low but steady. “Got my sights set on a utopia.”

  He let the words hang in the air for a beat before he cracked a tired smile, the kind born more of grit than hope.

  “Yeah, I know. Good luck with that, right?”

  Brent snorted, the kind of half-laugh that rattled in his throat like gravel. He lifted his battered metal water bottle in a mock toast, eyes crinkling.

  “To utopia, eh?” he said, grinning wide. “A utopia right here in the middle of all this…” He gestured vaguely at the pulsing mushrooms, the chittering insect calls, the distant thunderous groan of something massive moving below the earth. “Yeah, that’s a tall order, Chief. Here’s hopin’.”

  Their laughter bounced around the cavern, warm and human against the alien world around them, like the last flickers of a campfire fending off the dark.

  Elmore dropped down onto a flat stone with a grunt, flipping open the lid of the cooler between them. A dull blue light spilled out, the cold mist catching on the thick, damp air. He pulled out a heavy sandwich wrapped in waxed paper, unwrapped it, then tore it clean in half without a second thought.

  “Here,” he said, handing a piece over to Brent without looking. “Ain’t much, but it’ll stick.”

  Brent took it without argument, nodding his thanks before biting in with a satisfied hum. They ate quietly, the chewing and muffled drips from the stalactites around them forming a strange rhythm.

  After a few bites, Elmore reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette. The flint wheel scraped once, twice, and then a soft orange glow flared in the shadows. He took a long drag, eyes closing for just a moment.

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  When he exhaled, the smoke twisted up into the cave’s glowing haze, curling through the faint light of the mushrooms overhead, making it look like ghosts were dancing in the air.

  “Almost out of these,” he muttered, glancing at the cigarette like it had betrayed him. He tapped the ash to the ground, watching it vanish in the moss.

  “Man, I can’t wait till we’re finally growing our own tobacco. I’ve been rationin’ so hard I feel like I’m in a damn prison.”

  Brent laughed, a full, hearty sound this time. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a fat, hand-rolled cigar like it was a sacred relic.

  “Poor ol’ Chief,” he said with mock sympathy, holding the cigar up between two fingers. “Stickin’ to those tiny little smokes while I’m over here living large.”

  He lit it with a strike of flint against his ring, taking a slow, indulgent draw and blowing the smoke out in a wide arc, like he was painting the air.

  “Shame, Elmore,” he added, deadpan. “Shame.”

  Elmore rolled his eyes, a grin creeping back over his face. He reached over and gave Brent a solid punch to the arm—not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

  “Look at you,” he said, laughing. “Big Bad Wolf, struttin’ around, blowin' smoke up the chief's ass every chance he gets.”

  Brent rubbed his arm dramatically, feigning injury, and laughed even harder. “Hey, what can I say? I keep my luxuries close.”

  Their laughter echoed again, softer this time, like the cave was beginning to accept them, to remember the sound of people not afraid. Somewhere in the distance, a creature screeched—high-pitched and echoing—but neither man flinched. They had grown used to the rhythm of the deep.

  Their laughter filled the cavern, rolling through the stone chamber in great, echoing waves before softening into a hush that felt earned—like the cave itself had taken the sound, mulled it over, and decided to let it linger.

  Brent leaned back with a satisfied sigh, his cigar now smoldering slow and steady between two fingers. He blew out a thin stream of smoke that spiraled upward into the glow-flecked dark, his eyes half-lidded, thoughtful.

  Then his gaze flicked to Elmore, curiosity catching in the crinkle of his brow. He gave it a beat, just enough time to shift the mood without saying so out loud.

  “So…” he said, drawing the word out as he turned slightly on the rock to face him. “What exactly did you find past that boss, anyway?”

  Elmore paused, his grin pulling back across his face like a curtain being raised. He sat up straighter, the cigarette now forgotten between his fingers, and let the weight of Brent’s question settle into the space between them like a rock tossed in a still pond.

  “Alright,” he said, voice lowering just a bit, like he was about to tell a ghost story. “Picture this, Brent…”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes locked in. “You ever seen flowers the size of redwoods?”

  Brent blinked, brow furrowing.

  “A whole damn forest of ‘em,” Elmore went on, voice picking up steam. “All colors you can imagine—some glowing, some dripping sap like honey, others movin’ like they’re breathin’. Big petals stretchin’ out like sails, flowering vines thick as tree trunks just hangin’ in the air like they don’t even care about gravity.”

  Brent’s face was unreadable now—caught between disbelief and fascination. Elmore smirked and pushed through.

  “But it ain’t a paradise. Nah. It’s a hellscape, Brent. Straight biblical.”

  He let out a low, humorless chuckle and gestured with his hand like he was painting the picture out of smoke.

  “Volcanoes ringin’ the horizon—like a crown of fire. Magma lakes just bubblin’ away, red and gold and so hot the air shimmers. Black smoke pourin’ from cracks in the earth, thick enough to gag you just walkin’ past it.”

  Brent let out a slow whistle, sitting up now, his eyes locked on Elmore’s with a new intensity.

  “And the wildlife…” Elmore trailed off, his grin shifting into something darker—something tinged with awe and wariness all at once. “Dinosaurs, Brent.”

  Brent’s whole body jolted like he'd been slapped.

  Elmore nodded slowly, savoring the moment, his voice going just above a whisper. “Real. Honest-to-God dinosaurs.”

  Brent’s mouth fell open, cigar forgotten between his fingers as the tip slowly dimmed.

  “Get the hell outta here,” he breathed. “You’re shittin’ me.”

  His voice wasn’t accusing—more like a man trying to convince himself the world hadn’t gone sideways. Again.

  But Elmore just shook his head, a slow, deliberate movement that only made the grin on his face stretch wider. He tapped ash off the end of his cigarette and gestured with it like a wand.

  “Not even a little,” he said. “Saw it with my own eyes. Big bastards, too. Some walkin’ on all fours, others flyin’ overhead with wings wider than the church roof back home.”

  He leaned back again, eyes distant now, caught up in the memory.

  “Massive flowers stretchin’ to the sky, roots crackin’ the earth. Enough magma to flood the whole damn New River Valley, and then some. Like the Earth cracked open and all the oldest stuff in it came spillin’ out.”

  Brent gave a long, low whistle again, this one more like a prayer than a reaction.

  “Holy shit, Elmore…”

  Elmore just nodded, the weight of what he’d seen finally settling back on his shoulders like a mantle of smoke and ash.

  “The cavern’s bigger than any damn thing I’ve ever seen,” Elmore said, shaking his head slowly, as if trying to wrap his own mind around it again. “We’re talkin’ bigger than a whole county. Hell, maybe more than one. It just kept goin’. And the things livin’ down there…”

  He trailed off, eyes narrowed like he was staring down into memory, watching it all play out again behind his eyes.

  “Brent, they make the biggest critters we got up here look like field mice,” he said finally, voice low, almost reverent. “Dinosaurs, man. And not just your museum types. Some of ‘em… they’re beyond big. They don’t even feel real.”

  Brent leaned back against the cool rock wall, his cigar burned down to a stub, forgotten between his fingers. He let out a long, measured breath and slowly shook his head, eyes wide and focused.

  “Damn…” he muttered. “We’re gonna need a hell of a lot more folks past that boss if we’re even gonna think about pokin’ around in that mess.”

  He wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it.

  Elmore gave a quiet grunt of agreement, nodding as he shifted his weight, arms crossed. “That we will. This whole thing—it’s just the start. One step at a time. One level at a time.” He paused, then gave Brent a sly glance. “But for now… you wanna give it a look?”

  Brent grinned, the lines around his eyes creasing with excitement. “You serious?”

  Elmore was already flooring for the truck.

  The Beast roared to life with a deep, satisfying growl, its diesel engine echoing off the damp stone like a dragon clearing its throat. The glow of the cavern shimmered across its polished black hood as it rolled forward, each massive tire kicking up dust and sending ripples through the glowing puddles of lava scattered across the path.

  Inside, Elmore sat behind the wheel, one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on the doorframe. His grin was fixed, wide and crooked, like a man who knew exactly what kind of madness he was driving into—and welcomed it.

  Brent sat shotgun, gear bag between his boots, his rifle across his lap. “Truck’s ridin’ heavy,” he muttered, peering back at the crates and bundles stacked in the bed. “You load the whole damn armory in here or what?”

  “Just about,” Elmore replied, tapping the dash twice. “Gear, weapons, cold packs, field tents, ammo, water, food… and three cases of your favorite jerky. Might not need it all but i always keep it on hand”

  Brent gave a short bark of a laugh. “You spoil me.”

  The black-gloss doorway loomed ahead, a wide arch etched into the far wall—smooth, seamless obsidian that caught every glimmer of light and swallowed it. Faint pulses of amethyst and gold shimmered across its surface, like it was alive and watching.

  “So,” Brent said, shifting in his seat, “think this rig can handle what’s on the other side?”

  Elmore’s eyes sparkled with that same dangerous humor he always had before jumping into something wild. He gave the steering wheel a pat, then cracked his knuckles.

  “Oh, I know she can.”

  With a firm rev of the engine, The Beast surged forward, its front bumper slicing through the air like a prow through black water.

  As they crossed the threshold, the world changed—fast and total.

  The temperature hit them like a wall. A thick wave of dry, blistering heat surged through the cab, enough to fog the inside of the windshield in seconds. Steam hissed from the tires as they rolled onto black basalt ground, cracked and glowing with dull orange veins of magma.

  Brent winced, reaching for the vents as sweat beaded instantly on his brow. “Jesus—feels like we just drove into Hell.”

  Elmore adjusted the dial on the dash, flipping on the AC. “Nah,” he muttered, watching the landscape stretch out ahead of them. “Hell’s got nothin’ on this.”

  Before them sprawled a volcanic wasteland—an alien landscape of churning magma pools, jutting obsidian spires, and far off in the haze, massive shapes lumbering through the shimmer.

  And overhead, through a sky dim with soot and smoke, something with wings cast a shadow that swallowed the light. Only for something with too many arms to take its place.

  Elmore leaned forward, one hand resting on the dashboard, eyes narrowed against the warped, shimmering heat that rolled across the glass. The windshield was already streaked with sweat and sulfur, but even through the haze, the sight that met them was… otherworldly.

  Before them stretched a landscape carved straight from the fevered mind of a mad god.

  Towering volcanoes spewed rivers of molten fire that hissed and curled like serpents down their flanks. The lava cast a pulsing red-orange glow across the terrain, lighting up the shadows with an eerie, breathing rhythm. Around the base of those volcanic giants grew forests—if they could be called that—dense jungles of colossal, alien flowers that reached toward the sky with stalks as thick as tree trunks. The petals, enormous and vivid, looked as though they’d been lacquered in wet blood and molten paint, pulsating gently, as if breathing.

  Each plant twitched faintly, petals and tendrils turning toward the rumble of the truck like animals aware of a predator—or prey.

  Above it all, the sky was a monstrous ceiling of black, a heavy mass of volcanic smoke pierced now and then by arcs of red and violet lightning. Each bolt cracked with a thunderous boom that rolled through the ground like distant cannon fire. Shadows moved within the clouds—massive, impossible forms that loomed and faded like whales swimming through storm-tossed waters. Their movements were slow, deliberate, and filled with a kind of ancient menace, casting long, undulating shapes across the surreal world below.

  Elmore squinted, his gaze locking onto one flower near the path. It stood as tall as an oak, its petals serrated and glinting like sharpened obsidian. The core of the plant pulsed faintly, as though something inside was watching… or waiting.

  “Not exactly the friendliest place,” Elmore muttered under his breath.

  Brent said nothing. His hand instinctively moved to the rifle, eyes scanning side to side.

  Then—movement.

  From the edge of the path, where the volcanic soil steamed and cracked like a griddle, a form emerged from the brush. It stepped forward with the weight of a bulldozer, each foot pressing deep into the blackened ground and kicking up clouds of ash.

  It was a triceratops. Or… close enough that your mind wanted to call it that. But this was no museum skeleton or faded children’s book illustration. This creature was born of molten stone and living nightmare. Its three horns gleamed with a glassy, obsidian shine, each tip edged like a spearhead. Its hide was dark slate, cracked with glowing red fissures that looked like magma veins running beneath its skin. The wide crest of its skull was plated with jagged armor, like it had fused with volcanic rock itself.

  The beast lowered its head, scraping one horn across the path with a metallic screech, sparks flying in bright arcs. The air rippled around its nostrils as it snorted smoke.

  Elmore glanced sideways at Brent, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Feelin’ frisky?”

  Brent’s answering grin was pure madness. “Always. Let’s see what she’s got.”

  Without waiting another second, Elmore slammed his foot down. The Beast roared like an angered god, its tires clawing for traction on the charred ground, spitting lava dust and sharp gravel into the air behind them.

  The triceratops reacted instantly, charging in kind with a bellow that shook the teeth in their skulls.

  The two titans met in a single, thunderous impact.

  The Beast's reinforced grill crashed against the creature's forward horns with a scream of grinding metal and a jolt that slammed both men back into their seats. Elmore’s hands gripped the wheel like he was hanging onto the edge of the world. The force of the hit sent a cracking boom echoing through the hellish valley, and for one surreal second, they were locked—machine against beast, neither giving ground.

  The triceratops growled, digging into the earth, scraping and showering sparks as it pushed against the front of the truck. The grill groaned under the pressure, smoke rising from under the hood as something started to burn.

  Elmore’s grin faded just slightly.

  “...Might not’ve thought this one through,” he said, teeth clenched.

  Brent, pinned against the seat with both boots braced, let out a laugh that was somewhere between exhilaration and disbelief.

  “Yeah,” he shouted over the roar of the engine and the creature’s bellow, “you think!?”

  A metal bracket snapped loose under the hood with a loud clang.

  The Beast wasn’t winning.

  Not yet.

  “This one’s a little sturdier than I thought!” Elmore grunted through clenched teeth, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

  The triceratops surged forward again, forcing the truck back an inch with the grinding sound of tires skidding over volcanic gravel. The metal screamed, the engine groaned, and the cab was flooded with the acrid stench of burning oil. Every muscle in Elmore’s body tensed, his boots braced against the floorboard as the Beast buckled against the creature’s unnatural strength.

  But he wasn’t done yet.

  Gritting his teeth, Elmore closed his eyes for the briefest moment, reaching inward toward the Aither welling within him—always present, always ready. He funneled that energy into the Beast. The reaction was immediate.

  The engine roared like it had been possessed, a deep, chest-rattling snarl that vibrated through the frame. The steering wheel shimmered beneath his hands as glowing veins of pale gold and violet light etched themselves into the dashboard, the Aither surging through the old truck like a second heartbeat. The tires, now charged with raw energy, bit into the ground with renewed fury.

  The triceratops resisted, muscles rippling under its cracked, armored hide, hooves gouging the earth as it tried to hold its ground. But slowly, inch by inch, the Beast pushed forward. Sparks flew from the grill as it ground against the creature’s horns, steam rising in great billowing plumes from the contact.

  Then—

  THUMP.

  Brent vaulted from the bed of the truck with a grunt of effort, his body twisting midair.

  In the blink of an eye, the change took him—fur bursting from skin, limbs elongating, bones cracking into place. He hit the ground in full werewolf form, black-furred and glistening with heat, his claws gleaming like white glass under the volcanic glow. His snout opened in a guttural, unearthly howl that echoed like thunder across the molten valley.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  Brent slammed into the triceratops’ flank with the force of a runaway boulder, claws tearing into the beast’s armored hide. The creature shrieked, a deep, warbling bellow that rattled stones loose from the distant cliffs. It bucked wildly, swinging its tail and tossing molten earth into the air.

  The battle that followed blurred into a savage ballet of violence and fire.

  Brent moved like a predator in his element—circling, leaping, dodging, slashing. Every movement was swift and brutal, his claws scoring deep gouges across the creature’s hide. Elmore worked in tandem, ramming the Beast into the creature’s legs whenever it stumbled or shifted weight, pinning it just long enough for Brent to strike.

  The fight felt endless. Time stretched under the weight of adrenaline and searing heat. Elmore's shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat. The smell of blood, ash, and ozone mixed in the air, thick as soup. The triceratops fought with primal fury, its obsidian horns lashing out, its hide steaming where Brent's claws had found flesh.

  Minutes passed like hours.

  Finally—finally—the creature gave a choked, shuddering roar. It staggered, its front legs buckling beneath it. With a last gasp of breath that sounded more like a collapsing mountain than any animal’s cry, it collapsed in a heap of muscle and volcanic armor. One final exhale of smoke billowed from its nostrils before it lay still, its horns glinting eerily in the reflected glow of magma.

  Elmore sat back in the seat, chest heaving, limbs aching.

  Brent stumbled to the truck’s side, collapsing against the dented metal with a long, ragged breath. His fur was singed in places, matted with blood and sweat. He cast Elmore a wild-eyed look, still riding the edge of that feral adrenaline.

  “That… that was one tough bastard,” Brent growled, half-laughing, half-exhausted.

  “Tell me about it,” Elmore muttered, wiping a hand across his brow and grimacing at the sting of sweat and grit in his eyes. Every breath felt like breathing in fire. His body pulsed with fatigue, the Aither drain leaving a hollow ache deep in his chest.

  But the victory was short-lived.

  From the jungle-thick brush nearby, a sound like rustling leaves and crunching bone rose suddenly—fast, high-pitched, and many. Elmore turned his head just in time to see them burst forth in a chaotic swarm.

  Velociraptors.

  Dozens of them, no taller than a man’s thigh, their bodies lithe and vicious. Each was a blur of teeth, talons, and gleaming, scale-armored skin, their eyes glowing with wild intelligence. Some were crimson and gold like burning coals, others a sickly, iridescent green. They moved like a tide—darting forward with incredible speed.

  They swarmed the fallen triceratops first, shrieking and snapping, climbing over the corpse in a frenzy of claw and fang, peeling back flesh in a matter of seconds. Bones cracked. Tendons snapped. Steam hissed as their teeth sank into still-hot flesh.

  And then, inevitably, they turned.

  A few at first—then more.

  Heads jerked up, nostrils flaring.

  They saw Brent. Then Elmore.

  A chorus of high-pitched screeches erupted.

  The first raptor lunged, mouth open, claws outstretched.

  “Damn scavengers,” Brent snarled, kicking the first one mid-lunge with a solid thwack that sent it sprawling.

  Elmore grabbed his shotgun from the rack behind the seat, snapped it open, and slammed a shell into place with practiced speed.

  “We ain’t got time for this!” he barked.

  And with a crack of thunder, the fight began anew.

  Elmore eyed the swarm, weighing his options with a quick scan of the terrain and the snapping raptors closing in like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. “We’re gettin’ outta here,” he growled. the Beast roaring back to life like a waking dragon.

  Brent didn’t need to be told twice. He dove into the passenger seat, slamming the door just as a talon scraped across the glass, leaving a long, ragged line. “Punch it!”

  Elmore did, burying the pedal with a low grunt as the truck lurched forward, tires screaming across the cracked obsidian floor. The swarm of velociraptors scattered in a storm of ash and dust, their screeches fading behind them as the Beast tore down the cavern path, its engine howling with Aither-infused rage.

  The heat clawed at them as they ascended, sweat evaporating as fast as it formed, until gradually—mercifully— they passed into the trial chamber. The hellish glow gave way to dim stone, then to the soft flickering of torchlight lining the trial. Finally, after what felt like hours of sweltering chaos, they burst free into the cold cavern air and sped to the surface, hours later . they saw the sky painted in deep blues and golds as dawn crept across the valley.

  Elmore brought the truck to a slow halt just outside the stone arch that marked the dungeon's entrance. Both men sat back in their seats, letting the cool mountain air wash over them like a balm. Their clothes were soaked through, skin red from the volcanic heat, hair clinging to their foreheads. For a long, quiet moment, neither said a word.

  It was Brent who broke the silence with a long exhale. “We ain’t built for that level of hell.”

  Elmore gave a short laugh, still catching his breath. “Nope. Not even close.”

  The ride back into town was uneventful—eerily so, compared to what they’d just endured. The winding path through the valley was still bathed in the gentle hush of morning, fog curling lazily through the trees, birds just starting to chirp their sunrise songs. When they finally rolled up to the garage behind his home. they climbed out of the Beast with the stiffness of men twice their age.

  It wasn’t until they circled around to the front that they saw it.

  “Damn,” Brent muttered, eyes widening.

  Lodged deep into the grill of the truck, angled like a spear hurled by a titan, was one of the triceratops’s obsidian-black horns. Three feet long, thick at the base and tapering to a chipped but wickedly sharp point, the horn looked like it had been forged from cooled volcanic glass. The grill around it was bent inward, warped like it had been punched by a giant, but somehow still held its shape.

  Brent stepped forward and ran a hand along the surface, fingertips brushing the glassy ridges. He hissed at the edge. “Sharp as hell... and heavy too. It’s got weight. Almost like steel, but more... dense. And this edge? Held up against my damn claws—and I’ve shredded mithril before.”

  Elmore crouched down, rubbing his chin with narrowed eyes. “Took an overcharged blast from the shotgun to break it loose,” he muttered. “And even then it didn’t shatter, just snapped. That ain’t normal bone. It’s... mineralized, maybe fused with Aither. We’ll have our men look at it, but I got a feelin’ this might be a new tier of material.”

  Brent leaned back against the truck, arms crossed, sweat still drying on his face. “You’re thinkin’ about goin’ back down.”

  Elmore didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the horn, then drifted toward the mountain looming in the distance—the hidden entrance at its base still lit by the faint glow of enchanted torches. “That was one creature. Just one. And it damn near took both of us out. We got lucky with the terrain. But if that whole stratum’s like that?”

  He exhaled, slow and long, then straightened up, stretching the stiffness from his back. “We need more than just us two. That place... it’s another world. And it ain’t just monsters. That heat alone’ll kill some folks before they even draw their weapon.”

  He started pacing, thoughts picking up speed as he spoke. “We’re gonna need proper gear—heatproof armor,, somethin’ to regulate. Hell, maybe even build out a staging ground halfway down the tunnel, supply depot and rest stations.”

  Brent raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of work.”

  “Yeah,” Elmore said with a tired smirk, “but it’s worth it. We’ve barely scratched the surface of that place. Those caves we passed through? Haven’t even been mapped properly. We keep thinking there’s one big central area, but what if there’s more? Hidden tunnels, different zones, maybe other ecosystems entirely.”

  He leaned against the hood of the truck, exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Hell, maybe there’s a whole web of caverns down there. Separate domains. We’ve been thinkin’ too small. We need teams. Squads, shifts, rotating patrols. Specialized units with specific roles. This ain’t a scavenger run anymore—it’s an operation. We need to industrialize exploration of the first stratum.”

  Brent blinked, letting the idea settle in. “Whole lotta moving parts.”

  “Yup,” Elmore said, closing his eyes. “But that’s for later. Right now? I just wanna take a damn nap.”

  Brent chuckled, kicking a stone across the dirt lot. “Amen to that.”

  They stood in silence a moment longer, the early sun painting the valley gold, their minds buzzing with plans yet to come.

  Elmore glanced at the jagged horn one last time, that same tired smile returning. “We survived the first bite. Now we learn how to chew.”

  Level 6: Elmore

  Ruler Level 6 : Chief

  - Strength: 20/60

  - Endurance: 10/60

  - Dexterity: 10/60

  - Agility: 10/60

  - Intelligence: 60/60

  - Resistance: 13/60

  - Vitality: 20/60

  - Aither: 30/60

  Points Available: 0

  Tabs:

  [Seat of Power] 2 points

  - True Land Ownership:LV1

  - Aither Laws:LV2

  - Aither Taxes:LV2

  - Population: Subjects:10,476

  [Structures]

  -Home

  -Hall of Beginnings

  [Companions]

  -Brent Edenheart

  [Tokens]

  -Immoral Structure: 1

  Level:6 Brent Edenheart

  Level 1: knight vassal

  - Strength: 20/60

  - Endurance: 12/60

  - Dexterity: 20/60

  - Agility: 60/60

  - Intelligence: 10/60

  - Resistance: 11/60

  - Vitality: 14/60

  - Aither: 10/60