For Ollie Edward's second venture into the Murk, the Dwarves utilised the Grand Gates of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth, an honour usually reserved for Deepdowners, dignitaries and victorious Generals returned from deep-reaching campaigns. With great gravity, the ancient gates slid back on the carved path worn into the stonework. Against Human impatience, the enormous stone slabs' movements appeared glacial and tectonic, inducing an innate breathlessness in the onlookers.

This time, their party passed under the Seven Ancestors while escorted by a dozen clanking Striders. Leading the entourage was the foremost sorceress of their expedition, Magus Gwen Song— though she was not their leader— that honour had fallen on the shoulder of Ollie, the recently graduated, newly appointed Second Secretary of the Diplomatic Commission of the Commonwealth and a "Special Envoy" established by his Grace, the Duke of Norfolk. It was a burden he loathed to bear, considering his knowledge of Gwen, but then again, a junior officer had no choice in assignments.

Behind the profusely sweating and perpetually nervous diplomat whose sweat ran like a river walked three Void Mages, possibly a number never before seen in any expedition anywhere. The senior of the young women among the party was Gracie Hillbrook, Void Illusionist and adventuring novice. She was followed by Jean-Paul Bekker, ward of Meister Bekker of London Imperial and a renowned veteran Void Mage, besides which walked Richard Huang, an Abjurer-Conjurer Spirit-Elementalist. Their final member was Petra Kuznetsova, Enchanter extraordinaire and the Spellcube Replication System's architect, once a Moscow Mind Mage.

Behind these august young men and women were Ollie's crew, the diplomacy corp of the Mageocracy, a dozen Mages possessed of far more wisdom and experience than the over-powered youngsters.

Ollie possessed little comprehension of why Lady Grey and Lord Ravenport had tapped someone like himself to lead the expedition, though he had his suspicions.

"Gwen likes you," the Marchioness of Ely had said with a tone of strange sympathy while occasionally glancing at his hairline. "Look, Gwen will listen if it's you. The girl's very sensitive when she's dealing with people to whom she owes debts of gratitude."

For Ollie, receiving a position based on connections rather than merit filled him with deep anxiety and an unbidden fear that he would ultimately prove inadequate. But, as he had no choice, Magus Edwards could only ignore the acute tingling in his scalp and tell his House Mistress that he would not fail.

_CLUNG! CLUNG! CLUNG!_

Immeasurable weights, slowly shifted by mechanical and magical means, waylaid Ollie Edward's worries with the fanfare of London's great church bells. It took ten minutes for the gates to fully open, by which time Gwen had grown visibly impatient.

"Steady," Ollie warned his sorceress. "Let's see what they're up to first. Like we discussed, it is unlikely Hilda and Hanmoul are in immediate danger or caught within an active conspiracy— else our arrival would only hasten their demise."

"I hope yer right," Yossari, the returning Alchemist, declared her worries to her Human allies. "Deepdowner politicking is right fierce, yer know. Most of them see the commoner Dwarf as Murk fodder."

"Don't worry, Yossari, we'll get em back... or if the worst happens..." Gwen left the rest unsaid, with implications that made Ollie's stomach burn.

Fortunately, after analysing the known data, he and the corp had conveyed to their strike-team that whatever was arresting their VIPs must be a slow ploy. What the Deepdowner newcomers desired was a mistake or a misstep on the part of the Citadel's old leadership so that they could legitimise their power grab. Any activity that directly resulted in the Captain of the Iron Guard or the Deepdowner Hilda's explicit, murderous extinction would only lead to revolt.

"Holy shit." Gwen mouthed out loud as they entered. "This isn't normal, or is it?"

"Nay, lass," Yossari growled. "Tis a show of arms— right disrespectful!"

Ollie looked up. Two fleets of towering engines and plated suits greeted their entourage; the models on display were not the ceremonial kind but variants kitted out for a direr purpose. Most of the silhouettes they recognised as the standard Rockcrusher armours used by the Iron Guards, consisting of blocky, humanoid shapes on two or four legs, pending on the configuration, sporting Spellswords attached to the underside of pistoned gauntlets, as well as mounted on the pauldrons.

Behind the Smashers sat the larger models, more jagged in appearance, with armoured hulls akin to Land Sharks, sloping from the geometric front to a tapered back. These had haunch-sections that looked like they could slide out to reveal Spellswords, but were otherwise mechanised battering rams with an appearance of imperviousness.

"What the hell is that?" Gwen remarked as they entered the central square. Beyond, they could see the Guild Spire, though presently a monstrous Dwarf blocked their view of the stalactiform building that connected the enormous cavern from base to ceiling. When juxtaposed against the other Golems, the mechanical construct was positively monstrous and distinctly humanoid.

Ollie was observing the construct as well. By his estimation, the overlarge Machine-Dwarf measured three to two storeys in height, with a shoulder-width just as generous. From its barrel-shaped belly, the thing looked designed to block or clog the Dwarven transit tunnels. On one arm, it possessed a Rune encrusted gauntlet radiating the lilac hue of Transmutation in a clawed fist. Impressively, on the other, a six-bladed, rotating array of Spellswords hung beneath the gauntlet, speaking expressively of firepower. As they approached, the thing's empty eye-sockets smouldered with twin beans of "Radiant" fire. To Ollie's horror, the Dwarf-Golem then shifted its stance as though standing so long was fatiguing its metal, an act that was so uncanny that its observers felt a queasy unease.

"I think…" Ollie searched his memory. "That's a Balefire Dreadnaught…"

"A Balefire Golem, here?" Gwen's brows grew furrowed. "Aren't those forbidden or something?"

Ollie Edwards agreed; a Balefire Dreadnaught, to his knowledge, was the final form of the War Golems utilised by the Dwarves and one of the chief instruments of Dwarven desperation. The difference between a Balefire unit and an ordinary Golem was that the former manifested as an Elemental. Within the heart chamber of the humanoid thing smouldered the Core of a high ranking Dwarf.

"What do you think they're up to?" Gwen asked again.

For now, Magus Edwards had no answers for the Mageocracy's metaphorical Black Blade of Calamity. If he had to guess, the purpose of the Balefire Dreadnaught was the same reason the Mageocracy had sent Gwen, as a deterrent to emphasise the consequence of regretful actions.

What he didn't understand was that while Gwen could summon the Earthen Wyrm form of Caliban at a significant personal cost, the Dwarves would have to sacrifice one of their own— or so the legend goes. If this show and tell was done purely for intimidation, then just how committed were these Deepdowners?

"Guests! Welcome!" to Ollie's relief, the Dwarf that greeted them was Whurforlüm Ironførge, Guildmaster of the city's crafters. Behind him, the Iron Guards saluted by raising their Spellblades.

"Master Wilhelm!" Gwen spoke out of turn before the Dwarf before Ollie could speak. Behind him, the Diplomatic Corps collectively sucked in a hot breath of sulfurous air.

The two shook, after which the atmosphere grew less tense.

With the old Dwarf came his Foremen from the Craftsmen's Quarter, as well as a few inconsequential Nobles that stood on the side of the city's makers' consortium. Compared to the High Council Gwen had addressed a yer ago, the gathering was less than half its size and missing most of the Citadel's upper crust, including the prideful Brugal Brumdahr whom Gwen had put to shame.

The Guildmaster spoke at length with Gwen while she leaned over him, then made the rounds while both parties exchanged greetings through tactile means, some genuine, others hoping to measure one another's intentions.

"Let's speak inside the Hall." Whurforlüm "Wilhelm" Ironførge steered the procession toward their right, angled just enough to avoid the smouldering Dwarf-Golem.

"What's with the big guy?" Gwen blurted out. "I thought Balefires were _Vadam_."

The Guildmaster sighed. "Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth has undergone some changes of late as a result of a resurgence in... religion. Please, this way, and do take care when circumventing Engineseer Maggurn, the Soul Forging process is far from perfect, and even in life, he was foul of temper."

Ollie took a glance at the Balefire Dreadnaught known as "Maggurn".

Within that hollow recess of its head, twin suns stared hard at their contingent of Void Mages. Naturally, Gwen stared back with a smirk, utterly unconvinced by its prowess.

Beside the sorceress, Ollie Edwards felt his sweat grow sticky like gruel.

Things are about to get complicated, he felt, and he had good knowledge which one of them would be doing the arse-wiping.

The Diplomacy Corps from the Shard received a lower segment of the Guild's spire for their workspace. The Devourer and her companions conversely occupied the upper layer reserved for rarer guests of the Guildmaster. Without complaint, the Human Mages set up their temporary residential and office spaces within the Guild Hall's art-deco and neo-brutalist vaults while Gwen's party made themselves comfortable.

Meanwhile, the sorceress herself, Ollie Edwards and Yossari were were invited by "Wilhelm" to converse in private in the safety of his workshop.

"Hilda and your Mages are encircled within the Obsidian Caverns." The Guildmaster wasted no time in informing them of the developing situation. "Hanmoul's gone with a contingent of his best Iron Guards to find her, but he hasn't reported back in ten of your sun-cycles."

"How long has Hilda been gone?"

"Close to twenty cycles by the Himmseg's reckoning," the Santa-look-alike master crafter said. "The men and women you're trying to bring back to the lidless-world last sent a Message around that time as well."

"Our Mages are with a Deepdowner?" Ollie almost choked on his surprise. "How is that even possible? Shouldn't her Grace and that other Deepdowner with her be staying away from ' _Vadam_ ' folk as much as possible?"

"Not with Zairic and Zethoag forcing her hand." The Guildmaster sprouted two names with which Gwen and Ollie had not yet familiarised themselves. "Hilda was trying to push through to the low-ways before her rivals could convince the High Council to remove the humans. With her acting as an example, progress will proceed smoother and with more compliance from the Dwarves on the frontlines."

"I take it Zairic and Zethoag are the new Deepdowners?" Gwen asked. "What makes them more special than Hilda? I thought she's rich as anything?"

The old Dwarf nodded. "They're from Umgor èron Varèkan, it's a sacred place of sorts— an Academy like your Cambridge, and they're old, ancient, even for Dwarves."

"Older than Longbeards?" Ollie asked.

"Older by a century," Yossari said. "Walking miracles. They are _Kirkja_ — holy, in a sense."

"Four hundred-year-old Dwarves?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "They must be half-rotted inside those suits."

"The Deep Suits prolong life, this is known," Ironførge said. "But that is a topic for a fairer cycle. Out of the four contingents of Iron Guards under the Craftsmen's Guild's command, one is with Hilda, one has left with Hanmoul, and one must remain within the Citadel. Our circumstances leave me nay choice but send out our last fighting kin with yer, a difficult proposition to aid Hanmoul and recover Hilda. The Murk has gone mad of late, with the Aberrants agitated by Hilda's progress."

"If it's urgent, then my group can move right away," Gwen agreed. "But we'll need guides."

Besides her, Ollie shot Gwen a shocked look of disbelief.

"You'll have them," Guildmaster Ironførge said without pause, ignoring the Second Officer. Gwen could sense the disquiet behind the old Dwarf's stoic face just by observing his trembling beard. "I'll send Bumrorlim Vildrenbrandt with you. She's Hanmoul's cousin and Yossari's niece and a renowned pathfinder. If there's any Dwarf who could track Hanmoul close enough to activate his Repeater signal, it would be Bumrorlim."

"Aye, Bumrorlim's a reliable lass," Yossari agreed. "Not as much of a scrapper in a tight tunnel like Hanmoul, but a good scout with a clear head and quick wit."

Gwen repeated the name a few times to commit the words to memory. "Right. We'll be a party of five. Having anticipated something like this, I've got provisions for the next six months, or enough to feed a hundred Dwarves for a few weeks. And booze, lots of booze. Don't worry, mate. I'll find Hanmoul and bring him and Hilda back right as rain. Also, we might not need so many Iron Guards with us."

"You do not?"

"My companions and I have plenty of Familiars and Summoned Creatures," Gwen assured the Guildmaster. "Too many allies in a tunnel inundated with Void Magic are bound to get complicated. Why don't you lend me Bumororlim and two others of your best to look after her? We will certainly move faster that way."

"This is good news, and we are in your debt once more," the Guildmaster emphasised the word 'debt'. "The Upprumm Nobles have an elite Legion to themselves, and I was afraid they and the Deepdowners might attempt to overrule the High Council by force in the unfortunate instance that Hilda untimely ascends to Deepholm's Ancestral Halls."

"So long as Hildy's alive, she'll be right," Gwen assured the Alderman Santa of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. "Okay, are we clear to proceed?"

"Gwen." Ollie felt such alarm that his hair stood on end. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to the sorceress to arrest her hand. "Magus Song, may I..."

"Not now, Ollie." Gwen battered his hand away.

"I have already arranged for your departure." Whurforlüm rose from his seat with a squeak from the assistive exoskeleton underneath his robes. "May Pathfinder Bürumm-Dal guide your way to Hanmoul and Hilda."

The Murk.

The Virnbaduhr low-ways.

"YAAAA—!" Hanmoul Bronzborn, Son of Dwomrul, tore an Aberrant Crawler limb from limb with a roar of his turbo-charged engine, splitting the thing roughly down the middle with a single zig from the protruding disc-sword attached to the gauntlet of his Smasher MKIV. Newly restored, the Golem had been re-tuned and made more apt for Hanmoul's growing skill by Engineseer Signerlig. "Sergeants! Square up and tighten the rear bulwark! Prepare to receive the injured! COVER FIRE!"

Burning lances of Magma and cutting shards of dark obsidian sang through the air, turning the interior of the twisted cathedral cavern the hue of sunset. Above them, Hanmoul could see hundreds more of the eyeless crawlers, their white teeth gleaming like polished lambs-fat nephrite. The majority of the monsters possessed six or more limbs, though some managed to scale the bluffs even with maimed extremities. All were naked and pallid, a condition endemic to creatures living in the Murk whose ancestors had their origins in the Himmseg.

Swinging his Spellblades in tandem, Hanmoul fired off a flurry of obsidian discuses, hewing a particular robust Aberrant Crawler that had overwhelmed one of his men into ribbons of wet flesh. Much to his disgust, even with its bones shattered, muscles torn and innards spilt, the thing still gnawed at the visor of Tordok's Golem suit.

"Thank ye, Commandrumm." The Dwarf wiped the ichor from his helmet once his hands were freed to tear the Aberrant's head from his chest guard. Using the hairy end as a mop, the Iron Guard cleaned his visor before discarding the carcass back into the gibbering crowd. A second later, the body became engulfed by a small river of gnashing teeth. "Rejoining the group!"

"Yer coolant's leaking." Hanmoul mended the Golem Suit with a quick blast of frost, freezing the tube where green cooling fluid leaked between bent mental and a ring of teeth marks.

"Returning to the Phalanx, Ser!" Tordok fled past the Rock Smasher and made for the retreating line of Iron Guards.

Beside Hanmoul, Grimgal arrived in her Smasher MK III to take his place at the rear, announcing her arrival by letting loose a long line of Magma Bolts, shaking a dozen Aberrants from the ceiling to smoosh onto the uneven, rock-strewn floor. She followed up with a few Fireballs that superheated the air, driving the light-fearing Aberrants back some fifty meters. "Commandrumm, you need to re-arm and refuel."

The Commandrumm glanced at the Crawlers writhing on the ceiling, turning the shadows alive with their pale bodies. "Nay lass, we'll fight on til the wounded gets back to the sealed cavern. There, we'll whittle em down. I'll be damned if there's more of these carrion eaters than we've got mana!"

"We still have to find Mistress Hilda," the Sergeant reminded him. "That's our main mission. Are we going to have enough fuel?"

"Either way, that's a moot errand without clearing this lot," Hanmoul refuted his Sergeant. "What good will it do if we arrive with ten thousand of the buggers on our arse? Assuming Hilda's alive, we'll only endanger her Highness."

Grimal aimed her wands toward the ceiling. "Transmute Stone!"

A dozen spikes penetrated the bodies of the Aberrants as they crawled, skewering a few while sending five or six to tumble onto newly risen ground spikes.

"Think we'll have reinforcements, Commandrumm?"

"I wouldn't count on it." Hanmoul checked his liquid mana counter. "You know the way. Old Downers politick, and young Dwarfs die. Besides, if we don't manage to recover Hilda, I don't think any of us will be welcome in the Kjangtoth for long."

"How about the Himmseg, then?" Grimgal brought together two sections of the cavern to crush the advancing Aberrants like a giant set of teeth closing in on spindly toothpicks. "Ask Gwen for a spot below her isle."

"Nay lass," Hanmoul growled. "We're the Iron Guards! We bring back our Deepdowner priestess, or we return with her to Deepholm's halls as Honour Guards!"

"You're going? Just like that?" Ollie's eyes grew as wide as hen's eggs. "You can't leave, can you? Can Gwen just leave, Carol?"

"I believe the War Mage does possess the privilege, Sir," Carol, the aide to Second Officer Ollie Edwards, informed her superior.

"Ollie." Gwen patted the flustered diplomat on the shoulder. "I am leaving to make things easier for you."

"How?" The man rapidly blinked. "Gwen, if you're going out into the Murk with the only Void Mages under the command of the Shard to kill or be killed by whatever is in the Murk, how does that help our negotiations with Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth? The politics here are more delicate than thawing ice."

Gwen's smile grew disarming and confident.

"If I ask for permission, it's a sign of weakness and a sign that we're unfocused," she said. "Also, keep in mind that I am well within reason to immediately go and rescue our men and women in the Murk and that it's completely within my character to run off at the first sign that they're in dire danger."

"Unpredictable passion matches Magus Song's profile," Officer Carol reminded her superior. "Though I cannot advise that she do as she pleases, we can't stop her either. However, I do believe this is within Milord Ravenport's expectations."

"It isn't unthinkable to negotiate with their High Council, is it?" Ollie begged. "What if they use this opportunity against our alliance?"

"Don't be a soft-cock, Ollie. diplomacy would only delay us," Gwen assured her assigned arse-wiper. "Clear action needs no explanation. Excessive excuses would only undermine our appearance of conviction. If the High Council complains, tell them the Guildmaster has briefed us, and that we're performing as requested. You do know there's dodgy politics at play. Hanmoul and Hilda are pivotal to our interests here in the Murk. If you have to negotiate with the new Deepdowners— I think we'll be back to square one, with the whole Citadel going back into isolationist lockdown."

"I... I see." Ollie considered her words. "And you're going with only three bodyguards?"

"I like to think of it as us being the main force and the Dwarves as our guides," Gwen said. "Besides, I am going to bring Golos."

"… Really?"

"Yep. We're going to need Gogo's Draconic strength, I think."

"You can summon Lord Golos here?"

"Without doubt," Gwen said. "As long as I can channel Lightning, it'll be fine. Remember, Golos is conjured through the Quasi-Elemental Plane and since Petra is with us, we'll be quick."

"Beware that your Affinity may wane," Ollie warned. "Remember your briefing. Here in the Murk there are dampened Elemental zones where the Plane of Earth has its ley-lines, and only Petra in your party draws from the Elemental Plane of Earth."

"I wouldn't worry, Gogo is much more sensitive to the wax and wane of Elemental Affinities than anyone else in our party."

Ollie exhaled deeply. "No point stopping you, eh?"

"Yeppers." The Devourer looked out the window at the bustling craftsmen's city below. "I've already informed the crew, and they're rearing to go. Here's hoping we find Hanmoul and Hilda in one piece. Wish me luck, Ollie."

The Second Officer took a long, deep breath. "Good luck."

"Thanks." She gave him a quick hug about the head, ruffling his hair. "I'll be back in a jiffy. You'll get your medal, buddy, don't you worry your thinning head."

While the cloth-plated Human Mages hovered past the gates near the Citadel's northward exit into the Murk, unhappy miens questioned pallid faces ripe with fear nearer the city's bottom.

"You let them go?" An iron, raspy voice droned through the mouthpiece of a rebreathing unit. "What is the meaning of this insufferable incompetence, boy?"

"The Guildmaster let them go." Brugal, the scion of House Brumdahr, moped the cold sweat from his beard. "Without good cause, I lacked the means to stop them."

"We gave you command of the House Legion!" the second synthetic voice growled like an engine, at the ends of which a loud hiss followed. "Stop them by force if you must."

"We're not ready to confront the infidels, not yet," Brugal explained in a whisper, not daring to raise his voice. "There are those among the troops that still need to be purged and replaced. Besides, the Humans are leaving with a single party of Mages, including the Wyrm Tamer."

"Truly." The anger diffused somewhat. "The meddlers did not leave with the Craftmen's Legion?"

"Nay," Brugal's voice regained some of its former dignity. "Just the five, and Vildrenbrandt's niece plus two more guards in Swiftstrider MK V's. That's all."

"Interesting, do they not know the Murk is insidiously dangerous?" the first Deepdowner voiced with a hiss from a valve. "There are creatures down there no beings from the surface can imagine. Have the Humans grown so confident in only ten Earth Cycles?"

"They may very well have, and I would not be at all surprised," the second said. "But still, the fools underestimate the dangers of the dark, hmm... if they become overwhelmed by the Murk before they're capable of finding either Commandrumm Bronzeborn or the Kül-Hildenbrandt brat, that would be a tragedy."

"Aye, tis would be a shame." Brugal Brumdahr's eyes moved away from the expressionless lenses covering the Deepdowners' faces in tessellated plates of semi-translucent crystal-glass. With the Deepdowner's consent, he focused on manipulating his Echoing Crystal to deliver new orders for the House Legion's Commandrumm. Herding the Aberrants was a daunting task, one that only those fully devoted to the Deepdowner's secret crafts could manage.

"By the honour of my Clan, the Humans won't venture far, O Masters of Dwarfholm," the noble promised his benefactors.

"See that none return," the voice of Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Zūh spoke in perfect tandem. "Else your entombed soul shall next serve the Kjangtoth in its only useful capacity."


"Gogo!" the tunnel echoed with the sound of Gwen's happy hollers. "Welcome to the Murk!"

"Calamity…" the Thunder Wyvern checked his surroundings by sniffing the air. "What is this place? It stinks."

The Dwarves shifted uncomfortably.

"Hey, that's not nice," Gwen berated her brute. "Sorry, Rory. No offence, that's just Gogo being his usually tactful self."

"None-taken," Bumrorlim Vildrenbrandt, cousin to Hanmoul, voiced from the vox-caster of her Swiftstrider, a Golem suit built for speed by mimicking the distended limbs of the Murk Centipede, a ten-legged carnivorous insect known for its agility. As Gwen's Planar Ally unfurled, the Iron Guard moved her spindly legs backwards with a hiss, giving the Wyvern the space he needed.

"Gogo, I think a compact form might perform better in a place like this." Gwen gestured to the ever-narrowing walls in the distance. "Something good for bruising, what do you reckon?"

Golos made the cavern positively tiny at his full height, an act that awed both Human and Dwarves. There was no doubt that the Thunder Wyvern was majestic, even if the True Draconic-scion's mental capacity proved leagues behind his physical prowess.

Ther Wyvern grunted.
There was a flash, then in a scene akin to Magic Girl Transformations Gwen had once seen on TV, Golos grew vivified with retina-searing lightning, lacking all but a personalised BGM. When finally the disco died down, she was staring at a Dragon-headed Whetu twice the Maori's size.

Her Wyvern flexed its enormous claws, "Hmm…" Then swished its flail of a tail. "This will do nicely."

"Very handsome." Gwen admired the tapered snout and the white-blue scales set about Golos' rugged jaws, offset by a burst of brilliant feathers extending from his skull crest. To describe the creature as a juggernaut would be an apt observation, especially considering that Golos' Draconic strength amplified his muscular power by tens of magnitudes. "Care for a weapon?"

"What do you have?"

"A Smasher Axe." Hanmoul's cousin, "Rori" Vildrenbrandt, released the heavy metal Gwen had requested prior.

_KLUNG!_

The Dwarf-forged implement landed with a thud; wicked and deadly, its chainsaw mechanism was tooled for hewing reinforced bedrock. With one hand, Golos hefted the weapon and checked its balance.

"I would have preferred a sword." The Wyvern turned the axe over and over. "This has no finesse."

"You can do swordplay?" Gwen was taken aback by the Wyvern's untapped depth. "I imagined you would be a part of the bludgeoning club."

"Ryxi taught us Sword Arts when we're younger." The hulking mass of scale and muscle shrugged. "Worry not, Calamity, this primitive implement will do. What are we killing?"

Rori awkwardly laughed.

"Aberrants," Gwen said conspiratorially. "Murk-Beast Waves, essentially."

"Taste any good?"

Once the Dwarf recovered from Golos' insult of her mastercrafted Smasher Axe, she gave her two HDMs. "Nay, Lord Drake, their foul flesh taste like poison."

"Sounds spicy." the Wyvern slung the giant axe over his shoulder. He looked over the group, then nodded at Gracie, who quickly looked away. "Just us?"

"Of course not." Gwen took note. "Alright, everyone, are we ready?"

"Ladies first," Richard said.

"Yep." Petra produced a glimmering, crystalline Spellcube.

"I am ready to take notes." Gracie grinned sheepishly.

"I am ready." Jean-Paul's voice was a whisper in the presence of Gracie, Gwen and Petra.

"Alright, then let's unleash the doggos— Morden's Hound Pack!"

The silvery light of Conjuration momentarily flooded the tunnel as the four Conjurers each tapped into their Elemental Gates to manifest their hounds.

From Gwen came eight Lightning Hounds and then eight Void Hounds in their strange quasi-Draconic forms.

From Richard came eight Water Hounds in their original Highland likeness.

Petra's mimicry produced six crystalline Mineral Hounds in minimalist nephrite, smooth and polished and long-legged in the form of the Borzoi, a breed prized by the Moscow Tower.

And finally from Jean-Paul came seven slithering somethings, pale and pallid and barely hound-like, with triple-jointed legs and faceless heads ending in lamprey lips. If the party had not known that Jean-Paul was trying to spell shape dogs, they would have thought these creatures cousins of Umzokwe.

To finish, Gwen conjured forth Astro and Buck to command the packs.

"EE!" Ariel was positively delighted by the army the group had conjured.

"Shaa! Shaa!" Not to be dismissed, Caliban made its spidery presence known.

Umzokwe drooled with anticipation.

Lea clapped happily, marvelling at their impromptu army.

As a canine battalion, the conjured dogs engulfed the cavern as they mustered into place, shimmering with unique mana signatures. The largest was Gwen's Essence-fed Void Hounds, while the smallest was Petra's jade dogs.

"Astro, you're on defence. Buck, you and your packs are on harm duty!" Gwen drifted into the air, hailing her companions to follow. Though she had not informed the Guildmaster, her confidence in discovering Hanmoul and Hilda lay with a secret weapon no earth-dwelling Dwarf could imagine— a gift of Divination from a Thunder Dragon in the form of a floating orb. "Alrighty, fellers— MOVE OUT!"

Different to overland transit, travelling through the Dwarf's tunnels was a slow and ponderous affair. Despite the efforts made by Fabricator Engines to create straight and uniform passageways, unpredictable eddies of slush and blockages of super-dense Elemental Earth, combined with natural hollows formed by underground waterways inevitably brought three-dimensional complications. In the olden days, teams of Deepdowners would will-away the Elemental oddities, though not nearly enough of the deep-dwelling scholars now existed in the Murk to make such operations worth their time.

Comparatively, having absolved themselves of the need for mechanised infantry, Gwen's party travelled as though Hasted, heralding their arrival with a wave of yelping, yapping and howling dogs bouncing off the walls. At the forefront were her Void Hounds, enormous figures of strange sleekness with unnatural agility, trigging fungi bursts and bolting through Murk Spider dens without wincing— though that may be because her creatures possessed no faces. Behind them, streams of Water Hounds made the passage slick with their secretions as they bounded behind their dark-skinned cousins, purifying the air of spores with mist as they passed.

Around the party itself skulked Jean-Paul's Leech Hounds, each keeping a close sniffer on their inexperienced Void sorceress companion. The Jade Hounds took up rear patrol, being the slowest but stockiest of the bunch, while here and there Gwen's Lightning Hounds provided much-needed light as they dashed about, freely patrolling the perimetry as living electric lamps.

For a sorceress who lorded over the Isle of Dogs, it was all very fitting.

"Contact!" Gwen called out while keeping a close eye on her Omni-orb. The party was making good progress, seeing as they could ignore most of the lesser dangers of the Murk with their harrying dogs, especially when lead by a party of flying Mages.

"Don't forget, the Aberrants' blood can be corrosive and toxic!" Rori brought her Spellsword to bear. "Hurdal, Hurdan, take my flank!"

"Not a problem." The sorceress grinned. "Buck, consume the rest, but bring a survivor, I want to see what we're dealing with."

Out of sight and around a corner that distended upward and to the right, there came the sound of howls and yips followed by an insane choir of hysterical screaming.

When their party eventually arrived, Gwen halted the group. "Well done, Bucko, Cali, let us see what we're dealing with."

There was something pallid and still very much alive squirming on the potholed floor of the transit tunnel. A dozen of the dogs were fanned out as forward-guards, while two of the Void Hounds, Buck included, wagged their tails atop their trophy.

"By the Sju Dorfran…" their guide bulked. "What in the Murk did you do, Overlander?"

"Disarmed it." Gwen drifted closer. "What would you call this?"

She had left the empathic commanding of the dogs to Caliban; so far, her wiggly Void Fiend had not disappointed. In front of them, the creature was missing all of its limbs— which from the looks of its gnawed stumps, once numbered between six and ten. As for its complexion, the skin was sickly white, though not in the sense of Petra's warm nephrite, but a befouled, deathly paleness that hinted at a deficiency of Vitamin-D.

"Tis an Aberrant Scout— a Murk Crawler," Rori said. "They're incredibly fast, how did yer dogs catch it?"

"They have their ways." Gwen could only attribute the hunt's success to the pack tactics innate to Morden's Hounds. "Interesting, I've never seen Murk creatures up close. No eyes, all mouth and those enormous nostrils, I wonder how it sees. You said it senses us through tremors? Does it think or feel at all?"

Perhaps scenting their warm bodies so close, the ribald beast began to gnash its teeth. What disturbed Gwen the most, other than the thing's lilac-pink tongue, was the incisors at the front of its jaw, followed by several canines and even a hint of molars.

"A scavenger Omnivore?" Richard suggested once he reached their side.

"They eat anything from minerals to kin-flesh." Gracie's voice came from behind them. "Aberrants are cannibals as well as omnivores."

"Waste not— want not." Petra shrugged. "Food is scarce here. As for whether it's sentient, give me a second."

The Mind Mage intensely concentrated. When her cousin opened her brilliant blue eyes once more, she furrowed her brows. "Hard to say, there is intelligence, or at least there used to be— but its all muddled. Whatever this thing is now. It is as mindless as they come."

Gwen looked at the terraformed transit tunnel around them. "If this is a scout, then where are the rest?"

"Likely in a pocket where the Planar rifts are thin," Rori advised from above. "They don't like to venture far from their nest."

"Buck," Gwen commanded her creature. "Extract the Core."

The dog dug in, engendering a final round of hapless howling from the writhing Aberrant Crawler. When Buck's eyeless head once again emerged, it vomited forth a small, misshapen sphere the size of a tennis ball.

One of Richard's dogs gave the thing a once over, then brought it over to Gwen.

"Please don't Gwen-handle it." Richard enveloped the thing in a film of floating water. "It's composition is very muddy. I sense Negative Energy as well."

"What do you think?" Gwen turned to Petra and Gracie, their resident scholars.

"Ooze," Petra said after a moment of magical inspection. "And something else."

"And 'Aberrant' energy from the Astral." Gracie's inspection was aided by instruments built into her combat suit. "These beasts are not naturally occurring if I had to guess. The Core looks like it was forcibly warped with Transmutation, then inter-bred. If I had to guess, I would say its a form of chimaera?"

"Old and malevolent creatures are said to live between the Planes in their darker recesses," Bumrorlim spoke from the vox box. "We believe they escaped into the Murk when the Dark One awoke and twisted the Ley-lines."

"You mean the Black Dragon?" Richard said.

"Aye." The Dwarf lowered her voice. "The Old Drake in the Dark..."

"Vynssarion," Gwen said suddenly.

The party turned to regard the sorceress.

"Everyone keeps talking about the Dark Drake, the Black Dragon and all that— it has a name, and it's Vynssarion, Ex-Guardian of the Black Sea, presumably looking after a tree."

"… I don't think I am supposed to know that." Bumrorlim groaned audibly over the external speakers. Her guards likewise shifted uncomfortably. "That sounds like Deepdowner knowledge."

"Vynssarion, eh?" Richard nodded. "Sounds mean."

"In Dragon Tongue," Gracie added after a moment of thought. "It means Herald of the Abyss."

"That's not very nice." Jean-Paul sucked in a breath of cold air.

"Somewhat self-evident, given what the Beast Tide brought," Petra related with a sigh.

"Calamity, you should speak that name with quiet reverence, or not at all." Golos provided a rare nugget of wisdom. "My father can hear those who whisper his name when he dreams of the Unformed Land. Maybe the Supreme of the Western Blacks is listening even now? If you don't believe me, say it out loud three times before you sleep."

"Oh, dear." Gracie gulped, making the sign of the Nazarene.

"Anyway…" Gwen waved away the strange atmosphere that had just now engendered, pointing down the upward turning tunnel, she chose to change topics. "Shall we?"

The thing with finding anything in the Murk was that one tunnel split into two, then two into five, and then those passageways kept on diversifying ad infinitum. Where the Dwarves had constructed the tunnels, they did their best to leave landmarks, labels and street signs, though such efforts were often sabotaged by cunning predators lurking in the dark.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

However, when Gwen's party arrived, there was no ambiguity about the tunnel they should take.

"This way," the sorceress watched her Omni-orb hover toward the far right of an intersection offering five distinct routes. On Rori's map, two led to mana lodes with HDM mines and the other three lead onward into the lower Murk. Conversely, the Dwarf also reminded their guests that no civilised being had ventured this far from the Citadel for decades save for Hanmoul and Hilda's expedition.

"There, I found a Glyph Rune." Rori scraped at the wall with her Strider's mechanised limbs until the mud fell away. "Someone's covered it. Clever buggers. Aye, tis Revered Hildenbrandt's."

"Anything to suggest where Hanmoul went?"

The Strider's scanning array continued its work for several minutes; eventually, the cockpit shook itself in a life-like manner. "Maybe, there was a battle here, a running skirmish— but the tracks lead to at least two tunnels— both of which are not the ones Hilda took."

"Looks to me like someone's herding Hanmoul onto a different course," Richard offered a hypothesis.

"Ariel? Cali?" Gwen asked her Familiars. "Buck? Astro?"

The Conjured creatures milled about aimlessly.

"I see, good thing we've got Gogo here with us." Gwen turned to her Wyvern. If her dogs couldn't pick up scent or vitality, then she had to turn to an expert. "Alright, Bud— what does your Dragon nose see?"

"The lingering traces of Earthen mana down those tunnels stink like Dwarves." Golos huffed with smugness. "All around the entrances, there's befouled mana, though it remains the thickest down the first tunnel. I don't smell this Hilda or her troops, meaning they passed some time ago. The scent of the white freaks remains fresh, maybe hours old, and there's something else."

"Well done. What is it?" Gwen beamed at the Wyvern.

"Hehe…" Golos' nostrils flared. "I smell fresh tortoise-suits, ones from the city. They passed here an hour ago. I'd say six or seven of them, all burning with activity."

"Impossible!" Rori's Strider tilted to one side. "We're the only expedition to leave the city since Hanmoul's gone missing. Maybe you're picking up their patrol residue?"

"Fool." Golos bared its fangs. "Do not question my nose, squat. This latest presence carries the mana-smog from your stench-strewn hovel. To one as august as myself, the fetor of your underground den is unforgettable, especially the impure Elemental Fire you use to produce the liquid powering your engines."

"Gogo," Gwen berated the Wyvern. "Don't be rude."

"If Golos is right." Richard patted Lea's disembodied head as she appeared and disappeared. "And there's a third force from the city complicating things for us. Then we have to decide to find Hanmoul or Hilda first."

"Anything on the Echo Glyph?" Gwen hovered closer to the Strider.

"Nothing yet." Within the cockpit, Hanmoul's cousin shook her head.

"My Orb says this way." Gwen pointed down the stone passage where an
"objective" might eventually be found. "But let's spring clean before we go. I wouldn't want to find Hanmoul or Hilda while cornered by swarms of Aberrants from either side. Cali, you take the pack and head down the first tunnel. Astro, take yours and clear the second. Ariel, you take Richard's pack down the third."

"Umzokwe will take the south-west entrance with my Leech-dogs," Jean-Paul said helpfully.

"Thanks, J-P." Gwen gave him a thumbs up. "Alright, BUFF UP, and then let's see what our Dachshunds ferret from the mole mounds."

"Jackpot near the end of the first tunnel." Gwen awoke from her meditation after only fifteen minutes. "Cali just stirred the hornet's nest by taking a chunk out of what must be their breeder or something. I've regenerated two dogs already— holy hell; these guys are PISSED—"

"How many?" Richard was up on his feet in an instant. "How far?"

"A few hundred, two minutes or so out—" Gwen observed the faraway action through her Caliban VR. "Cali found them about two, two-and-a-half kilometres down behind a mud wall. They were all huddled up in an alcove of sorts, kind of like a giant wasp nest, lots of goo surrounding a big vitality signature. I told Cali to dig through, and I think it ended up inside a flesh sack."

Rori's Golem roared back into life. Bringing her weapons to bear with a thrum, the Dwarf turned to their party leader. "Hurdal, Hurdan, combat formation. Magus Song, what's the plan?"

"Gogo, Lea, Richard, we'll be counting on you," Gwen said to their defenders. "Pats, keep an eye on Gracie. We're Life-linked, and there's going to be plenty of vital-fluctuations in a moment. Rori, fire-at-will, but stay behind the dogs and the Familiars."

"Gracie, behind me," Petra commanded the obedient novice. By her will, the Nephrite Hounds formed a vigilant circle around the party. "You too, Gwen. Stay safe and don't stray too deep. Your Sanguine Mantle isn't invincible."

"I'll try not to be a burden." Gracie took a deep breath, her bosoms rising and falling as she activated her battle suit's inbuilt Abjuration suite. From the front of the party, Gwen gave her a reassuring thumbs-up.

Golos walked into the middle of the five-way interchange and unslung his Smasher's chain axe. Cracking his neck, the Wyvern stretched out his impressive physique, allowing his tail to skitter across the floor, striking electric sparks every time it bounced off the rough granite.

From the tunnel now, they could smell a foul wind and hear the sound of hooting and howling growing stronger with every passing second.

"Gwen," Jean-Paul spoke up. "I've found a pack in the fourth tunnel as well. These must be the reserve forces. Umzokwe reports enormous vital signatures. I suspect they may be the Aberrant Hulks or the Centaur variants that Rori said we should stay away from."

"Think you can handle it?" Gwen's eyes dug into her party member. "Make your Meister proud?"

"I can do it." Jean-Paul's face grew beet red. "I haven't slacked off while you trained."

"That's what I like to hear." Gwen turned once more to their Illusionist, in case she felt left out. "Gracie, is your Phantasmic Forces good to go?"

"Absolutely," the young woman affirmed. "I'll run interference with Hallucinatory Terrain if I can manage, though I imagine Illusion has limited impact when they're as mad as they sound."

"Take it at your own pace." Gwen returned her attention to the first tunnel, happy that what she had hypothesised for their underground adventure was coming to pass. "Ariel, Astro, return!"

"SKAARRRRR—"
"KEEHHHARRR—"

The howling from the tunnel was now at a decibel level that irritated their ears. Like a foul and swollen pustule given an unexpected channel, Caliban's sudden and unprovoked rampage in the Aberrants nesting site had sent the mustered Aberrants into a blind, rage-fuelled frenzy.

"Incoming!" Rori counted the blimps on her instruments before declaring the results aloud. "It's a wave! O, Byllelynn Møsvian, consign me to Deepholm if I should perish in victory!"

Gwen took a deep breath. If there was anything she had learned from Walken's tales of Sobel in the confined chambers of Sydney Tower, it was that Void Mages possessed unprecedented advantages when fighting in enclosed spaces against living beings. Like a conductor commanding unseen music, she called the mnemonic invocations to her lips, then began the long chant for one of her favourite spells, one that would keep any number of creatures at bay so long as they could not supersede the spell's area of effect.

"SKARRRR—ARRRGGHH—" the horde had arrived.

At once, the forefront of the Aberrant wave smashed into an invisible Wall of Water conjured by Richard, slowing their descent into the five-way junction. It took a moment for the momentum of the distended bodies to break through the membrane, but by then Gwen was ready.

"EXTENDED BLADE BARRIER!" Ashamedly, she wove the spell-shaped incantation inefficiently, burning more vitality and mana than she had anticipated. If Magister Kareena Patil were with her, she would likely roll her eyes. Still, Gwen felt that credit should be given for manifesting a tier 7 Conjuration-Evocation in unmitigated Void without burning herself silly.

"Shaa!" Caliban shivered like a dog in the rain when she tapped into its vitality via their Sympathetic Life-link. For Gwen, her Master's unique Shaman-craft conversion was the Magnus Opus of her year's worth of academic investment. For years, she knew that Caliban stowed vitality within itself, hoarding life like a greedy little piggy bank. Now, thanks to her Master's hidden cache, she knew how to draw on that reservoir and share it among herself and her life-linked "minions".

"Oh, Gods." Gracie's complexion turned white and then red as the vitality distributed between them ebbed and flowed, manifesting as barely perceptible threads of scarlet connecting their Astral Souls.

Undeterred, Gwen began work on a second, Lightning-based Blade Barrier, this one spell-shaped into a ring that lined the top and bottom of the shaft.

"SKAARRRRR—"
"KEEHHHARRR—"
The Aberrant tide broke free from Richard's boggy barrier.

The monsters poured into the entrance and its concentric rings of whirling mana as a single mass of tangled legs and scribbling claws, barrelling into her defences. Where the Void Blades struck, there was nary a sound, only an inaudible hiss as flesh, bone and sinew grew displaced, producing mince on the other side. Gwen did her best to replenish the spent "teeth" of her Blade Barrier with each dead beast, marvelling that though the Void barrier was without equal, her Lightning variant's efficiency was comparatively unparalleled.

"Buck! Astro!" Her dogs, repositioned from drawing the monster's aggression, took on the stragglers that emerged, tearing the wounded creatures apart.

"SHAA! SHAA!" Not wanting to waste the splendid vitality, Caliban re-engaged by sauntering forward on the ceiling in its Spider-form to pick out the still-living Aberrants from the floor, stuffing them greedily into its mucus-dribbling abdomen-maw.

"Ariel!" The crackling sorceress sent a flood of Elemental Lightning into her Kirin. "Empowered Lightning Bolt!"

Three lines of hysterical electricity turned the dim tunnel from dusk to morning, alternating in their strikes so that barely two seconds passed before another thigh-thick line of plasma tore into the surging crowd. Visually transformed into a proverbial spell-turret, the Devourer of Shenyang allowed herself to indulge in the intoxication of absolute power, revelling in the helplessness of the flailing monstrosities being crushed and broken beneath her dagger heels.

"Looks like you got this. I'll go and help J-P, shall I?" Richard turned his attention to the fourth tunnel.

"Agreed. I'll be over there." Golos moved across the aisle when a minute passed, and not a single Aberrant made it past the twin Blade Barriers. As demonstrated by their betters on the Northern Front, few spells were so explicitly effective when used against middling Swarms of middle-tier monsters.

But their mistress wasn't listening to her teammates' bored complaints. Her pupils grew wider and bluer with excitement as the Lightning mana coursed through her conduits to vivify her nubile figure, sending out sparks to sizzle the air. After so long stuck behind the books, she had let loose all the pent up stress accrued by living in high society, rediscovering the joy of free-living in a Frontier that sanctioned mass murder.

Monstrous ichor bled down the ramp and pooled below the entrance like a foul soup, stopped only when the party's Mineral Mage conjured a grease trap to contain the dizzying volume of diced offal meandering their way.

In front of Petra, Meister Bekker's ward followed his counterpart's fusillade so intently that he almost forgot he also had monsters incoming. Only when Umzokwe took a chunk of his vitality did Jean-Paul shift his attention from Gwen's silhouette of ongoing destruction, returning his mind to the labour at hand.

That Gwen used her talents and accrued power and wealth for herself— not to mention revelling in both— was something his Meister Master applauded and therefore Jean-Paul genuinely admired.

_Crunch— SPLAT!_

From the tunnel, the mangled body of one of his Leech Hounds came flying up the incline to paint the walls purple and black. The carcass rolled a few times before Umzokwe renewed the vital-infusion, allowing the Hound to stagger back onto its spindly legs.

Catching his breath, Jean-Paul concentrated. His craft was custom-composed by the Mevrou for efficiency, a style that diverged wildly from Gwen's sweeping gestures of grandeur. Looking at how his counterpart was expending vitality and mana, there was little wonder early Void Sorceresses drained themselves to death while executing their IMS-inspired invocations.

"ROOOWAAARRRRGH—" The first of the Centaurs appeared, a multi-legged monstrosity with an enormous pale head sunken into the torso, split from the middle to form a "T" shaped mouth lined with independently moving teeth. At the forefront, two massively powerful legs ended in scribbling, distended hooks, with the index finger manifesting as a single scythe-claw. Behind its torso, a bulbous thorax ended in skittering legs akin to Caliban's Spider-form. What Jean-Paul had thought most peculiar, comparatively, were a pair of human-like legs senselessly dangling near its silk-drooling rear.

"How strangely beautiful." Jean-Paul admired the design of the creature, awed that something dark and esoteric had engineered the being. "You know, I feel almost sorry…"

"J-P!" Richard cried out. "Stop perving on the bloody thing and render it to goo!"

"Right." The Void Mage called the Quickened spell to his lips and finished before his incantations shaped and manifested the mana. "Usurp!"

A bean of Void appeared just in front of the Aberration, far too subtle for it to detect with tremor-sense. The next second, the party's foremost assailant walked right into the dark dot, at which point its expression changed from blind range to horrific fascination.

"Drain!" Jean-Paul activated the second part of his spell. The bean of Void, now enveloped in the flesh, rapidly expanded, consuming its prison with such a voracious appetite that it blew up to ten-times its size.

The Aberrant Hulk tottered forward, a cylinder of emptied flesh appearing between its chest and its damaged spine.

"GARRRRRGGH—" it choked.

"SKARRRRRGK— SKAARRG!" Halfway between Hulks and Crawlers, two more creatures escaped from Richard's meniscus of water with no visible concern for their forerunner.

"Implode!" Jean-Paul allowed the orb of Void to reach critical mass before releasing its latent energies, sending a splattering splash of tenebrous ink in every direction. When inevitably the creatures ran teeth-first into the viscous Void-ink, he redoubled his focus.

"Drain!" the Void Mage controlled as much of the Void Mana as he was able, then began the ritual anew. At his present tier of expertise, he could manage just three orbs. Thankfully, so long as his spell could find fresh flesh, he could maintain the cycle indefinitely until either his vitality failed or his concentration lapsed from spell fatigue.

Or when something interrupted his spell cycle.

"ROARRRR!" A line of Lightning, thicker than Caliban in its serpent form, washed over Hulks and Crawlers' incoming troop, reducing the first three to charred stumps.

"You dispelled my Wall of Replenishing Water." Richard sighed at the Wyvern. "Lord Golos, please give us a warning, Lea put a lot of effort into that."

"You folks are having too much fun." The Wyvern shrugged, hefting its axe. "Oi, you, Pale Calamity— let a few over. Let's see how they are in a real fight."

"Um… should I…" Gracie raised her hand.

"Maybe practice a few Illusions on the stragglers while Lord Golos stretches his limbs," Richard advised. "I wouldn't get between him and his fun."

"Hee hee, good Human." The Wyvern grinned cruelly. "Ah, there's a fat one!"

True to Golos' observation, there was indeed a "Hulk" of an Aberrant approaching, a bipedal elephant-monster with a tentacled face and arms as large as its disproportionate upper torso. From afar, the thing resembled a striding, muscular tumour armed with teeth and claw.

"GARRRRRGH—!" The Aberrant barged through the floating field of Void Orbs, demonstrating an abnormal mass of elemental resistance.

On their side, Golos waited for the Hulk to drop its shoulder and begin its charge. Digging his heels in, the True Dragon-kin suffused his limbs with the Essence gifted by his progenitor, then let loose with a rip-roaring buzz from the chain axe.

The two connected, the "Smasher Axe" bashing the creature so totally that the overstressed metal cracked, the chains slipped, and the obsidian teeth grew jarred as they bit into its flesh. As for the Hulk itself, there was a mangled groan of crushed bone and rending flesh, then an explosion of sound signalling the unhappy consequence of two unstoppable objects meeting in disharmony.

"YEAARRRGH!" Unhappy with the splintered weapon in his hand, Golos brought his tail to bear, striking the still-charging siege-Aberrant in the face to pulverise its skull with a sodden thunk.

The Aberrant collapsed as its innards blew out of its ass. Comparatively, Golos lost only a dozen scales as the monster's maw raked his chest and shoulders, leaving the Wyvern bloodied and delighted.

Richard put up a Water Shield to prevent the Aberrant Hulk's flayed flesh assailing Gracie and the other Mages.

"Ha! See that, puny mortals?" The Wyvern congratulated itself as it wiped away a mouthful of arguably poisonous, corrosive ichor. "Now that's a fight, you tortoises! MORE, PALE ONE! GIVE ME TWO THIS TIME, A WORM AND A FAT ONE! "

Gwen kept up the barriers and the bolts until her mind grew woozy from the fatigue, a feeling not dissimilar to taking too many Jägerbombs while racing the Happy Hour at the harbour. The Essence and vitality Caliban had picked up from the stragglers kept her awake and hail, but the mental drain of formulating so much magic so quickly and in such volume was taking its toll.

When finally she ceased her firing, dispelled the barriers and set the dogs to work, there was only the plinking of cooling silica inside the tunnel, that and the occasional scrabbling of creatures unfortunate enough to be still alive.

"You didn't have to spend all of your mana." Richard reached her side. "Nice work, nonetheless."

"I am on about half-tank," she said sheepishly. "Lightning Bolts don't cost much, nor do Void spells."

"… sure." Richard gave her an appreciative pat on the back. "Rori, how's it looking?"

"Four hundred and sixty-five Crawlers and six Hulks and eight Centaurs." Came a trembling voice behind their battle line. From the cockpit visor, they could see the Dwarf woman's expression was comparable to one who'd seen the Seven Ancestors rise from the grave to the tune of Michael Jackson's Thriller. "By the Sju Dorfran, I hope Magus Song is not representative of all Himmseg Mages."

"One would wish." Richard laughed. "I tell you truly, Rori, if everyone's like Gwen up there, we'll be ruling the Prime Material in no time— lucky for all life on earth, Gwen is unique."

"Don't forget Sobel." Gwen stretched, then wrinkled her nose. "Pats, could you…"

"Earth Shape!" Petra warped the stone so that the enormous pit of offal became covered by a rough mound of transmuted stone.

"Thanks." Gwen breathed better once the death pit flattened. "So, is that it?"

"That would be a significant number," Bumrorlim Vildrenbrandt said with a tone of relief. "I would additionally advise that we clear the Aberrants' nest."

"Is it important?" Gwen asked.

"Aye," the Golem pilot replied. "They'll replenish soon enough, assuming there's enough Aberrants left to feed the nest and gender more of their kind."

"Terrifying, how are these monsters procuring supplies?" Gwen cocked her head. "And there's also the fact that 'city Dwarves' passed here only recently. What's the deal with that? And we know it wasn't Hanmoul— assuming there's no way they could have dealt with what we just Purged, who are these Dwarves and how did they pass?"

Rori ashamedly shook her head. "I don't have an answer for you, Magus Song."

"We'll find out soon enough," Richard assured them. "For now, time is of the utmost importance. Do you think Cali can deal with the nest?"

"I'll send Umzokwe to help," Jean-Paul offered. "And the Leech Hounds. They're not nearly as fast as yours."

"Then Buck and the Void Pack will keep scouting." Gwen struck a thumb toward the tunnel where Hanmoul should have passed a week or more ago. "I'll send a troop of Hydras up to the nest to clean up. J-P, please ensure nothing with a mote of vitality remains. Ariel, Cali, go with Umzokwe, I'll check on you with Sight Link."

"EE!"
"SHAA! SHAA!"

The rest of the party stepped back while Gwen conjured up three Hydras, each resembling Caliban in its primitive, original form— a carapaced slug-serpent with a bullet-shaped armoured head possessed of no face. These were her latest summons, slithering stomaches whose only purpose was to gather vitality for their mistress.

"Shaa-Shaa!" Caliban guided its new minions onwards. Together with Umzokwe, the roving mass of all-consuming Void beast went on their merry way, shepherded by an invisible Ariel.

"Also, Gogo." Gwen turned to her stinking Wyvern, who was currently picking out bits of bone and claw from his carapace while reliving the thrill of combat. "You take the front. Dick, can you give him a cleanup? He smells like the bloody pits."


Through Ariel VR, Gwen watched their mutual Void minions make short work of the undefended Aberrant nest, paying particular attention to the strange monsters' alien nature. Overall, her opinion of the "Aberrants" was paralleled by the Triffid nest she had Purged months earlier. Only this time, her foe's uncanny appearance was a chimeric cocktail of otherworldly Transmutation mangled by bootleg Flesh Grafting.

The "lair" itself was the stuff of 80s' monster movies, all sinew and slug skin strew from cavern to floor in convulsing lumps. The "womb", if Gwen dared to use such a term, involved pulsating tumours stitched together with pallid growths of unnamable anatomy, adding sacks and satchels of embryonic fluid to the glistening, dermis-clad walls.

Mildly unnerved, Gwen was thankful that Umzokwe and the leeches possessed the right physiology for reducing quivering neoplasms into primordial gloop. With brutal efficiency, JP's summons penetrated, then slurped the embryotic fluid as a lukewarm soup, first injecting their victims with Void ink, then sucking the symbiotic creature of all vitality before physically taking the "meat". Her Hydras were comparatively dumber and slower than the dogs and the worms, albeit they could expand their jaws to swallow pallid eggs wholesale.

"Did anyone ever find out who or what is responsible for the Aberrants?" she asked the party once her mind retracted from Ariel. "I mean, these things don't grow on their own, do they? They're nothing like Gobs or Snots. Something's making them, I suppose?"

"If we ignore the Deepdowner's legends," Hanmoul's cousin spoke from her vox, eager to be helpful as she had only fired a dozen shots during the engagement. "And focus purely on what the Guild has discovered, we can trace the Aberrants to the denizens that lurk in the pockets between the Planes, are you familiar with those, Magus Song?"

"In a manner of speaking." Gwen thought of the Hengsha Island, where she had as a novice encountered the Gila. The monstrous, flesh-warping, gene-splicing lizards were also a form of Aberrant Magical Creature, now that she had access to higher learning. They also possessed parasitic means of propagation that involved seeding the prime material's denizens with invasive seeds. The Elder Gila that Cali had taken down wasn't too smart, but it had populated a whole pocket plane with its kin, despite it being a single monster. Even after its demise, so long as its children lived on— Hengsha would always be the Gila's domain.

"Then know that we have encountered other civilisations in the Murk— ones with hostile and invasive designs."

"Have you ever seen these 'beings' in the flesh?" Richard asked.

"Wait," Gracie intervened. "Ser Rori, do you mean to say the Dwarves have evidence of upper-tier creatures?"

Gwen turned to the Void Sorceress. "I thought modern theory contested their existence and classified them as Magical Creatures? The texts I read suggest Demi-planes are something akin to the Unformed Land dreamt by Dragons."

"Meister Brahe's Demi-Planar thesis declares that they do exist." Gracie nodded. "But lacking the Dragons' reality-altering willpower, the Demi-Planes should be seen as leftover Astral Matter that, like floating hulks drawn by the ocean currents, meet to create slapped-together worlds. Naturally, these worlds' unstable environments imply that their inhabitants are doomed to become refugees. Their homes are in a state of flux, though their destructive scale may be measured in tens of thousands, if not millions of years."

"How exciting!" Gwen marvelled. "And from this bricolage of realities come the Aberrants, yes?"

"Indeed." Their Iron Guard guide waited for the Mages' bookish excitement to die down. "In one of the expeditions led by Hanmoul, he says that he caught a glimpse of one of these 'dark intellects'— a Dwarf-like being with the face of Caliban's mouthparts…"

"Tentacles?" Gwen moved her fingers just under her nose, wiggling her digits just so. "Like this?"

"Aye." Rori nodded. "He says that it can control the Aberrants with its mind and that the monsters are subordinate to its will. In its presence, the Hulks fought until every mote of life was exhausted."

"The paper I read." Gracie raised a hand. "Said that Meister Brahe's 42nd Deep Expedition uncovered the corpse of a Lung Fish the size of a double-decker bus. The carcass, after a thorough dissection, revealed a brain as large as a sedan, inferring extensive telepathic, telekinetic and other cerebral capabilities."

"So these 'Aberrants'," the Dwarf said. "They're trying to break through the Prime Material through the Murk, where the fabric of the Planes grow thin enough for monsters to pass. Their goal, I would imagine, is to infect enough of us— or whatever they can get their tentacles on— to establish a beachhead to deliver the rest of their kin, assuming they have a civilisation."

"Well, if the bloody buggers are live-grafting folks they find, as demonstrated by what we just fought." Gwen winced. "I'd imagine there's a civilisation alright, although they sound like terrible neighbours."

"It makes a lot of sense." Petra's brows furrowed. "You know, now I am wondering whether all those stories of Changelings and missing villages in Moscow have anything to do with these 'Far Plane' creatures. Though rare compared to Lycanthropy outbreaks or Undead raids, the stories are very consistent from year to year and always involve unidentifiable monsters."

The party grew silent while they pondered the facts.

Compared to her contemplative companions, Gwen's mind delved a little deeper courtesy of knowledge the Bloom in White had gifted. As much as she felt disassociated with the Murk's problems, she couldn't shake the feeling that the Elvish talk of "Trees" "Snakes" and "ageless women" may be explicitly linked to the Dwarves' present dilemmas.

If she was to assume the same problems occurring in the Murk were to afflict "Himmseg", what would these Aberrants do to Human cities with their surplus of impoverished millions? Would Human townships provide food to walking tumours scouring the landscape to enable passage from their dying home? And if indeed a group of sapient, intelligent beings arrived with capacities greater than Humanity, how should the Commonwealth receive them? Considering how much trouble they had with Triffids, what if something bigger and badder slipped across the threshold?

A part of her preferred their present circumstance. Let the monsters lurk in the Murk, her heart whispered. That way, the solution was self-evident and expedient.

"Let's go find Hanmoul." She checked in on her Familiars and Hydras and then informed the group that their monsters had completed the Purge action. "How's your haul, JP?"

"So-so." Jean-Paul balanced a palm in the air. "They're not very vital, these Aberrants."

"Well, we are in the Murk." Gwen regarded the space around them. "It's not exactly Amazonia down here."

"And we very much appreciate London's generosity in the food trade," Bumrorlim said. "Did you know that a few years ago, we had to vote whether to eat the spuds or use them to brew alcohol…"

Two hours later, Gwen's Omni-orb struck gold.

Considering the nature of their quest, she had expected to find Hanmoul surrounded by the bodies of his fallen kin, an ugly wound down the side of his face, frothing blood and wielding a chain axe with a bare-bosomed lassie by his leg.

As this was real-life, her Lightning Hounds found the "Iron Legion" of about a hundred Dwarves holed up in a natural cavern, wondering why the assaults from the Aberrants had suddenly ceased.

"Girly!" Hanmoul unlatched his armour at once, an act that spoke dearly of his feelings for their friendship. "I'd expected Master to send a squad or two, but YOU? Brumdahr's beard, yer've made me a happy lad to see his lucky lassie, HA!"

"Hanmoul." Gwen drifted close enough so that the two could shake hands. "Always a pleasure to catch you in the thick of it. Did you wait long? We ran into quite the pack on the way. A furious bunch that numbered in the hundreds."

"And yer did away with em as yer'd done with them Trollies?" Hanmoul rubbed his hands. "Yer a veritable reverse-Fabricator! My Legion is in yer debt again!"

"I'd be dishonest if I were to suggest I didn't come down here with that in mind." Gwen stifled a snigger. "Anyway, how are your folk? I brought healing spells, food, HDMs, booze, the works."

"Aye, we've been fighting for a few cycles." Hanmoul's face sagged. "If yer got some Maotai, let's see it. Is it ter good stuff?"

"I could juice it up, yes." Gwen felt happy that her friends had suffered no significant losses. Hanmoul's expedition had a dozen walking-wounded and thirty-odd disabled suits, including two Smashers; numbers that would have risen sharply had she not Purged the nest. "G'day, mates. Tordok, Tordum, Grimgal, you're looking worse for wear."

"I've seen better cycles." Grimgal slapped her Rock Smasher's cracked canopy, wincing when a sheet of crystal fell out. "When did you arrive at the Citadel? I am shocked those Deepdowners let you leave. I was telling Hamoul that they're sending us out to fail."

"Got here a cycle ago and left the Citadel right away," Gwen said. "As for permission, I never asked."

Grimgal burst into laughter. "There's something to be learned there."

"Ah, I wouldn't if I were you," Grimgal's Commandrumm warned his ace pilot. "Who are these, lassie? I see there's more of yer kind now."

Gwen brought her party up one-by-one.

"Right, this is my crew— Here's Jean-Paul, a Void Mage like me. Gracie's new to this but a Void user as well. You already know Richard and Petra, the latter is receiving guidance from Yossari. That tank of a brute over yonder you should know as my meat shield. Gogo, say hi."

At her introduction, Golos near-swallowed his tongue with indignation.

"Lord Golos." Hanmoul bowed.

"... Dwarf," the Wyvern greeted the Commandrumm, then growled at Gwen. "No manners."

"Haha." Gwen chuckled. "And of course, here's one of yours."

"Cousin!" Bumrorlim finally managed to get a word in edgewise. Exiting her engine, she and Hanmoul embraced. "It's good to see you're safe, Hamm."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Thank yer for coming for us." Hanmoul held his cousin for a few more seconds before releasing the female Dwarf. "I am truly blessed by Bürumm-Dal to have you lot at me back. I'd thought we would have to grind our way out, to think we'd turn the tide, and so soon!"

The two guards that came with Bumrorlim also made their presence known to Hanmoul's Iron Legion. With the ice broken, the parties briefly mingled to share the news.

"Sorry to interrupt." Gwen waited until the greetings were over. "As much as I'd love to break out the booze right here, we still need to find Hilda."

"Aye, lassie." Hanmoul's expression grew serious. "That we do. I've tracked her to the 'Hydra's Head', but then we were ambushed by the pale-faced stink bugs. We'll have to backtrack and retrace her progress."

"There's no need." Gwen turned her palm upward, at which point she materialised her Omni-Orb.

In the lamplight from the Smasher Golems, the slowly twirling orb was a thing of alluring beauty. "Do you trust me, Hanmoul?"

"With all me heart, lass." The Iron Guard Commandrumm exhibited such faith that Gwen blushed to think of what she desired from him in return. "I am in yer hands, girly, but can yer clarify what yer ken?"

Gwen briefly described the orb's functions, emphasising that it consisted of the Core of a Dragon and that it was gifted to her by an ancient and influential member of the Yinglong's family. "… So where ever this leads, we'll find Hilda, but we'll need to move fast. The more ground we can cover, the better the Divination will perform."

Hanmoul turned to regard his Legion. "Grimgal, how many Swiftstriders have we got with us?"

"If we tear down the Smashers and take parts from the Golem suits— sixteen?" Grimgal checked her instruments. "We can do it within the hour. The rest of the IronGuards can progress independently to secure our return route, Foreman Khzaarum can lead, and Engineseer Bakkar can be his second."

"We won't let you down, Commandrumm." A White Beard popped his hatch to salute Hanmoul, joined a moment later by a second Dwarf with greying hair and a runic spectacle replacing his right eye.

"If I lose even one Iron Born, consign me to the Soul Forge." Foreman Khazzrum's pupils blazed like twin coal beads as he made the vow.

Hanmoul patted both on the shoulder. "Right— We'll make haste then—one hour rest and retooling. Engineseers, yer with me, Runesmiths, assist yer Seers. We leave after one hour."

"Great." Gwen was happy there would be a minimal delay and that she did not have to leave Hanmoul behind. If and when they found Hilda, she wanted to keep all of her VIPs close. "Now, just one more thing. We'll be running with Hounds, packs and packs of em, so it's probably best your men get used to them."

"Nasty little nippers?" Hanmoul regarded the Lighting Hound pack that had found them. "I've seen em before."

"Oh, there's a few more this time." Gwen grinned with anticipation. "And let me tell ya, Hammy, these bad boys don't just nip…"

"It's just a concussion." Hilda's Keeper's voice traversed through the haze. "Unclench yer teeth, breath deeply, relax yer muscles and let the suit do the work."

Hilda's hand came away from her head, half-expecting to see a smear of muddied blood on her glove. Fortunately, reality proved her expectations false. Her "Khro Klad" was a one-of-a-kind improved by generations of Engineseers, a priceless relic passed down from the pinnacle of Deepholm's Machine Hall, serving as insurance for a true-blooded scion. Unlike a regular Klad, within its spinal columns, powerful Cores collected by the Clan's warriors and Enchanted by its Runesmiths contained the power of a foundry.

Hilda Kül-Hildenbrandt couldn't recall the last time she had participated in combat.

Though the Ancestors did say that piloting a Kald suit was like stilt-walking a bipedal Strider; she had nonetheless allowed her overheated Core to overwhelm her head, making Hilda wish she could hook up a coolant pipe into her brain.

"Help me up," she said out of habit, though her suit was perfectly capable of uprighting its staggered occupant by tapping into magnetic forces. Eben's gauntlet locked behind her pauldrons, then brought her to her feet. Compared to her Klad, his suit was monstrous and antiquated, passed down through a lesser lineage and therefore a product of function over form.

"Yer shouldn't have—"

"I know." Hilda brushed her Attendant aside. Not far, her Iron Guards were being chewed out by their sergeant. Her close call wasn't their fault, though. She had miscalculated her Tremor Shift and as a result, had slid inadvertently into the fray. Hilda could only imagine what must be going through her guards' heads when it happened; likely, the moment in which the Aberrant Hulk knocked her clear, their first thought was to bolt their brains out lest folk at the Citadel found out their failure. "My apologies. It won't happen again. How's the battle looking?"

"We're barely sustaining our advantage." Ebren changed back to his external vox speaker, his voice once again becoming grating and mechanical. "The Human Mages are exhausted. Without rest, they'll be nothing but slag to be ferried. The Iron Guards are largely fighting hand-to-hand now. The Fabricators are on full crank producing mana fuel. Once that falls behind, we'll be cutting our fighting size by half."

Hilda ran diagnostics while she surveyed the battlefield. In times like these, she wanted to tap into the Khro Klad's reserves and share the abundant energies bound within its stowed Cores. If she were a Grand Engineseer, she would have the authority to dismantle the suit— but alas, someone of her age, even if they possessed the skill, could not attain the title— and even if the Ancestor's Hall were to make an exception, it wasn't as though she could return to Deepholm to receive the blessing.

"Thrice-Jammed Cog!" Hilda swore— an act that scandalised her partner but expelled the air of frustration in her chest. "If only I wore a Battle Klad!"

"You're the august scion of a Maker-Clan, Milady." Keeper Ebren huffed into his rebreather to remind her of a Deepdowner's decorum and dignity. "Leave the grunt work to the Iron Borns. We are what the Ancestors have made us."

"I don't doubt that." Hilda raised a hand to signal that she was alright. The diagnostics that returned from her suit indicated that forty-seven separate implements in her finely tuned Klad would require maintenance. "How's your Klad holding up, Ebren?"

"There's enough functions left, as always." Ebren's voice took on a note of mirth. Pipes trilled and pressure-flooded chambers hissed as he moved. "It will take more than a Hulk to bring this one to his Ancestors."

"Captain Bronzehorn." She nodded, then spoke into her vox box. "Report."

"Esteemed Engineseer." The Captain's voice reverberated through her ear-piece. "The tide is thinning even though our killing count has rapidly diminished. Either the Murk monsters are exhausted, or we may have allies finding their way to us. Should I send out a scout?"

"But we have no Striders to spare. You are confident the Wave is ending?"

"Aye, Mistress." Her Captains answer was punctuated by the sound of his Smasher Axe buzzing through a host of skittering limbs. "My men can clear a path. Please give the word."

"I can Earthstride," Hilda said. "Do you—"

A hand touched her shoulder.

"— Please remain here, for all our sakes," Ebren denied her request to join the fray once more. "There are many suits requiring repairs and wounded Iron Guards needing your assistance. If you must help, Lady Kül, let it be from behind the battle line. No one can mend a wrangled Golem Plate as well as you, Milady. The men would fight to the death, and when they do, they would prefer it if they fell defending you and not chasing you."

"It's a scion's duty to—"

"I will go." When she tried to push Ebren away, her actuators flashed yellow. Her Keeper's Klad possessed more strength than her surface diagnostics could fathom, Hilda suddenly realised. All of the Dwarves here had untapped depth— a stark contrast to herself, who felt shamefully at her limit. All the more important then, that she made good on her promise to punch through the Murk to the Dyar Morkk. How else could she repay the sacrifices made by her Murk-kin? Bringing them home to the Ancestor's Hall to receive the Cog's benediction would be the least she could do as their Engineseer.

Hilda taxed her rebreather with another long sigh.

"— Mistress!" The voice of Captain Bronzehorn burst through the intercom. "No need fer a Scout, Milady! Reinforcement! They've arrived!"

"Who is it?" Hilda's voice grew shrill and hopeful. "Is it Hanmoul?"

"Nay, Milady," the Captain said. "Their Glyph reports a Legion from the Citadel! It's Engineseer Thalmar and His Murk Divers!"

"Angus the Eminent?" Eben's helmet turned to regard her own. "The venerable White Beard is thirty cycles south of three hundred! How is he even piloting a Golem? He was bed-ridden!"

Hilda felt concurrently glad and ashamed. "How many of them? How are they fairing against the Centaurs?"

"Our reinforcements number only in the dozen." The Captain's tone grew strange. When he next spoke, his voice grew breathless with loss. "But they are approaching fast. Mistress— I regret to inform you that the Engineseer has given himself to the Soul Forge."

"The White Beard has…" Hilda choked. To deliver oneself to the Soul Forge would be to deny their Cores the chance to return to the Ancestors and the Elemental Plane of Earth. In the aftermath, one's Essence would also burn like a wick until every mote was exhausted. "I've decreed the act VADAM! Who dares— Zairic and Zethoag! Those Murk moles! How could they?"

Eben's shoulders appeared to sag at the news as well. "Hilda, maybe it's best to speak to the Engineseer first. Remember the lessons of Nörn-Zur and not reach for conclusions without evidence."

Hilda nodded. Gathering her wits and then her guards, she made for the battlement where her troops had been slogging it out with the Aberrant horde, retreating to newly Transmuted battlements every time the ground grew soaked with corrosive body fluids.

Since they had been surrounded, the Fabricators had bunkered down almost three kilometres, but Hilda's men had retreated more than that, resulting in a buffer no more the length of a Citadel spire between the front and back lines.

When she arrived, she could see the Balefire Golem— a medium variant newly cast from Orichalcum and vivified with Runes of Electrum, Palladium and Mithril. Below the battlement, the re-forged Dwarf was currently pillaging his way through the Aberrants, wielding the Elements with the ease of a Grandmaster Machine Smith refining impurities in the Grand Forge.

At five meters tall, the Engineseer formerly known as Emgus Thalmar, venerated White Beard and Maker of Arms was without peer. Compared to the muted blips of Dwarves in Diver Suits beside him, his mana signature burned as a miniaturised Radiant phenomenon ripped from the heart of the Quasi-Elemental Plane, smouldering with enough energy to power all of Hilda's Iron Guards and then some.

To Hilda, who had from her earliest childhood spent her time under the watchful eye of sleepy Deepdowners and their retinue of Balefire Guardians, she could only lament her helplessness.

"Hilda Kül-Hildenbrandt— true scion of Varekan-Kül, Bringer of the Lumen!" a booming voice cried out from the battlefield to reverberate against the cathedral cavern, its intonation thick with old Dwarven still spoken in Deepholm. "Be at peace, girly! Thine kin has come for thee!"

"I welcome thy guiding hand!" Hilda made the Blessed Cog sign with both hands raised above her head; her mood compressed as though caught in a gigaton hammer press. As with the Dwarf addressing her, she too utilised her vox caster. "Khorok Umgor welcomes thee, venerable Seer! Our gates open to receive thee!"

A rapid series of ground-shaking explosions, each triggered by Lava Bursts conjured by the old Engineseer, appeared to tear the reinforced cavern asunder, sending down an avalanche of boulders to crush the Aberrants, concurrently stymying the flow of flesh leaking in from the northern-most cathedral cavern.

Behind the Balefire Golem, the Murk Divers— select units made for rapid transit through the Murk— finished off the stragglers with Stone Lances issued from their Spellswords, skewering the trapped Aberrants so that their still-living bodies formed grisly, writhing totems.

"Open the gates." Hilda's concern was only for the sacrifice made by their oldest Engineseer. Even as her Klad unconsciously moulded the stone to create stairs that would hasten her descent, all she could think about was the debt she now owed the usually aloof instructor. To die for a Deepdowner was a fate many warriors wished for— but Thalmar was a venerated White Beard, an authority in his field. That such a man would give up his flesh and blood to bring their prideful priestess home was the ultimate sacrifice.

"Let us welcome our saviours." Hilda was glad her suit hid her over-emotional face. "I will greet Engineseer Thalmar myself— any less would be an insult to the Debt of Haj-Zül."

Taking on Gwen's advice, the Dwarves prioritised tools, medical supplies and transport space under the assumption that Hilda would be neck-deep in Aberrants. Assuming there was a "quick-in"— they would purge the Obsidian Cavern of Aberrants and regroup with Hilda to uncover the nest. In the off-chance of a "quick-out"— Gwen and company would stimy the tide while the Dwarves dumped supplies to ferried out as many men and engines as they could salvage. There remained also the fact that Golos had scented an undeclared expedition of Dwarves, though in their present circumstance, they would have to deal with that particular detail as it emerged.

For now, Hanmoul's Iron Legion would return to the Hydra's Head interchange to set up checkpoints and secure their retreat, ensuring that the return path to Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth remained unimpeded. Meanwhile, Gwen's train of Hounds, Dwarves, Humans and Striders, accompanied by flying, hovering, striding and slithering Familiars was ready to depart.

"I can't wait to see the look on Hildy's face," Gwen remarked to her companion. "Well, on her helmet. Those Deepsuits are surprisingly expressive, what with the circular visor and the articulated helmets."

"Aye, if yer kin desire ter use the Dyar Mokk," Hanmoul agreed. "Then yer'll need the Deepdowners in yer debt. Once we bring back Hilda, we'll have to find a way to deal with Zairic and Zethoag Gul-Zūh. Any clues on how yer wanna do that, lassie?"

"We'll do our best." Gwen grinned with confidence, her eyes full of mischief and anticipation. "What else can we do but tell the old men that they now live in new worlds?"