(Planning complete this is the perspective of Layton and Mischief's victims)
Dantu stands on the palisade, gripping the worn hilt of his sword. The night stretches before him. Peering into the darkness his nerves tense. The fires push back the dark for fifty yards, but beyond that—nothing.
Noises catch his attention. The sounds of a struggle in the dark—the telltale clash of steel, it was so faint he could almost brush it off. Should he raise the alarm?
His ears strain. No more signs of battle. What does that an? There are patrols out in the night watching for signs of mana spawns, or even a faction challenging the dungeon.
If this is another monster spawn attack, the patrol will be back soon to report. The patrols skirted the edges of the dungeon so if they were on the way to report he had to wait.
Sothing feels wrong though.
No sign of the patrol. No sounds of movent. Just… the night.
Dantu begins to fiddle with his sword–restless, waiting.
He already faced dozens of waves of mana spawns in this dungeon. They could be intimidating but they were never intelligent and just attacked mindlessly. But this…feels different then the mana constructs. They would’ve attacked by now. Or the patrols would have returned.
Was the dungeon being challenged?
Had their patrol slaughtered the enemy so fast they hadn’t even had ti to cry out?
A gust of wind rolls through the valley stoking the fires casting weird shadows. There is a flicker of movent below.
His breath catches. Eyes narrowing Dantu peers into the darkness. Is his mind playing tricks?
But no. His instincts were screaming at him—there is sothing down there.
Dantu leans over the edge of the palisade. His eyes darting over the tall grass, straining to catch another glimpse of—
Auburn eyes.
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Wha–?
They peer up at him from the shadows, luminous and unblinking.
Then co the teeth.
A massive shape erupts from the darkness, a blur of muscle and fur. Dantu barely has ti to gasp before sothing slams into him, ripping him from the palisade with bone-crushing force.
Fangs close around his throat.
He tries to scream.
Nothing cos out.
Darkness swallows him whole.
-
(Dantu’s dead. We move to Carn)
Carn’s stomach lurches as Dantu is ripped from the palisade and flung into the darkness below. He barely has ti to register the horror before the beast—a blur of fur, claws, and snapping fangs—vanishes into their camp.
“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!” Carn’s voice cracks as he points to what remains of Dantu’s headless corpse. The bloodied remnants twitch in the moonlight, the neck ragged and torn.
The bandits on the walls scramble, shouting over each other.
“Where is it?!”
“I don’t see it!”
“Carn! What the hell did you see?”
Carn barely has ti to answer before he sees it—movent. A flash of fur, then another screaming bandit is drug into the darkness. Before the beast completely disappears a single arrow rebounds off the terrifying monster.
“They have a caster—BARRIERS!”
The call echoes across the checkpoint. They had counters for that. But the best counter to a caster?
Kill them first.
Carn spun toward the adow beyond the wall, eyes narrowing.
If there was a caster, they should be close.
His senses—the highest stat in his class–finely honed from years of ambushing unsuspecting prey in the dark—cut through the night. Carn scans the treeline, filtering out the chaos behind him. Where? Where?
Then, he sees movent.
Not the beast.
A shadow streaking toward the wall—silent, inhumanly quick. Carn’s breath hitches. No hesitation. He draws and lets his shot fly in one fluid motion–spellcasters are not this fast Carn still uses his penetrating shot skill to be safe.
The arrow slams into a glowing barrier mid-air. Carn’s stomach twists.
Too slow.
The invader veers, eyes locking onto him.
Oh, hell.
He fires again, another penetrating shot. The arrow doesn’t hit the barrier—the bastard dodges.
No. No. NO.
Carn backpedals on the rampart as the figure reaches the wall. Impossible. He watches, frozen, as the invader leaps, planting a foot on the palisade’s side—
And vaults over.
Carn barely has ti to think before the enemy lands smoothly before him.
Hands shaking he struggles to draw another arrow—a desperate shot—punches through the barrier. Carn’s breath catches.
I got him—
The boy steps aside before the arrow can break through.
Carn’s stomach drops. His fingers fumble for another arrow, but he already knows.
I’m going to die.
The boy draws his sword. Carn sees blue eyes. Cold, but not cruel. Deep, but not empty.
For a mont, they almost look kind.
Then the sword enters his chest.
Carn tries to breathe but it cos out ragged and wet as the world tilts. The boy steps forward, close enough that Carn could sll the steel, the faint scent of sweat. His grip on his bow weakens.
He barely even feels himself fall.
The last thing he saw were those eyes—gentle, without malice, but vast. Like the ocean before a storm.
Then—
Darkness.
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