Dread Fort Perilous - Legion X "Infortunatus"

Compilation: Defender

As Squad Leader Loran takes command of the Hellhounds once more, Old Chief prepares a more powerful spell to mash them with.

Old Chief leapt over a fallen rock which had once been a part of the ceiling of his chamber, staff in hand. He was no longer laughing.

The roots should have been enough to distract and wear down the numbers of the devils, first taking out the smaller ranged attackers who were primarily focused on striking him with their sorceries, before finishing off the great tusked brutes whose only threat to him was their strength and not their speed. It should have been a swift kill.

The devils had changed tactics.

It was as if they knew exactly when his summoned construct would turn to hit them, and had planned every retaliation with impeccable precision, standing stock-still to bait a lunge from the roots, before swiftly barrelling aside along the stone floor in their heavy armours and striking the twining mass of wood while it was still in recovery. The roots were not a thing crafted of pure magic, and that was why the devils' tactics were working so well. The roots were summoned through the blessed art of his spellcraft, yes, but still they remained as organic beings, and as such, they had the capacity to tire after exerting the strength for their attempts to pick away the lesser devils with a mighty downwards plunge. It appeared that - like a swarm of starving rats in a pit who'd been raised to claw at their weakest - the devils had sensed weakness, and were confident in using it to their advantage at every opportunity that reached them. The trouble was, the devils had found the weakness too easily, had fought back too well. Their sudden change of tactics could not have been a coincidence.

Without a doubt, the monster had returned.

Old Chief glanced over the scenery, and found the sight he was searching for - two robed shades, standing at either side of a being clad in an armour forged of blackened steel, begriming the pale stones of the floor. It was watching him. Glaring at him, he could've swore. Old Chief could see the mark his vines had made against its dark armour, a great hole raked through its steel chest so clearly unsurvivable as to cause him no small amount of shock at the sight of the being moving. It motioned with a hand, coughing up sporadic commands, and the devils changed their positions to better tackle the roots which thundered and struck towards them.

So the monster has truly been risen and returned from the dead, he saw. You are harder to kill than I would've thought. Only ethereal beings from the Heavens should have had the power to return a fallen soul to the realm of living, fully healed with not a mark left to harm them. Had the Elder One truly chosen to gift the devil with such a mercy?

Looking closer, Old Chief saw two problems with his supposition. The first was that the monster did not seem in good health. It trembled when the roots moved, and it wasn't out of fear. Something had gone wrong. The second was that he could feel the distinct taint of something within the dark one's aura. Something that hadn't been there before. Old Chief flicked his tail away from an oncoming bolt of sorcery, and lightly bounded onto a higher piece of rubble so that he could more properly observe the blasphemy of the monster sitting on the ground, alive. The Heavens hadn't been the ones to grant its flawed revival.

Old Chief cast a yellow-eyed glance towards the two shades who stood beside the monster in their robes of dark chainmail. There was a difference in their auras, too, different from the auras of all the monsters who had invaded the Chamber of the Elder Soul. Unlike the other bland devils, these had the taste of something truly foul. Old Chief's scales prickled, because he knew unquestionably what they were. Magicians.

A pulse of blessed power from the wooden staff eagerly surged under the grip of his claws, and told him it was time.

Oh Great Elder One, Old Chief prayed, lend me aid for this feat.