“A dungeon war?” Sylvia asked incredulously, staring through the underbrush at the cavernous entrance. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

The party had traveled quite a significant distance in the direction the unicorn had disappeared in. They’d lost its tracks, however, once they’d crossed the snaking river. As a group, the party had simply decided to continue forward in the direction they’d been heading, and that’s when they’d stumbled upon the dungeon.

Fergusson nodded. “You might think it’s nonsense, but I think it’s pretty obvious. Dungeon Cordon is invading this Dungeon Marianna.” He gestured out of the trees and across the massive field, to where a small army of serpopards stalked their way towards the cave.

Wales laughed and declared, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” Karla just shook her head, while Hyena signed at her. Sylvia translated.

“Hyena says that Dungeon Cordon might just be forming an outpost of some kind.” She ran a hand across her face, pressing against her eyes. “This is all very unusual behavior, but I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“Hmm,” Fergusson muttered before shrugging. “Both are possible, but I doubt that. It’s not like dungeons are sentient. Since when do they create outposts?”

Wales interrupted. “Since when do they go to war?”

The group was silent for a moment as each pondered the different theories. The monsters continued their sneaky crawl towards the cave. Karla spoke up.

“What if they’re working together?” Then she looked towards the serpopards, and waved a hand. “Nevermind. If the dungeons were collaborating, somehow, would they really be concealing themselves like that? Stupid question.”

“Maybe not so stupid…” Wales muttered. “If they are working together, then this area could be in much greater danger than we originally anticipated.”

Sylvia snorted but didn’t say anything. Then the brawler slapped his fist into his hand, grinning.

“Whatever the case is, I think we should just take ‘em out! It’s probably safest to play to the most dangerous scenario, anyway.” This comment had the rest of the party nodding, but even though Fergusson could only see his eyes, he could tell Hyena still looked a little uncertain about it all.

Wales’ cheeks turned up as he smiled, excitement showing in his eyes.

“I guess it’s time for me to teach you all a crash course in serpopard-slaying!” he said, bouncing on his feet. Karla was reminded of a small child on his birthday, and smirked. Then he turned to her, thumbing his nose confidently. “I know I can kill at least five.”

The ranger lifted her chin towards him, lightly fingering her bowstring. “Oh yeah?” she taunted. “Care to bet on that?”

The serpopard stalked across the massive golden field. He wasn’t in his element anymore, but the natural camouflage speckled across his body made remaining unseen come with ease. Though, when the wind changed direction, he almost thought he might have detected a familiar scent.

The serpopard looked around him, checking with the small pack of twenty beasts to see if they noticed anything. When it seemed they hadn’t, the creature turned back to gaze at the entrance coming ever closer.

The group crept closer to the dungeon, constantly checking the surroundings for any danger. One of their own had gone missing, and was probably dead. They had to be careful. Dungeon Cordon’s voice echoed in their minds. There would be no failure.

The creatures stopped when they reached the mouth of the cave, a wall of dirt blocking their path. They rotated their long necks around, trying to see beyond the trick, but couldn’t find an entrance. Yet the large sign, seeming to have been hastily covered with branches and unveiled by their scout, indicated that this was indeed the entrance to a dungeon.

The serpopard tasted the air again, combining the scents from its feline nose and serpentine tongue. The smell of rat punctured the area, and the recognizable chemicals the creature tasted were the hormones of a very specific group of rats. The very rats they were hunting.

The biggest of the serpopards shoved the rest of them aside as he approached the cave, leading them towards the wall. He was a dark brown, with speckles of black, green, and gold patterning his fur. He was the leader. His neck curled as he sniffed the wall of dirt, waving his head around as he tried to find an opening. The leader walked away from the cave, staring at the wall with deadly intent.

Then, he charged forward, slamming into the huge mass of dirt. The bricks blocking their way collapsed, and the serpopards charged forward into the dark cave before them. The large, dark leader snarled, and the rest of the group followed.

But the first serpopard stayed back. He watched as the rest of them slinked forward, dashing into the cave with wild abandon. Once the last member of his group had disappeared into the darkness, he slowly followed.

And he could hear the howls of the serpopards disappearing deeper into the tunnel ahead of him. Yet still, he stalked slowly through the cave, remaining quiet and hidden while staying alert and conscious of anything suspicious or deadly. The serpopards had been created in Dungeon Cordon, after all, and this particular one had witnessed what happened to those who were caught unaware.

It was only a few minutes further into the long tunnel that he’d spotted the first bodies, and it was exactly what he’d expected.

A gruesome corpse lay across the stone floor of the corridor. Above the observant serpopard was a hole in the roof, and he could see that from that hole, something must have fallen to completely sever the head of the dead creature from its body. But when the living serpopard looked around, all he could see were fragments of a shiny, red material. Perhaps it was glass. The serpopard wasn’t educated enough to determine these things. Decisions were made by Dungeon Cordon, and the monsters acted upon them, for fear of the consequences.

The fusion of serpent and feline continued his journey through the dungeon, delicately avoiding stepping in any of the gore from whichever one of his packmates had been stupid enough to be killed.

Soon, the intelligent monster came across a fork in the cavernous pathway. As he swung his head from the left to the right, he heard the sounds of screams coming from two of the directions. It seemed the pack had split up to better infiltrate the dungeon. And though he did have to proceed, the creature wasn’t forced to go towards the screams. Instead, he traveled to the left, avoiding the screams from the others.

This particular serpopard wasn’t at all inclined to hastily meet his end. But the echoes of Dungeon Cordon in his mind prevented him from trying to escape the situation. He crept down the corridor, noting the floor changed from stone to sand. Serpopard footprints led him towards some of his pack. As he came around a bend, he found four members of his pack sniffing around an empty room. Small boulders littered the area, and the opposite side of the room had what seemed to be an unfinished hall.

The other four members of his pack investigated the flat wall at the end of the unfinished hallway. The cautious serpopard cocked his head. What could have them so interested in a dead-end? He glanced around, and noticed the sandy floor had a line of blood leading straight to the wall. When he tasted the air, he immediately identified the flavor of the blood.

It was the rat queen that had foolishly tried to escape from Dungeon Cordon. The serpopard began to stalk forward to join his packmates in their investigation of the wall.

And then it exploded.

Chunks of rock, shattering into shards, burst outwards towards his packmates. One was instantly killed, and two were injured. One serpopard’s leg hung at a terrible angle, clearly broken, while the other’s neck was trapped underneath a large piece of rock. As it struggled to free itself, the dust cleared.

The lone serpopard that had been approaching his pack mates watched in stunned silence as a small tribe of ratmen came surging out, climbing swiftly over the crumbling wall of shattered rock.

They carried tools of ivory. Some had white swords, while others merely carried pickaxes and shovels. But all of them bore an aura of ferocity that empowered their strikes against the weakened monsters.

Swords came slashing down towards faces, and pickaxes crunched against limbs. The prey the hunting serpopard had been pursuing had rapidly turned into a single entity: a writhing demon with many faces. He saw fury blazing across them as they chopped and stabbed at his friends. It was horrifying. And in a matter of moments, the lucky serpopard’s four packmates were reduced to nothing more than bloody piles of flesh and scales.

The terrified serpopard was shocked back into action. He hastily maneuvered his way over to the corner of the room, behind a particularly large boulder, and hid. He would wait for the perfect moment to strike back at the filthy rats that had murdered his pack. His ears pricked up at the sound of the rats dragging the remains of his friends across the floor, and out of sight of the room.

And in the distance, he faintly heard the echo of a confident voice speaking in a familiar tongue.

“Alright! Who’s ready to slay some low-tier dungeon monsters?”