The ground beneath my feet is cold and spongy, like dead flesh. I move through a landscape of petrified trees and sharp, black rocks. There is no wind here. Just a heavy, oppressive silence, broken from time to time by a distant, inhuman scream that seems to tear the very fabric of reality. It is the cry of the Howlers.
I left the camp two hours ago. No one wished me luck. Only the helpless gazes of Roxis and Elian followed me until I disappeared into the gray mist.
My mission is simple and impossible: infiltrate, kill, survive. Alone.
My Camouflage is my greatest ally. It allows me to blend into the omnipresent shadows of this cursed landscape. I am not a soldier in enemy territory. I am a ghost haunting a graveyard.
I see them for the first time. The Shadow Howlers. They are nightmarish creatures. The size of a wolf, but with a spider-like silhouette, possessing four long, thin limbs ending in claws like razor blades. Their bodies are made of a kind of solidified smoke, their outlines shifting and undulating. They have no face, just a gaping maw filled with glassy black teeth, from which their piercing cry escapes.
Analyze.
Name: Shadow Howler
Level: 8
Status: Patrolling
Skills:
[Shadow Jaunt (Active)]: Allows short-distance teleportation through shadows.
[Void Claws (Passive)]: Attacks ignore a portion of physical armor.
Weaknesses: Holy Light, Sonic Attacks.
Essence: Void, Ephemeral. Medium absorption potential. May cause mental instability if devoured in large quantities.
Ignores a portion of armor. Teleports. These creatures are born assassins. The army of Kryndal, with its heavy armor and frontal tactics, must be getting slaughtered.
I avoid the patrols. My goal is not to fight them. It is to find their leader.
The Gorge of Shadows is a gaping fissure in the ground, a black scar that plunges into the bowels of the earth. Wisps of dark smoke escape from it, carrying an aura of pure malevolence. This is where they come from. This is the Breach.
The entrance to their nest is unguarded. They don't need it. The aura emanating from the place is a powerful deterrent in itself. I descend a rock face, my enchanted boots finding silent purchase.
The nest is a network of natural tunnels and caverns, but the rock itself seems to have been corrupted by the Void. It is black, oily, and absorbs light. My Night Vision struggles to pierce this unnatural darkness.
I follow the tunnels, guided by the increasing concentration of creatures. I pass chambers where dozens of Howlers sleep, hanging from the ceiling like monstrous bats. My breath is a whisper, each beat of my heart a thunderclap in my chest.
I finally reach the central cavern. And what I see chills me to the bone.
The cavern is immense. In the center, the Breach itself pulses like an open wound on the world, a portal of absolute blackness. Howlers continuously emerge from it, like ants from an anthill.
And before the Breach, floating a few inches off the ground, is their leader.
It is not a larger Howler. It is something entirely different. A tall, slender, humanoid figure, clad in a robe made of shifting shadows. It has no face, just a smooth void that seems to suck in the gaze. In its long, thin hands, it holds a scepter made of a twisted black bone, topped with a crystal that pulses with the same energy as the Breach.
Analyze.
Name: Void Intelligence
Level: ??
Status: Commanding
Skills:
[Swarm Control (Passive)]: Telepathically commands all nearby Shadow Howlers.
[Null Lance (Active)]: Projects a beam of pure Void energy.
[Shadow Summon (Active)]: Summons Howlers directly from the Breach.
Weaknesses: ??
Essence: ??
Another enemy my system cannot comprehend. But this time, I am not facing a weary guardian or a king in his study. I am facing an alien general, in the heart of his fortress, surrounded by his army.
Tybalt did not send me to my death. He sent me to hell.
There is no way to approach it. The cavern is swarming with hundreds of Howlers. The second I step out of the shadows, I will be overwhelmed.
I back away into the tunnel, my mind racing. Brute force is impossible. Stealth is impossible. I have to think. Think like Elric. Think like a river.
The Void Intelligence controls the Howlers. It is the head of the snake. If I cut it off, the body will die. But how to reach the head?
I retrace my steps, exploring the adjacent tunnels. I find a gallery that overlooks the main cavern. From there, I have a perfect view of my target. But the distance is too great for my dagger.
There is only one solution. A suicidal solution.
I have to create a diversion. A diversion so massive it will draw the attention of every Howler in the cavern, giving me a window of a few seconds to strike.
But what diversion? I have no bombs, no area-of-effect spells. I only have myself.
I am the diversion.
I return to one of the chambers where the Howlers are sleeping. There are at least fifty of them, hanging from the ceiling.
I take a deep breath. This is the stupidest thing I have ever done.
I activate Berserker Charge.
The red aura of pure power envelops me. I step out of the shadows and let out a yell. A cry of rage, of defiance, a cry that comes from the very depths of my being.
The sound echoes in the silence of the nest. The fifty Howlers awaken instantly. Fifty pairs of nonexistent eyes turn to me.
They all attack at once. It is a tidal wave of claws and black smoke.
I do not fight them. I run.
I sprint through the tunnels, my heart about to burst from my chest, an army of nightmares at my heels. I am the bait, the lure.
I burst into the main cavern, screaming at the top of my lungs.
"HEY! OVER HERE!"
As expected, every Howler in the cavern turns toward me. The Void Intelligence itself pivots slowly, its blank face fixing on the insignificant gnat that dares to disturb its invasion.
I have their attention. All of it.
I do not stop. I keep running, hugging the cavern wall, drawing the entire swarm after me. It is a comet of death following me, and I am its burning head.
I head for the upper gallery I had scouted. I jump, grabbing onto the rock face, and pull myself up with a strength that only fear can provide.
I am now on the ledge, above the swarm teeming below. The Void Intelligence is on the other side of the cavern, momentarily alone, its army entirely focused on me.
My window of opportunity is open. It will only last a few seconds.
I do not look at my target. I look at the cavern ceiling, directly above it. Huge stalactites of corrupted rock hang there, like swords of Damocles.
I draw my dagger. I don't have the strength to throw it that far. But I don't need to throw it.
I hold it tightly and focus on the largest stalactite. I pour all my remaining mana, all my will, into a single purpose.
Precise Strike. Not on an enemy. On an idea.
An invisible pulse of pure energy leaves my hand and crosses the cavern in a fraction of a second. It strikes the base of the stalactite.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then, a crack appears.
The stalactite, weighing several tons, breaks away from the ceiling.
It falls.
Slowly, majestically, as if in a slow-motion dream.
The Void Intelligence raises its blank face, finally sensing the danger. But it is too late.
The spear of stone crashes down on it with a deafening roar that shakes the entire mountain. An explosion of dust and Void energy fills the cavern.
The telepathic link that bound the swarm is severed. The hundreds of Howlers stop dead, confused, disoriented. Their hunting cries turn into whimpers of panic.
I do not stay to admire my work. The swarm will soon fall back into a murderous frenzy and look for a new leader, or simply destroy everything in its path.
I slip into a tunnel and I flee. I run, I crawl, I climb, until I finally find the sick, gray light of the Frontier again.
I don't stop running until I am several kilometers from the nest. I collapse behind a rock, my body trembling, drained of all energy.
I survived.
I killed the snake. I completed the suicide mission.
But as I lie there, panting, a cold thought dawns on me.
I have no proof.
The leader's body is buried under tons of rock. I don't have its head, not its scepter. I only have my word.
And the word of a sewer rat is worthless against that of a lord like Tybalt Burix.
He knew. He knew that even if I succeeded, I could never prove it. The trap was not just in the mission. It was also in the victory.
I am alone, in enemy territory, with no proof of my success. And I have to return to a camp commanded by a man who has sworn to kill me.
The game is not over. The real fight is just beginning.