Dread Fort Perilous - Legion X "Infortunatus"

Chapter Eleven: The Hallowed Gates

In a dark stone stairway full of death-traps, the Hellhounds battle against hostile rebel forces in order to breach the Hallowed Gates and enter into Mecanthia.

The mist from the smoke-bomb trap was hanging in the air, turbid and white, and the sounds of Legionaries shouting and shooting blindly into the mist filled the tunnel.

Thousand curses, Loran thought, this is hopeless. She looked around through the fog, but she couldn't see a thing - there was only the blurred flashes of flames from the mages and the racket of sizzling blaster bolts hitting walls in the darkness. The reptiles were still out there, she knew. Racing around the mist like fish through water, preparing their death-traps.

However, a mist full of murderous scaly rebels wasn't the only problem she faced.

Because the Gods had a permanent vendetta against Loran's wellbeing, a massive rolling boulder was set on a path to crush her, and thanks to the mist, it was also invisible. Which meant that Loran couldn't see it, and therefore she couldn't avoid it either. All she could do was blindly stand there with her blaster pointed uselessly at the surrounding whiteness, feeling the ground tremble underfoot as the boulder rumbled down the steps towards her.

The situation was hopeless.

Yep, completely hopeless. Loran shut her eyes and prepared to die. Why did it have to end here, of all places? It was just her luck to get killed in some horrid damp tunnel infested with reptile filth. Spiteful Gods, she angrily prayed, after I finish dying in this squalid Hellhole, my soul will float up to your Heavens, and when I get there, I will murder every single one of you with my own dead pair of hands.

- You want to kill the Gods?

- That's a fantastic idea!

'Yes,' Loran agreed. 'The spiteful arseholes put a slug in my breakfast this morning, and at this rate it's probably going to be the last breakfast of my life. They have to die.'

- Well said, lapdog!

- Yes, the Gods have to die.

'- Hold up, did you just call me a lapdog?'

Loran opened her eyes in bewilderment and looked around. Who said that?

Had she been talking to herself? Or had someone else been talking to her?

It didn't sound like one of the Hellhounds.

She fired out a few blaster bolts, hoping to illuminate the tunnel with bursts of sorcerous light, but it was to no avail. Everything was opaque with shadows and muffled flashes, and nothing could be seen.

And yet the whispering voices continued, slithering around her ears in the background -

- We are talking to you, lapdog.

- Listen, we are trying to warn you.

- You are in grave danger.

Loran clenched her fingers around the trigger of her blaster in irritation. 'I already know that!'

It's the Watchful Eyes, she realised. The sub-demon pests are talking to me again.

- You need to turn left, they said.

- Turn left, and roll as fast as you can.

'And why should I listen to you?' she hissed back. 'How do I know that you aren't leading me into another Gods-cursed rebel death-trap?'

- We are not leading you into a death-trap, we promise.

- You can trust us, Loran.