Treacle’s boss room was more ironwork, only this time, there were paintings of sawblades set in the metal walls. Real sawblades lay behind them. Ghoul’s Snare covered the floor in vile purple-black patches, and the ground was uneven, making it difficult to walk.
His Ugknot Calflings stood ready, hidden inside the walls and covered in Braincap spores. The Ugknots were miniature, mechanical versions of Treacle. Four feet tall, the little minotaurs balanced on metal hooves and mechanical legs, driven by pistons, cogs, and gears. Pale white mushrooms sprouted from horned bull heads, though, honestly, they looked more machine than animal. Metal plates covered ropy muscles, brass tubes snaked along their backs, and clockwork gears spun merrily away inside of glass-fronted torsos. They carried pint-sized battle-axes, spears, and tridents, perfect for keeping opponents at range.
Their job was to wait until Treacle rose from the floor to show the dwarf warrior and the half-orc knife lady the power of his Internal Alchemy.
<Treacle, are you going to get into your loading chamber in time?> Logan asked.
The minotaur answered in a huff. <Yes, of course, I have a ladder down from the entrance. Almost in position now.>
<The timing should be perfect,> Inga sent. <Orem and Lyndagg have figured out the left side of the labyrinth. They’ll be there in three, two, one...>
The dwarf and the half-orc entered the room carefully. They were clearly on edge, and for good reason. Sections of the floor were metal, but others looked like black mold. Logan hoped the pair wouldn’t recognize his Ghoul’s Snare.
The Ugknot Calflings stood tucked away behind swiveling iron panels.
In a flash of electricity, a whoosh of steam, and the grinding of gears, the entire room lumbered to mechanical life. A cloud of white steam crept along the floor as Treacle rose from the center of the room. He was a terrifying sight to behold, a monster of muscle, fur, and metal, and instead of a minotaur’s typical battle-axe, he had something a lot more interesting in store.
Goggles snapped out of his face to cover his eyes, and armor appeared right out of his flesh. He flipped up his left arm, and a spiked morning star exploded out of his arm, sparking with electricity. From Treacle’s right arm, a metal tube, covered in gore, appeared, spitting fire. Yep, his left arm was a combination of morning star and electrified Taser while his right was a legit flamethrower. The fearsome beast stepped forward, razor-edged hooves ringing out against the floor.
More gears churned in the walls, and hidden apertures swiveled open, revealing the Ugknot Calflings. The pint-sized mechanical minotaurs rushed forward, weapons raised and ready to kill.
Logan tapped into his connection to the Braincap mushrooms and sent his consciousness into a Calfling with a golden trident. The creature was of a comparable height to Logan, but its center of gravity was off thanks to the odd inverted mechanical legs and the hooves. Unlike the countless hours Logan had spent possessing Inga’s centipedes, this was a whole new ball game—a culturally specific reference no one else would understand—and he was extremely unsure on his feet.
He didn’t need to do the bulk of the heavy lifting, though, he reminded himself. That was why Treacle was there. All he needed to do was keep the raiders on their toes, distract them whenever possible, and herd them toward the horned artificer.
But the raiders were smarter than they looked.
Instead of closing the distance with the ferocious dungeon boss, the dwarf and half-orc launched a barrage of ranged attacks. Lyndagg hurled deadly daggers, while the dwarf smashed his earthen hammer into the floor, sending a shock wave of energy across the room.
Treacle stumbled forward, blood dripping down his armor, one leg bruised, if not broken, from the hammer’s shock wave. That Earthbinder was a powerhouse in his own right, and it was high time they did something about him. The minotaur retaliated with a gout of flame aimed at the dwarf, but he was one step ahead. He dropped to a knee and took shelter behind his heavy shield.
The half-orc went to rush forward, but Logan bolted right to meet her, lashing out with his trident.
The half-orc batted the pronged weapon aside, but Logan wasn’t really wanting to kill her, just push her back a single step. She backpedaled as Logan feinted right, then lunged straight in, trident outthrust like a spear.
Her foot landed firmly in a patch of insidious Ghoul’s Snare. Inky purple-black tendrils burst to life, mindlessly wrapping around her studded leather boots and crawling up her legs. She fought and bucked, slashing at the creeping vines, but the Ghoul’s Snare spread too quickly to be stopped. A spinning buzz saw erupted out of the wall and bit into her arm with its whirling metal teeth. She let out a growl, fruitlessly trying to raise her sword as Treacle barreled toward her.
The minotaur dropped his head low, goring her through the belly with his horns, then pulled back and removed most of her face with his morning-star arm. The spikes tore through muscle and obliterated bone, and the electricity added enough juice to steam her skull like an Instant Pot.
“By my beard, I shan’t be killed by no cow!” The dwarf slammed his hammer on the floor again. This time, the shock wave rippled through the entire room. Logan’s Ghoul’s Snare withered from the raw surge of Terra Apothos. Treacle stumbled and dropped to one knee, while the Ugknot Calfling Logan was riding around in toppled to the floor. Its nervous system had collapsed along with most of its spine. A number of Calflings had survived the killing blow, but Logan didn’t much like their chances against the bearded raider.
A sawblade rose from the floor, but the dwarf was angry now, and hell hath no fury like a scared dwarven Earthbinder fighting for his life. Did Shakespeare write that?
Orem carelessly backhanded the blade with his hammer, stopping its spin and making it wobble. It exploded a moment later, the saw debris killing more Calflings.
Treacle got to his feet and sped forward in a blur of metal arms and augmented legs, raising his morning-star. The flamethrower was sputtering flames—useless now. He brought the spiked ball screaming down, but Orem sidestepped the attack.
With a mighty yell, the dwarf bashed through one of Treacle’s horns and turned his skull into hammer soup. That was the end of the minotaur. Treacle hit the ground, tongue out, as dead as steak. All the sawblades stopped screeched and stopped spinning.
With a thought, Logan took control of another Calfling—but instead of engaging, he rallied the two other remaining minions and pulled them back into their respective hiding spaces. There was no way they would be a match for Orem, and they couldn’t afford to throw away resources needlessly. The gears turned, the doors closed, and the murder room fell quiet.
Orem went to the half-orc’s body and knelt, bowing his head for a beat before making some sacred series of gestures. A blessing of some sort. “Sad for ya, Lyndagg, but Ah still live. And Ah’ll just take your gold, some jewels, a knife or two, and that glowing scimitar. Ah can see pretty well in the dark, but not perfectly.” He stood and checked his new gear. “Now, to get out of this madhouse,” he grumbled with a nod.
Marko, right on cue, hit the dwarf with crazed laughter. “Not a madhouse, my friend, a mad party. Mad, I tell you. Mad! Mad! Mad!”
Orem let out a roar, his face beet red, a vein pulsing in his forehead. Seemed like their handiwork was really starting to get under his skin. That was good. Angry, demoralized people made mistakes, and mistakes on a battlefield resulted in casualties—a lesson Logan had paid in blood to learn back in his real life, before Shadowcroft.