Erejam let out a startled squawk as Inga dropped down with an audible thud. But this wasn’t Inga in her beautiful moth form. She’d used her Metamorphosis ability to transform into a gigantic steel-encrusted caterpillar—twenty feet long, as thick as the dwarf was wide, and covered in razor-sharp spikes. The chrome larva’s spikes ripped through Erejam as the sheer weight of the thing crushed him into meat paste.
And just like that, in the blink of an eye, the party had lost one of their Azure Branch cultivators.
Rockheart was dumbfounded.
This was the astral moth, using her Metamorphosis ability, right away, in the first room! He’d expected them to divide their dungeon into four floors, where each core would be a floor boss. Simple, straightforward, and practical given the circumstances and time restrictions. But no, they had committed one of their most powerful resources early and most unexpectedly... A bold move, yet one that had paid off. They had removed Erejam—arguably the most powerful of the actual raiders—from the equation before the man could do more than sling a handful of spells.
Orem Leadblade howled, “By my beard! A fight, and this is a dungeon boss, or else I’m an elf!” He waded forward with the half-orc skinner by his side.
Orem dug his fingers into the ground, and it parted for him like hot butter. He scooped up a boulder that must’ve weighed half a ton and slammed it into the side of Inga’s caterpillar head as though he were tossing around a feather pillow. Such was the power of an Earthbinder.
The great metal worm reeled from the blow, and Orem followed up, leaping forward to bash in her skull with his wicked hammer. Inga thrashed her head left at the last moment, goring him with her spikes. She nearly eviscerated the man, but suffered a grievous wound for her considerable efforts.
Orem dropped, alive but in pain, clutching at his ruined belly.
Lyndagg had used the Earthbinder’s attack to maneuver around the guardian. She shot in like an arrow, peppering Inga’s side with a wave of Apothos-conjured Glacies daggers. Green blood splashed against the wall in a sheet.
Even badly wounded, Inga fought on, swinging her head toward the half-orc like a battering ram. Lyndagg brought her shield screaming forward, catching the astral moth’s deadly spikes on her buckler. Swiveling, the Blademaster smacked off one of the caterpillar’s mandibles. Then, in a flash, Lyndagg dashed up one of the piles of sand, leapt, and brought her sword down, carving through the caterpillar’s thick hide like a surgeon’s scalpel through silk.
One of Flynn Corry’s rings flashed, and ornate armor appeared, covering his clothes perfectly in bands of hardened black lacquer and soft but sturdy leather. Another ring flashed and two silver, rune-etched short swords filled his hands. He didn’t rush forward, though. He yelled at Rockheart. “Tearclaw, you should probably do something, eh? This is a straight-up fight, and I’m not too good at those. I prefer a nice, safe back to stab!”
“Coward,” Rockheart spat.
The thief was right, though—he should act. It was just endlessly amusing to watch the astral moth so thoroughly thwart the raiders. Rockheart had no love for dungeoneers of any stripe. Still, he was on a mission, he reminded himself. With a flick of his hand, he threw golden glowing claw missiles into the caterpillar, sizzling her undulating flesh and melting her metal spikes in a wave of searing heat.
Inga turned and tried to get at Lyndagg once more with her one good mandible, but she mistakenly exposed her belly in the process.
Ekli Oreniel seized the opportunity to slash through Inga’s underside, spraying the room with more of the sludgy green blood.
Inga then did something unexpected.
She straightened, retreated, and used her bulky tail to push a mound of sand aside. A section of sandstone slid back into the wall. Below was a fungaloid’s digestive pit. She was bleeding out—nearly dead—but somehow still managed to shove Linraist Erejam’s body into the black fluid. Immediately, the fluid started to bubble and churn.
Inga let out an insectile screech as Lyndagg drove a sword into her side over and over again. Meanwhile, Ekli continued to slash with her scimitar, carving great gashes into Inga’s unprotected belly. Even Flynn Corry rushed forward, dancing around her spikes and mandible, laying into her with twirling silver blades. As for Rockheart, he saved his spells. This fight was as good as over, and though the astral moth had lost the skirmish she’d certainly won the war, no matter what happened now.
After a few more moments of fruitless fighting, the metal caterpillar slumped forward, life draining from her inhuman eyes. Even with her guardian form gone, Rockheart knew Inga’s core would continue to float on the pedestal in the inner sanctum, feeding Logan both Apothos and intel.
Still, the Terrible Twelfth had just lost their best dungeon boss...
Chapter Thirty-Six
ROCKHEART HAD NO IDEA how the four cores would fare without Inga’s rather impressive guardian form. To lose a dungeon boss in the entry room was a devastating blow.
Yet...
Yet it was also a daring ploy, and Rockheart couldn’t help but respect her sacrifice. He wouldn’t show her mercy, though. He was more determined than ever to reach the inner sanctum, smash her gem to pieces, and then inhale her Apothos. She had talent, no doubt, but she’d made a mistake supporting the fool goat boy. Mercy had no place in a war zone, and this was but one front in a much larger war. A war for the Tree of Souls itself. He was obligated to honor the Tree through action and save it from those too weak to serve. He would do his duty, even if he might find pieces of it... distasteful.
Ekli Oreniel stood at the edge of the digestive pit, staring down at the disgusting, burbling goop. It was too late to retrieve Erejam’s body. Already, Logan and his friends would be gathering fresh energy from the Azure Branch cultivator. The rank smell of the Runecaster’s corpse being broken down into its component energies filled the room. Logan would get sixty percent of Erejam’s Apothos immediately thanks to his unique digestive abilities. Since Erejam had Vita and Umbral Affinities, the rest of the energy would take longer to process, but the annoying fungaloid would manage it in time.
The Terrible Twelfth were already feasting and growing stronger, no doubt preparing to turn that power against the raiders at the most inconvenient opportunity.
“Argh, lass,” the dwarf cried, still clutching his ruined stomach. Inga had done a number on the Earthbinder. “Ah could use a healing spell, if ya have a minute.”
The half-elf turned and glared at him. “And why should I, you bearded heathen? You said something nasty about elves.”
The dwarf was pale under his beard. “All Ah said, lassie, was that the big bug was a dungeon boss. Ah didn’t mean it as an insult to yer people.”
“Oh, it was an insult. I heard your tone,” the Wood Warden said in a deadly voice, crossing her arms like a petulant child. “Don’t you know how terrible my backstory is? I’m half elf. Which means I’m also half human. It was hard growing up. I was a stranger to both worlds.”
The dwarf winced, obviously in great pain. “Aye, sounds tough on both of ye. But a little healing would keep me from dying, and then ya can tell me more.”
The Wood Warden sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll heal you, but I want you to beg me.”