The figure stepped forward, its entire form wreathed in curling, multicolored flames that bled into the massive stone sword in its hands. The flames shimmered and crackled, casting an otherworldly glow over the cavern as the giant raised its weapon, ready to strike. Above its head, the word Guardian hung, stark and ominous, in each man's vision. Elmore’s mind raced, realizing his usual reliance on his Aither Memory wasn’t going to help him here; he’d have to act fast, keep his team alive, and adapt on the fly.

  “Rick! Ron!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the chamber. “Switch to crystal slugs and aim for the shoulders! Take some power out of those swings!”

  Rick and Ron adjusted, their guns loaded with the specially crafted mithril slugs that packed an explosive punch. They took aim, the bright flash of their shots tearing through the gloom. Elmore could see the light radiate around the bullets in a way only he could—a faint, pulsing aura of Aither wrapped around the slugs. The first slug slammed into the Guardian’s shoulder, sending a ripple through its form, while the second shot buried itself in the stone sword, causing a shuddering crack to form along its length.

  “John, Tim!” Elmore continued, his voice sharp as he kept his focus on the hulking figure before them. “Get to work. Look for weaknesses while we keep it busy. Fire at will, but make every shot count!”

  John, with his Hawkeye skill, squinted, scanning the Guardian’s body for any vulnerabilities, his rifle poised. Tim, using his echolocation, started clicking his tongue in rhythmic beats, listening intently for any resonant points in the Guardian’s armor that might signal a weak spot. Together, they held their ground, firing slower but more precise shots at the Guardian’s joints and seams in the stone, trying to find the edges in its seemingly impenetrable defenses.

  “Frank, Sam!” Elmore called next, gesturing to the two men. “Up front. Hold it off, keep its attention on you. Don’t let it focus on anyone else. Use your shields, dodge what you can, and stay on your feet!”

  Without hesitation, Frank and Sam charged forward, shields raised and bodies tensed as they prepared to absorb the Guardian’s powerful attacks. As they reached the colossal creature, it brought its stone sword down with a brutal, earth-shaking swing. Frank blocked with his shield, the impact forcing him down to one knee, his shield vibrating as the sword’s force nearly overwhelmed him. Sam darted forward, only to narrowly dodge a swift kick from the Guardian, the force of the kick sending him tumbling back but still upright.

  “Keep it up, boys!” Elmore shouted, adrenaline pumping as he watched his men stand firm in the face of such monstrous strength. Frank staggered to his feet, only to find the Guardian’s sword bearing down on him again. He rolled to the side, just in time to avoid being cleaved in two, though the blade came close enough to shave off a chunk of his shield.

  Elmore’s mind was racing, absorbing every detail, calculating his next move. Each shot, each swing, each attack was testing the Guardian’s responses, its patterns, looking for any chink in its supernatural defenses. It was clear this wasn’t an enemy they could simply overpower; it required strategy, precision, and a careful balance between attack and defense. His men were holding up, but he knew they couldn’t endure this forever. And from that display he now knew it could cut through even empowered mythril

  He watched as Rick and Ron’s mithril slugs created small fractures in the stone, gradually wearing down the Guardian’s Resistance. Tim’s echolocation clicks echoed through the chamber, mapping out the structure of the Guardian’s form with each tap. Finally, Tim called out, his voice strained but triumphant. “Chief, there’s a resonant point—back of the left knee. The stone’s weaker there!”

  “Rick, Ron!” Elmore commanded. “Focus fire on the back of the left knee! We’re going to take its mobility.”

  The two men darted around the field with much swifter strides now than in the past, moving like olympian athletes on steroids but looking like armored cavemen, the duo lept over an incoming burst of pearlescent flame only having Rick have his right foot basically melted off. Ron knowing better than stopping finished to half circuit rolling to a stop flat on his belly and took aim, his breathing steady as he sighted in on the Guardian’s vulnerable joint. With precise timing when it made impact with a stomp, he fired. The mithril slugs struck home, small explosions rippling out as chunks of stone shattered, leaving a spiderweb of cracks trailing up the creature’s leg.

  The Guardian staggered, its movements slowing as it struggled to adjust. Seeing his opportunity, Elmore gripped his ax tighter, feeling the surge of Aither flow through him, empowering both him and his weapon. “Frank, Sam, fall back!” he ordered, stepping forward with a fierce determination.

  The two men retreated, exhausted and bruised to hell but triumphant, as Elmore charged forward. The Guardian, though faltering, swung its sword again, this time slower and less precise, giving Elmore just enough room to sidestep and close in on the weakened joint. With a powerful swing of his ax, charged with aether, he struck the side of the Guardian’s knee, the impact reverberating as the stone crumbled further, leaving the massive creature unbalanced and over extended.

  The Guardian let out a deep, rumbling sound that shook the cavern, its eyes flaring with renewed rage as it swayed, seeming to be struggling to stay upright. Elmore turned back to his men, shouting over the deafening sound. “Alright, we’ve got it off balance! Get ready for the final push—aim for that knee and keep it down!”

  Just as Elmore felt the familiar hum of his surroundings begin to fade, the broad side of the Guardian’s colossal stone sword came crashing against the side of his head. The impact was brutal, even with his enhanced mind there was his men one minute and the next he was in darkness and pain. The force sending him flying across the coliseum accompanied by the sound of a cannon fire, his vision blurring to blank as he slammed into the far wall sending out a shockwave wumph as air was impacted and torn. Pain radiated through his skull, darkness creeping at the edges of his consciousness as he fought to stay awake, his grip missing his ax as it had slipped from his hand most likely still at the foot of the guardian.

  The next thing he knew, his senses slowly returned, a throbbing pain pulsing at his temple. Blinking hard, he tried to focus, seeing the battlefield devolve into chaos. His men were scattered, firing at random, their movements erratic, confusion etched on each face. Frank and Sam, who had taken up the Guardian’s attention in his absence, were barely holding their ground. Their mithril armor was showing wear, large chunks having been chipped away by the Guardian’s relentless strikes. With each hit, patches of their skin were left exposed, their tough flesh now taking the brunt of the Guardian’s blows.

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  But amid the chaos, one man held steady. Brent moved with razor precision, darting around the Guardian with almost unnatural agility, his wolfman form slashing and even biting at its armored body, leaving shallow marks that chipped away at the stone and shadow. Elmore groaned, pushing himself up, spitting blood as he shouted, “Brent, you’re doing good work! Keep harassing it from odd angles. Don’t let it settle on you!”

  Then he turned his gaze to Hank, who was watching, looking for an opening. “Hank!” Elmore yelled, his voice raw. “Get in there and shatter that leg—it’s time to break it down!”

  Hank nodded, his grip tightening around his oversized ax as he moved closer, positioning himself behind Frank and Sam, who continued to shield him as best they could. Each step was deliberate, the two injured men acting as moving barricades, absorbing hit after hit as they staggered backward. Then, with a final heave, Hank lunged forward, bringing his ax down like the wrath of an angry mountain god, directly into the Guardian’s knee.

  The sound of shattering stone filled the cavern as Hank’s axe made contact and was also obliterated with the force and being left looking like slag buried in the ground where the guardians leg was moments ago, the armor around the Guardian’s knee exploding in a cloud of dust and dark mist that poured out like blackened smoke. But the creature did not buckle; instead, the mist swirled and coiled, revealing what Elmore now understood—the Guardian wasn’t just liveing armor; it was an entity of pure shadow clad in stone.

  Realizing the significance of this, Elmore adjusted his strategy. “Charlie!” he shouted, his voice strained but clear. “Use your antler—aim for the shadow underneath! Go for that exposed leg!”

  Charlie sprinted to the side, positioning himself at a safe distance from the Guardian’s heavy swings. He raised his crystalline antler, its Aither-crystal core crackling with energy, wrapped in mithril bindings for stability. He steadied his aim, taking a deep breath before firing, the beam slicing through the air with a sharp, resonant hum.

  The crystalline beam of energy shot forward, cutting straight through the Guardian’s knee, searing the exposed shadow and forcing the leg out of existence. The Guardian swayed, its balance disrupted as it teetered, the dark form inside writhing as if in pain. But even in its weakened state, it retaliated with terrifying speed. With one final, powerful swing of its stone blade, the Guardian sent Frank and Sam flying. Their bodies slammed into the coliseum walls with bone-cracking force, their forms crumpling as they went limp limbs all bent the wrong way and chest caved in, out of the fight.

  Elmore’s heart sank, a flash of fear darting through him as he took in the sight of his fallen men. But he knew he couldn’t allow himself to falter now. Gritting his teeth,, his gaze narrowing as he locked eyes with the Guardian. They’d exposed its vulnerability; they just had to hit it hard enough and fast enough to keep it from recovering.

  “Everyone, focus on that shadow!” he roared, rallying the remaining fighters. “No holding back—give it everything you've got!”

  The battle had turned into a nightmare.

  As Elmore pulled himself from the wall, bruised and battered, his entire body screamed in protest. He could feel the pain of what he was certain were broken ribs, maybe even a fractured skull, but he pushed it aside. Frank and Sam lay crumpled where they’d been thrown, and he sprinted over to them, pouring every last drop of his healing potion into their wounds. Though their bruises faded and cuts mended, they didn’t stir. He took a shaky breath, accepting that, for now, they were out of the fight.

  Turning back to the battlefield, Elmore saw Wes and Brent, quick and relentless, cutting into the Guardian’s shadow-cloaked armor. Rick and Ron fired off mithril slugs whenever they spotted an opening, while John and Tim, positioned further away, tried to identify any remaining weak spots. The battle had reached a tense standstill, each side seeming to test the other’s limits, pearlescent flames occasionally engulfing a part of the field .

  Elmore grabbed his shotgun, feeling the weight of it grounding him as he maneuvered around the Guardian, looking for a vulnerable spot. Finally, he caught john’s eye, who motioned toward the back of the Guardian’s head. With a nod, Elmore took aim and fired a glowing slug directly into the weak point. The blow hit, sending cracks webbing through the creature’s helmet and armor. Stone shattered, and in an instant, the Guardian’s physical form crumbled to dust, releasing a thick, black smoke that swallowed the room whole.

  Darkness enveloped everything. Elmore staggered, coughing as the smoke filled his lungs and eyes. His vision was reduced to nothing, unable to see anything beyond eyelids. He heard it then—a series of brutal, deafening sounds: thunk, scream, whumph, thunk, scream, whumph! echoing through the chamber. The sounds of his men, of pain, of desperation the words didnt matter he knew what was happening and he questioned how he was ever meant to do this.

  He yelled out, ordering his team to gather together, to form up. But no one answered. Instead, the oppressive silence returned, only broken by distant crashes and flares of Aither-light sparking briefly in the dark. His heart pounded, dread seeping into his bones. He could see nothing but faint glimmers, the bursts of Aither’s light from random bursts of pearlescent fire scattered somewhere out in the void.

  In the silence, Elmore’s mind began to unravel. Fear clawed at him, whispering that he was trapped, that he would die here, surrounded by nothing but shadows. His breath came faster, chest tight as the weight of the darkness closed in. in that state of fear he pulled out his mithril mattock and had the aither ready.

  Then, in his peripheral vision, he saw it—a sudden explosion of Aither-light, illuminating a flaming sword slicing toward him. He threw himself to the side, the blade grazing his leg and shearing off part of his armor as though it were butter. He grit his teeth, feeling the sting of the near miss. There was no time to think, only react. He gripped his mattock, pushing the Aither in it until it glowed, and lunged at the shadow. But it was too quick, dodging out of reach as his pick struck only air and soot.

  Back and forth, the deadly dance continued, an endless cycle of dodging, parrying, swinging, each attack hauntingly close to ending his life. With every near miss, every desperate strike, the terror of his own isolation clawed at his mind, the feeling that he was fighting against death itself. No sound, no voices, just him, locked in this twisted purgatory of darkness and flashes of violence. Each second felt like an hour; he lost all sense of time, of space. His mind teetered on the brink, his own sanity unraveling with each blow slowly taking minor wounds or outright losing whole chunks of armor like it was worthless.

  But then something shifted. He found himself beginning to anticipate the Guardian’s attacks, noticing the faintest changes in the air, the subtle clues in the type of silence. His body moved with newfound precision, his instinct sharpened, adapting. And finally, he saw it—an opening, one he would have missed before. With a roar, he lunged, swinging his pick with all his might, separating the Guardian’s arm from its body with a chop of the blade.

  The Guardian bellowed, the sound filling the chamber like the wail of some ancient, dying beast. a figment of imagined eternity wailing pain into existence. Darkness physically closed in tighter, muting even the faint glow of Aither around Elmore. He was submerged in absolute blackness and stillness that should not exist, not even the flicker of his own weapon’s light piercing the veil.

  For what felt like an eternity, he stood stock still in nothingness. The silence was hollow and muted with the ash building up on his body, pressing down on him like a weight, smothering his senses, no vibrations passing through the powder and starting to feel warm. As the minutes dragged on, despair seeped into his bones. He wondered if he was lost forever, if he’d never see light again.

  But in that silence, he began to notice something else. The faintest hum, almost imperceptible—a vibration, a presence. He realized he wasn’t just seeing Aither; he could hear it, too. A pulse, a rhythm that called to him, guiding him. He focused, letting his senses expand, feeling out the threads of Aither that permeated the darkness.

  The sound led him forward, the faint echoes guiding him until he caught a ripple of movement in the distance. It was the Guardian, cowering in a corner, its form shifting and writhing as it tried to repair the damage he’d dealt. Elmore’s focus narrowed, determination flaring to life within him. This creature, this embodiment of unseen fear and ancient shadow , was hiding from him!

  He crept closer, grabbing his axe and holding it in his hand instead, his every step filled with purpose. He raised his weapon high, the Aither pulsing through it in a steady, powerful rhythm. With a final swing, he cleaved into the Guardian’s chest, his blade sinking deep into its core. The shadow writhed, letting out a guttural scream that echoed through the deepest parts of Elmore's mind, filling the air with one last burst of dark energy.

  And then, as the shadow dissipated, the oppressive darkness began to lift. Elmore now stood in the center of the coliseum, his chest heaving, his vision clearing to reveal the bodies of his men scattered across the chamber. Silence fell, and the weight of the battle settled on him as he realized the full extent of what they’d lost.

  He was the only one left standing.