The chimera shouldn’t have been much of a problem by itself, but they were just so worn out. The group had used up their resources, and now, with the teleport block in place, they couldn’t escape. So here they found themselves, the Shadow Wolves, one of the very few diamond-level adventuring groups. Silas, their rogue, had already fallen, his body lost in an acid storm without enough left for the healer, Nina, to attempt to resurrect. Now, the three of them were on a ten-by-ten floating tile of magical basalt, a river of lava carrying them along.

An enchantment from Kiro, their elementalist, protected them from the worst of the heat, and another held the raft together. Now, though, a chimera kept dive-bombing them, breathing its fiery breath and swiping at them with its stinger-tipped tail. Kiro was too busy to do much other than protect them until they reached the end of the river, and Nina didn’t specialize in ranged attacks. That left him, Udon, their tank and leader. He had a crossbow with sufficient enchantments on it to hit the beast, but archery was hardly his expertise. Worse still, the raft they were on was not a stable platform as it pitched from side to side upon the waves of molten lava.

Udon cursed to himself. He was Udon the Invincible. Udon, who had stood against an entire company of Terran knights. Now, though, he couldn’t bring his might to bear. He might survive, but only if he could keep the others alive, too. Without Kiro, they would surely end up in the river of lava. Udon wanted to live, yet, like any true adventurer, he wanted to succeed with just as much passion. He wanted to finish this dungeon and do what no other had before. He wanted to end the threat it posed to the four kingdoms.

Thus, when the chimera dove at them, he stepped in front of the others and tried to deflect it off his shield while thrusting with his sword at the creature’s exposed chest. His Hardiness was without equal. As strong as the beast was, it was no match for him, and he was able to deflect it. Stone stance held him firmly anchored to the basalt tile, his sword cut a deep wound into the beast, and his shield worked as intended.

Perhaps it worked too well, for the creature slid off the shield and struck Kiro.

Udon cursed at the mistake. These were his friends, but they knew better. Kiro should have stood farther back. Instead, despite his efforts to save them, the mage was sliding across the smooth basalt futilely trying to find a handhold. His screams when he fell into the lava were heart-rending, but ever the consummate warrior, Udon knew he had to finish this enemy or there would be no chance of rescuing his friend. He called out to Nina, “Do what you can!”

Even then he was slashing repeatedly against the hide of the beast. The magical blade left gory wounds in its wake as the poison enchantment forged into the metal coursed through the blood of the chimera. The creature was struck down, its ferocity no match for Udon’s implacable might. One more blow pushed it into the lava where even its innate fire resistance was not enough to protect its fine, bat-like wings from shriveling up.

Udon turned to see his friend still shrieking and stuck in the lava. Nina’s magical staff had apparently slipped out of her hands when she tried to use it to pull Kiro back onto the raft, and it was now burning up next to the elementalist. All of them had some fire resistance—the elementalist undoubtedly had the most—but this lava possessed a heat beyond the ordinary. If it had been anyone else, he would have already been dead. From the sound of Kiro’s screams, the mage would have preferred death to the torment he was enduring.

For a moment, the warrior felt as though they were going to overcome this horrid situation. If he could just fish the mage out of the lava, Nina’s magic could work miracles of healing, but any adventurer who had survived as long as Udon knew that ‘if’ was just another word for wishing. Luck was a cruel mistress.

It was then that the worst potential outcome occurred, and Kiro lost consciousness—it was a miracle that he had held on as long as he had. It was absolutely a testament to his power and focus that he had managed to hold on to his enchantments, even while being roasted alive in the lava.

Finally, the piper had come calling, and the enchantments protecting them—as well as those keeping the raft afloat—failed. Without Kiro’s focus, it was only a matter of time.

The wave of heat that hit Udon sucked all the air from his body. His throat was seared and his lungs scorched in an instant. The basalt of the raft cracked, broke up, and liquefied in the intense heat.

Udon wanted to scream in defiance of fate. If any god had been listening, it would have sounded more like a cry of agony. Here far from the light of day, the Shadow Wolves met their death. Their remains would be lost forever, consumed in a river of molten fire, and just as his enchanted sword sank into the lava, so would their names sink into obscurity.

Unbeknownst to Udon, there were some who had been watching their progress. Eyes watched their defeat from a room at the peak of a tall tower hundreds of miles away. Well, perhaps not watching, but they were certainly tracking them through magic. Those same spectators were now meeting at the top room of a tower located in New Rome, the capital city of Terra.

This tower was the headquarters of the Terran Chapter of the Sojourner’s Guildhall.

At least, that was its proper name. Most everyone simply called it the adventurers’ guild.

Those present in this room were not just anyone. They were three men and a woman who helped to shape the destinies of kingdoms. Their fingers could be found in just about every major conflict or trade deal—that was if you knew where to look.

Yet, they also looked tired. They were all in their twilight years, and more than one of them wondered if they had it left within them to overcome one more challenge, and the Beast was hardly a simple challenge.

Each bore the title of Guild master, but, in truth, they were the heads of the four chapters of the guild. It was a custom going back into the annals of history. Once a year, the four guild masters would meet to discuss the events of the world. Lately, those meetings had increased in frequency.

The incursions from the Abyss became more frequent and deadlier, and the four kingdoms would not be able to resist them much longer. The danger was far from public knowledge, though. Each guild master felt the weight of expectation from their respective sovereigns. They were supposed to handle this problem. In turn, each of them had tried to handle it on their own.

Two years ago, however, they had decided to pool their resources. Now, at least, the teams they sent made it into the fabled dungeon. Those teams might not accomplish much, but it was progress. At least, that was what they told themselves.

Tonight, they met around a small table, drinking from a shared pitcher of ale. It was their practice to put aside their own preferences and share drinks from a common vessel. Thus, there could be no suspicion of poison. This time, since the meeting was being held in Terra, the Terran guild master, Charles, got to pick the drink. For his money, there was nothing like a good cold ale—at least, in this world. He still wanted to try some of the strange-sounding drinks the 1st gens described.

As they bantered small talk around to avoid the issues facing them, all paid an inordinate amount of attention to four crystals sitting in the middle of the table. Three of them were lit up brightly, and one was colored a dull charcoal. Sir Carsis, the Ogrian guild master, guffawed at a joke but quickly transitioned to a groan as suddenly another of the crystals turned dark.

“Which one do you suppose that was?” he asked, but the question became moot as within the next minute both the other crystals faded.

Desmona of Asmar slammed her hand down on the table. She was the least prone of the four to outbursts. The normally quiet assassin vented her frustration with a precise strike that split the oak table down the middle. Even in mindless anger, she was deadly.

“Gah, I liked this table. You’re gonna have to pay for that!” Charles shouted as he stepped back. Each of them was deadly in their own way, but he realized he needed more space than the petite assassin.

She held her hands up in apology. “I’m sorry. I let my emotions get the better of me. It won’t happen again.” Her grim tone said she wasn’t really sorry, at least not for breaking the table. “The table isn’t the issue. What are we supposed to do now?”

“We will have to send another team. There isn’t any choice. You know the consequences if we don’t,” Carsis said. The tension in his voice as evident as that upon his face.

They argued back and forth about the lack of proper adventurers and what their options were until, finally, the most soft-spoken of them coughed. He was also the one longest on the council, Niemar of Roshya, and a summoner by class. His reputation was not limited to the deadly monsters he controlled. He was also equally known for his patience and wisdom.

He was slow to act but always prepared when he did so. “We are going to have to do something different. Doing the same thing time after time and expecting a different result is pure insanity.”

“What then?” Desmona asked while the other two looked on.

Niemar spoke slowly and deliberately to allow his words to sink in, for he knew how poorly they would be received. “We are going to have to recruit and train up a team of 1st gens.”

“Preposterous,” sputtered Carsis.

“Did you forget how few 1st gens survive their first year in Iocusinte?” Charles asked.

“I have not, but when we have tried everything likely to work what else is left but a long shot?” Niemar asked.

“May the patrons have mercy on us all,” Carsis intoned while making a hand gesture that the peasants customarily made to ward off evil.

“If they even exist,” Desmona said softly, under her breath.