The underground facility stretched endlessly beneath the earth, built by a civilization so advanced that even in ruin, its scale felt overwhelming. Massive pillars lined both sides of the main corridor. Each one thicker than a transport vehicle and carved from a smooth, metallic alloy that still reflected light despite countless millennia of abandonment. Faint patterns, like circuitry etched into stone, ran across their surfaces, glowing weakly in sections where ancient power cells had not yet failed.
The ceiling arched high overhead, layered with reinforced plates and cross-beams that supported the enormous structure. Some plates had cracked, leaving gaps where dust drifted down in slow, silent streams. Dim lights embedded along the ceiling flickered randomly, struggling to stay alive. Long cables hung loosely from broken conduits, swaying slightly whenever a distant tremor passed through the facility.
The floor, once polished and flawless, was now covered in uneven cracks and scattered debris. What remained of its original reflective surface showed brief flashes of light from deeper inside the complex. Old pathways marked with glowing lines still pulsed faintly, guiding toward sectors no one had walked through in ages. Everything around the corridor felt frozen in time, untouched and forgotten.
From far ahead, sounds echoed across the deserted space. Sharp metal strikes clashing in rapid intervals, the screech of something dragging against steel, and the raw voices of people shouting. Each sound bounced between the pillars, magnified by the emptiness, creating a constant mix of chaos that contrasted sharply with the surrounding silence.
Closer to the source, the floor was scattered with bodies. Several humanoid corpses lay twisted and broken, their limbs severed cleanly as if cut by blades. Red blood pooled beneath them, forming uneven trails that spread across the cracked floor. Some had deep gashes running from shoulder to waist, exposing bones and torn muscle. A few were completely beheaded, their heads lying nearby with empty, frozen expressions.
Mixed among them were creatures of a different form. Their bodies were larger, with thick claws instead of hands. Their limbs were bent in unnatural angles, and their torsos were torn open as if ripped apart by overwhelming force. Their blood, bright green, had splattered across the walls and pillars, dripping down in long streaks that contrasted with the older layers of dust. The bodies lay in piles, some collapsed over the humanoid dead, others spread out as if they had been thrown by heavy impact.
The entire area was filled with the metallic smell of blood, both red and green. It soaked into the floor and filled the air while the distant battle continued to echo from deeper within the ancient facility.
At the forefront of the clash stood a towering figure, reaching nearly three meters in height. His body resembled a red dragon given human shape. Thick crimson scales covered him from head to toe, layered tightly like natural armor. Along his arms and shoulders, the scales sharpened into ridged plates that caught the faint light with every movement. Two dark red horns curved backward from his skull, solid and heavy, blending seamlessly into his transformed form. His eyes burned with a bright golden hue, and his jawline carried faint, draconic edges that showed hints of fangs when he breathed. A thick, muscular tail extended behind him, covered in the same hardened scales. At a glance, his entire appearance looked like a crafted battle suit. But each piece of it was alive, part of his body, part of the transformation that defined his bloodline.
Behind him stretched his people, an army numbering nearly a thousand. They shared the same draconic traits: scales, horns, tails, and elongated features, but varied in size and color. The red-scaled warriors stood the tallest and carried the most raw physical presence, marking them as the elite among the group. The blue-scaled warriors followed in stature and strength, their builds slightly leaner but still imposing. The green-scaled fighters were smaller yet fast and agile compared to the others, while the brown-scaled ones formed the bulk of the force, sturdy and dependable in formation. As a whole, their army looked like a unified wall of scaled bodies advancing through the ancient corridor.
Facing them was a massive horde of insect-like creatures, swarming in uncountable numbers. They came in various shapes, some with sharp, elongated legs that scraped loudly against the metal floor, others with thick armored bodies and multiple mandibles snapping continuously. The smallest of them stood half a meter tall, skittering rapidly under the legs of larger ones. The tallest reached nearly five meters, towering over the battlefield with bulky frames and heavy, chitinous shells that cracked as they forced their way forward through their own swarm.
Tens of thousands of these insects filled the corridor, their movement creating an unending wave that pushed forward without pause. Their bodies piled over fallen corpses, climbing on top of each other, forming a dense and relentless tide that surged toward the draconic warriors with no sign of stopping.
The red-scaled leader lifted his clawed hand and pointed it toward the endless tide of insects pushing through the corridor. His voice erupted across the battlefield, deep and powerful enough to vibrate through the pillars.
"Forward! There is no turning back! If we stop now, we die here! Push through them! Survival is straight ahead!"
His words cut through the noise of clashing metal and screeching creatures. The army behind him roared in response, each warrior releasing every ounce of fear, anger, and determination in one unrestrained shout. Their voices filled the massive underground hall, echoing off the high ceiling and racing across the ancient walls. The sound carried a force strong enough to drown out the relentless hissing of the insect horde.
The floor beneath them was as massive as the facility itself, wide enough to hold thousands of bodies with space to spare. Its reinforced alloy surface remained solid, showing no sign of bending despite the countless impacts from weapons, claws, and collapsing corpses. Even as the battle raged across its length, the ground stayed steady and unmoving, its ancient durability far beyond anything modern civilizations could produce. Every heavy stomp, every crushing blow, every body slamming onto the floor barely left a scratch.
Skirmishes erupted along the edges of the battlefield. Near the far-left flank, a cluster of blue-scaled warriors clashed with a group of towering five-meter insects. Their weapons and claws struck against the creatures' chitin shells, sending fragments flying across the corridor. On the right side, several green-scaled fighters darted between the legs of the smaller insects, cutting down dozens as they slipped through the gaps in the swarm. Piles of insect bodies grew around them, forming uneven mounds they had to climb over to continue advancing.
The main force continued its forward march, meeting the horde head-on. The red-scaled leader pushed through the front line with brutal strength, smashing aside creatures that leapt at him. Each movement produced a deep impact sound that thundered through the hall.
The tide of insects crashed against the draconic army, and the sheer collision of numbers shook the battlefield, but the ancient floor beneath them remained unchanged, untouched by the violence consuming it.
...
A blue-armored draconic woman broke through the chaos of the frontline, her movements swift and precise despite the clashing bodies around her. She stopped before Kryd'or, the red-scaled leader, lowering her head slightly in respect before speaking, her voice cutting through the din of battle.
"Commander," she said, her tone urgent, "our casualties… the Serpar are already several hundreds fallen. The Brakkan and Urdu legions are suffering even more. By the time we crossed this floor, our numbers have dropped from nearly three thousand to less than a thousand."
Kryd'or's golden eyes narrowed as he processed her words, feeling the weight of the loss even without her reminder. The realization of their dwindling numbers pressed down on him like the massive pillars overhead, yet he did not hesitate. The rules of a descent were clear, once a floor was breached, retreat was impossible. Their only chance of survival was to push forward and descend again.
Taking a deep, controlled breath, Kryd'or raised his clawed hand above the battlefield. His voice rolled over the fighting, firm and commanding:
"Listen well! We adjust our lines! Only half of the Drakon warriors remain at the front. The other half will spread along the outer and rear positions to reinforce and protect! Serpar follow our front, Brakkan in the middle, Urdu legion at the back. Make this formation pierce the horde like the tip of an arrow!"
The army responded immediately, shifting their positions with practiced precision. The red-scaled warriors divided their ranks, half charging directly into the swarm while the other half spread to flank the sides and protect the vulnerable rear. Behind them, the blue-scaled warriors aligned in formation, moving with synchronized speed and strength, their presence marking the second line of the spear. Green-scaled warriors filled the central section, agile and ready to exploit any gaps, while the brown-scaled warriors maintained the rear, a steadfast wall of resilience guarding the army's back.
The corridor now resembled a living arrow, a narrow, deadly shape surging forward through the endless tide of insects. Each step, each strike, each clash of claw and mandible reinforced the arrow's forward momentum. Kryd'or led the charge, the tip of the formation, and the horde could feel the pressure of the piercing advance as the draconic army pushed through them with brutal precision.
Hours had passed, each one stretching endlessly as the clash raged on. The massive underground hall, once echoing with the combined roars of thousands of draconic warriors, now trembled under a thinner, more desperate force. Despite their unwavering formations and the relentless courage of each warrior, the numbers of Kryd'or's army dwindled with every strike. The once thousand had been reduced to barely more than half a thousand, each survivor drenched in blood and exhaustion, their movements slower, heavier, minds fraying at the edges.
They had seen comrades torn apart by claws, crushed beneath the weight of towering insects, or consumed alive. Anger burned in their eyes, a bitter rage at the horde that refused to stop, frustration at the endless deaths, and the gnawing despair of knowing that every fallen friend was one less chance to survive. Their resolve teetered on the edge; every step forward felt like it could be the last. Some dragged broken limbs behind them, others stumbled over the bodies of friends and enemies alike, yet none stopped moving. Their hearts clung to the faintest glimmer of hope that survival was still possible, that somehow, they would make it through this living nightmare.
Amid the chaos and hopelessness, Kryd'or remained a pillar of unyielding resolve. His golden eyes never left the far end of the corridor, scanning through the haze of dust, blood, and flying debris. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, he saw it. A towering gate, massive and imposing, marking the exit of this cursed floor and the path toward the next.
He lifted his voice above the din, strong and unwavering, carrying it across the trembling, battered remnants of his army.
"Dragonvail warriors! The gate is already up ahead!"
The remaining warriors lifted their heads, some trembling with exhaustion, others with renewed hope, eyes widening as they saw what Kryd'or pointed toward.
"We have endured too long to fall now!"
Kryd'or continued, his voice sharp and commanding.
"Every drop of blood spilled, every comrade lost, has brought us closer to this! Push forward, no matter the cost! Fight for your lives, fight for each other, and fight until we reach that gate!"
A ripple of determination spread through the survivors. Though their bodies ached and their spirits were frayed, a spark of renewed will ignited within them. The arrow-shaped formation tightened, red scales gleaming despite the grime and blood, blue and green lines straightening, brown warriors bracing at the rear. Kryd'or's gaze remained fixed on the gate, and with each step he led, the battered army surged forward, clinging to the fragile hope that they might finally escape the floor that had claimed so many.
...