"Are you certain this will work and those monsters won't sense us?" Avenor asked as he walked ahead of Aria and several other mages.

"No," Aria replied flatly, her gaze fixed on the scarlet diagram shimmering in front of her. "That's why I need you to protect me."

Avenor pressed his lips together, glancing to the side where a dozen Velmoryns advanced with shields raised, eyes locked forward.

The tunnel, which hadn't seemed that large when I observed it through the basilisk's eyes, now felt vast. Nearly twenty Velmoryns could march shoulder to shoulder within its breadth.

"We need more light," Othrien ordered. Several mages immediately cast additional spells, globes of pale radiance pushing against the darkness.

"It's better, but we still can't see far," Avenor muttered, tightening the grip on his shield as the pressure of the place pressed harder against his senses.

"They can't help it. The tunnel distorts magic," Rodon explained, offering a faint smile, though he didn't turn his head toward Avenor. He was the only frontliner without a weapon, carrying a massive shield with both hands instead.

"Is Nia in our squad?" Avenor asked, taking another careful step, trying to muffle the crunch of hollow bones scattered across the ground.

"No. She is with Mirion," Rodon frowned, brows furrowing. "I hate that our group was separated."

"Well, so were the others. This was the only way to make sure everyone plays their role and no tribe betrays the other," Avenor tried comforting the man. But the moment of reassurance ended quickly when someone behind kicked a stone, sending it rolling with a booming echo along the tunnel.

"Be careful!" Shelya hissed, murderous intent flashing in her eyes. She and Othrien were leading this group, their plan to reach the nest unseen and strike from three flanks together with other Vaels' forces.

The hundred Velmoryns pressed on, the memory of the stone incident tightening their silence. Each one listened intently to every sound, breaths lowered to the bare minimum.

"Avenor, you miss Ninali at your side, don't you?" Rodon broke the quiet with a playful grin, his smile widening as Aria's diagram flickered faintly.

"Naturally," Avenor answered without hesitation, looking up as the flutter of wings caught his ear, only to see it was a tiny nocturnal beast. "She's worth more than half this squad. We could use her help."

Rodon frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the blunt response.

"I still don't understand why we had to split into three," he muttered, shifting the subject. "Flanking sleeping monsters is pointless. And what if one of us…"

"Shh. I hear something." A voice from behind cut him short. "Vael Shelya, someone is fighting about thirteen hundred steps ahead. I can hear shouting."

"Why can't I hear anything?" Avenor wondered, trying harder to listen.

"Our Vael cast a noise-dampening spell after that idiot kicked the stone," a man near Aria explained. "We can't hear outside the barrier, and no one outside can hear us. Only a few mages with special skills can bypass it."

"You…" Avenor exclaimed, recognizing the man's face. He was one of those who had prepared spells against him during his visit to the Green Tribe.

But their reunion ended before it began, as two Vaels spoke at once:

"Quickly, move forward. Cancel the spells. Advance at full speed, but keep the formation!"

Steel and leather scraped harshly against the tunnel floor as the Velmoryns surged ahead. The noise echoed in the passage, but no one cared anymore. Their strides grew longer, heartbeats heavier, the weight of the inevitable fight pressing against every chest.

At last they broke into a clearing where spider mutants stirred in the half-dark, their limbs dragging sluggishly as if waking from a long sleep. They seemed far too slow compared to the speed I had seen when they attacked the tribes.

"It's the Brown and Crimson Vaels," Othrien realized at once. He planted his staff firmly and began chanting, two massive white diagrams flaring to life above them.

"Fire mages, avoid wide-area spells!" he ordered, voice sharp. "We must keep the temperature as low as possible." His eyes closed as the runes in the air started to multiply and knit together with increasing speed.

Hearing Othrien's words, the mages, already mid-cast, shrank the scale of their red diagrams until they were barely the size of a palm.

"Frontline, advance, but slowly! Protect the mages at all costs. Do not let the monsters through!" Shelya commanded, runes appearing across her face and arms, glowing brighter with every word.

Avenor and Rodon exchanged a glance, then stepped forward in perfect unison, shields raised.

The frontline moved with care. Bright orbs hovered above their heads, conjured by support mages to push back the darkness. The light revealed a treacherous floor cratered with holes - not deep enough to kill, but steep enough to trip, twist an ankle, or leave a fighter struggling to climb out.

"Avenor, this crawl will get all of us killed!" Rodon sneered through clenched teeth, his eyes fixed on the commotion across the clearing where Mirion's squad was already locked in combat.

"Don't worry. Vaelari is with them, and I left Huanir at his side," Avenor said, trying to calm the man's restlessness. "You won't become a widow before even marrying…"

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

The joke, which had sounded far better in his head, earned him a glare. Rodon looked ready to curse him, but before a word left his mouth the world burst with light, as though lightning had descended from the ceiling itself. Instead, snow began to fall. Gray clouds swelled overhead, blotting out the cavern roof, the air filling with cold that got more biting with each passing moment.

"Our Vael's been perfecting this spell for years," one of the warriors declared with pride. He lengthened his stride, pushing slightly ahead of the line.

Avenor looked up, mesmerized. The weather itself had been changed - a display of magic so overwhelming that it made him loosen his grip on the blade.

The frontline pressed forward, fifty steps ahead of the mages now. A second line moved outward to widen the formation, reducing the chance of monsters slipping through. Yet the spider mutants showed little interest in them.

However, that changed the moment Othrien unleashed another spell, hurling a giant icicle into the fray. The frozen spear slammed through a group of the hulking creatures, shattering their bodies with ease. But the strike also drew the attention of the others. Their heads turned, mandibles clicking, dark green eyes catching the light as they noticed the oncoming squad.

"Aria, don't waste mana on the small ones," Shelya commanded. "Focus on the big ones that guard the path toward the Mother. We must break through to her and pray the blessed one can channel your God's power."

Her voice was no longer muffled. It rang strong and sharp, and for a moment she even seemed taller. Then she charged.

Avenor blinked. One instant she was behind him, the next, her figure blurred and leapt into the swarm like a frontliner aflame with vigor. A thorned chain of dark red coiled out of the air, latching around the head of a spider mutant like a leash. Both ends vanished into Shelya's hands as she pulled herself onto the creature's back.

"What in the…" Avenor exhaled, eyes wide. "She's… young."

The chain pulsed crimson. Its thorns brightened and dimmed, the rhythm flowing into Shelya herself. Her wrinkles smoothed. Her hair grew silkier. Her eyes burned with fire as her body shed the weight of years.

"I've missed this!" Shelya yelped, grinning wildly. "High Mother, Your devoted daughter shall show them Your power!" Her words were mixed with bursts of laughter as the crimson pulses surging through her chains grew brighter with each heartbeat.

Shelya and Othrien were only the beginning. Soon the other mages also joined in. With spellcasters drawn from six different tribes, the battlefield erupted into a storm of variety.

Flame roared downward, ice speared through the haze, and arrows of light fell like stars. Each impact shattered the cavern with fire, frost, and blinding brilliance.

The spiders screeched as magic tore into them. Carapaces cracked, legs burned away, green slimy blood hissed on stone. The air grew heavy with rotten smell and ash, the stench of roasted chitin mingling with bitter smoke. It was dazzling, overwhelming, beautiful in its destruction - yet even through the chaos it was clear: no mage's spell struck with the same brutal efficiency as the Vaels. Shelya's chains dragged the life out of her prey, and Othrien's spells reshaped the very battlefield. The others followed, but they could not match them.

"How are we supposed to advance with spells tearing the ground apart in front of us?" Avenor muttered, his boots crunching dangerously close to the still-smoking remains of monsters.

"Our goal is to protect the mages for now," Rodon growled back. "We hold the line until they need time to recover their mana."

"Then stop talking and focus on your roles!"

The cold voice snapped Rodon to silence as the hulking body of a monster collapsed at his feet. Shelya landed lightly a few steps away, her grin stretched wide, crimson chains still coiling in her hands. A moment later, she was gone again, charging into another cluster of beasts like a madwoman unleashed.

For minutes, the cycle continued: the air booming with magic, the cavern flashing, until the mages finally staggered. Spells faltered, hands shook, potions were drawn and drained. Their diagrams dimmed and sputtered while they recovered their mana. But Shelya remained unshaken - her chains still latching onto one monster after another, draining their strength as though she had no limit at all.

"Unleash the beasts," Othrien commanded, lifting a vial to his lips. As he swallowed, the faded diagram above him brightened anew, pulsing back to life, and the snowstorm intensified.

The tharuuns moved first. A dozen of the towering beasts charged ahead, their claws gouging deep furrows into the packed earth. Behind them came the skalvyrs, more numerous but smaller, their frames quivering with unease. Their twin tails lashed and their jaws snapped, but the tremors in their bodies betrayed the truth - fear rode them, and only the greater terror of their masters' command kept them from bolting into the shadows.

The frontline warriors, including Avenor and Rodon, stood firm, shields and blades raised, waiting for the order. They watched as the beasts thundered past, straight into the wave of spider mutants now converging on Shelya and her latest victim.

A tharuun leapt first. Its claws sank deep into the spider's carapace, scraping until they pierced the chitin. With a guttural snarl it clambered onto the monster's back, fangs finding the narrow seam where neck met thorax. It bit down hard. Green slimy blood erupted in a fountain, splattering across its fur, dripping from its jaws. Ordinarily, that foul blood would have poisoned the beast instantly; its flesh would rot away before it could even finish its kill. But my blessing flowed through every single tharuun.

They were immune to the rotting toxin, made to fight these creatures specifically. And it showed.

The tharuuns ripped through the spider mutants as if they were little more than pests, their claws rending chitin, their fangs crushing bone. The cavern filled with shrieks and the stench of rotting flesh, every breath coated with foulness.

"Frontline, charge!" Othrien's order rang out, and the warriors moved forward. Archers followed, arrows loosed in a steady rhythm to cover their blind spots.

Avenor and Rodon fought together.

A massive leg slammed onto Rodon's shield. The man grunted, muscles straining, but held firm.

"Now, Avenor!" he shouted.

Space distorted beneath the spider's abdomen.

Phantom Step.

Avenor appeared in an instant, blade already in motion. His strike cut through the monster's furry belly, slashing across the thin green seam. Before the beast could even react, he vanished again.

Phantom Step.

The spider's abdomen split open. Guts spilled onto the cavern floor, steaming blood hissing as it ate into the stone. The clearing reeked with the stench of hot toxin as mist rose, clinging to armor and skin.

The kill had been easy, far too easy.

"It's so hot…" Avenor muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as his eyes scanned his body for burns. Halfway through the check he froze.

The snowfall had stopped. The white flakes that once drifted steadily were now sparse, vanishing before they reached the ground. The blanket of snow that had slowly painted the cavern floor was also gone.

And with that absence came the realization. The easy kills, the unanswered question of why the monsters had fallen so quickly, it all had a single answer.

A deafening screech ripped through the cavern, the sound drilling straight into the soul. Velmoryns swallowed hard, eyes locked on the center of the chamber where energy gathered in blinding torrents. Sickly green runes knitted into a vast diagram, swelling with power.

"Lord, save us," Rodon whispered as the diagram erupted, releasing a wave of raw energy that surged forward like a flood.

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