The Trap is Set

The group gathered in a small, collapsed chamber, the flickering torchlight barely pushing back the darkness. Their breaths were heavy, the echoes of their escape still fresh in their minds.

Tomas paced, hands on his hips, frustration evident in the tightness of his jaw. "We can't fight them head-on. We barely made it out of that alive."

Beren growled, leaning against his axe. "So what, we just run? Again?"

"No," Leila said, kneeling beside the dead scout. She rummaged through his torn coat, her fingers brushing against something stiff and crumpled. When she pulled it free, her brows lifted.

"A map," she muttered, unfolding the bloodstained parchment.

The others crowded around. The lines were crude but clear—a rough layout of the dungeon.

Mira traced a passage with her gloved finger. "There. A side tunnel that cuts around their main patrol routes. If we use it, we might avoid running into another warband."

Tomas studied the map. "That's a good backup, but we need to even the odds first. If they chase us down again, we won't get a second chance."

Leila smirked. "You're thinking of setting a trap."

Tomas nodded. "We lure them in and make them come to us—on our terms."

Setting the Trap

The chokepoint was a half-collapsed archway, leading into a narrow tunnel just big enough for two enemies to pass at a time. Beyond it, the cavern widened, giving the team space to maneuver.

Mira placed fire runes along the entrance, hidden beneath loose dirt and stone. The moment the Ogryns stepped through, they would ignite in a flash of searing flame.

Leila set tripwires between broken pillars, positioned to slow the first wave of attackers.

Tomas tightened his grip on Gerald, his enchanted shield, while Beren took position beside him, Stonebreaker resting on the ground, ready to carve through the first brute that walked in.

Arlan stood in the back, fingers flexing as he focused his mind. He could feel the pull of his magic, the cold energy coiling beneath his skin.

This time, he wasn't holding back.

The Battle Begins

The sound of heavy boots and guttural voices echoed through the stone corridors.

Then, a shadow moved in the tunnel ahead. Massive figures, hulking and armored, their scarred gray skin catching the dim light as they approached.

The first Ogryn stepped forward, sniffing the air. His yellowed tusks curled upward as he grinned.

He knew they were here.

Then he stepped onto Mira's runes.

Fire erupted beneath him.

The Ogryn bellowed in pain, the flames crawling up his legs, searing flesh and armor alike. He stumbled forward, stepping right into Leila's tripwire.

An instant later, her arrow took him in the eye.

The brute collapsed with a crash, but the Ogryns behind him kept coming.

Beren roared, bringing Stonebreaker down like a falling hammer, splitting the next Ogryn's chest open before he could react. Blood sprayed across the cavern floor, but the brute didn't fall immediately—his massive hand shot out, grabbing Beren by the throat.

Tomas was there in an instant.

Gerald slammed into the Ogryn's face, the shield cracking bone as Tomas drove him backward.

The brute stumbled, and Beren wrenched himself free, swinging his axe into his ribs. The Ogryn finally collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.

But more were coming.

"Arlan!" Mira called. "Now!"

Arlan stepped forward, raising his hand.

A swirling mass of black energy formed in his palm, crackling with hunger.

Shadow Bolt.

He thrust his hand forward, sending the spell soaring into the next Ogryn's chest.

The moment it made contact, the flesh beneath his armor turned black.

Then it began to rot.

The Ogryn let out a horrible scream as the corruption spread across his skin, eating through muscle and bone. The beast clawed at himself, trying to tear away the infected flesh, but the rot only spread faster.

Arlan didn't stop.

Another Shadow Bolt, this time at an Ogryn raising his axe. The necrotic energy pierced through his arm, and within seconds, his entire limb was nothing but withered bone.

He collapsed, choking on his own rotting lungs.

Mira shot Arlan a quick glance. This was different. His magic was… more precise. More lethal.

And he wasn't tired.

The last Ogryn hesitated, watching his comrades wither and die before him.

Tomas saw his chance. He rushed forward, shield raised, and drove his sword through the brute's chest.

The final Ogryn collapsed.

Silence.

Only the crackling flames of Mira's fire runes remained.

They had won.

Aftermath

Beren kicked one of the bodies, rolling his shoulder. "That's more like it."

Tomas wiped blood from his sword. "Yeah. But don't celebrate yet. This was just a scouting party."

Leila crouched beside one of the corpses, looking for potential loot.

"They weren't just passing through," she muttered. "They were patrolling."

Mira frowned. "Which means there are more of them deeper in."

Arlan remained quiet, his fingers still tingling from the spell.

Mira nudged him. "You okay?"

Arlan blinked, then nodded. "Yeah. Just… focused."

Mira wasn't convinced. His magic wasn't just stronger—it was unnervingly efficient.

Tomas sighed, rubbing his temple. "Let's move before they realize their scouts aren't coming back."

Leila studied the map again. "There's a side passage leading deeper. If we take it, we might be able to avoid a full warband."

Tomas nodded. "Then that's our next move."

As they prepared to leave, Arlan stole one last glance at the rotting corpses left in his wake.

For the first time in a while, his magic hadn't drained him.

It had felt natural, empowering.

And that unsettled him more than anything else.