Hump gripped his staff. The doorway was sealed shut, and he saw no immediate route out. All over the auditorium hundreds, perhaps thousands, of corpses rose from the floor. Their gaunt, pale bodies glowed beneath the skin, illuminated by chaotic red essence. However impossible it seemed, it was dungeon essence. Hump could sense it. He could feel it called to him just as it had in Stonebark Forest. Somehow, that same power now flowed from the giant Tree of Damnation that filled the right side of the room.

The room filled with the groans of the dead. Chaos had descended, yet despite that, nobody panicked. Hump wasn’t stuck in the opera house with inexperienced adventurers. These were veterans. Bronze and silver ranked adventurers, most of which were Chosen, hardened by months of quests around Sheercliff and the recent assaults on warlock bases.

Today, the true threat of the warlocks was revealed. However, even in a situation as dire as this, they kept their heads about them. Those on the ground floor formed ranks and wielded their abilities in conjunction, holding a position by the main entrance.

In the upper seating area, Topher’s squad—those that had accompanied Ricard—stood far off to the left, a hundred undead blocking the path to where Hump and Marcela’s parties stood. Fewer than down below, but enough that Hump felt nervous. Topher’s squad were already moving, pushing for a set of stairs to the far left of the room.

“Form up,” Marcela said.

Bud, Dylan, and Marcela’s new party member, Varris, took positions at the front, Emilia and Marcela taking the left and right flank. Behind the front line, Hump and Nina stood on either side of Len, keeping the Chosen of Avaroth at the centre of the formation where his barrier magic would be most effective. Celaine and Teff remained at the back, both being archers.

“Hump, any way you think you can get through that door?” Marcela asked.

“Given time, maybe,” Hump said, glancing back at the small entryway they’d entered through. He tried to glean some information about the formation that sealed them inside the auditorium, anything that might trigger his spellbook’s identification. It didn’t work. “The formation seems to be powered by the tree. It’s too much essence for me to say so with any confidence.”

“Then we group with the others,” Marcela said. She aimed to the right side with her sword, where the closest staircase descended to the ground floor. “Let’s aim for those stairs.”

It wasn’t so easy. While the upper level wasn’t as crowded as below, there had to be a hundred undead standing between them and the stairs.

Before they could move, an exchange of blows on the main stage drew Hump’s gaze, as a reanimated Helen Astida charged Roderick in a wild frenzy. The once Chosen had lost her sword and instead attacked unarmed, wielding her hands like claws. Empowered by the dungeon essence, she was formidable, but Roderick was having none of it.

The man’s power exploded around him, golden light filling the air around him like rays of sun, illuminating the arena. Helen shrunk back from it, and Hump felt its power in the air around him. He felt the tug of dungeon essence on him diminish, his focus cleared, his body felt stronger and lighter even from so far away.

Roderick’s aura expanded more, building until the light was so thick it almost appeared solid. Helen released an inhuman screech, ear piercing and horrifying, her voice contorted by the dark magic that had brought her back.

Hump felt the weight of Roderick’s soul even from a distance. Suddenly, the light stopped expanding, condensing instead. It coated Roderick, expanding his armour. Plates of golden armour attached to him. It lifted him up, until he towered twice as tall as anyone in the room, larger even than the trolls Hump had encountered. Holy light radiated from him, and Hump realised why the man had so confidently rushed into the opera house. Roderick didn’t fall into traps. He strode into them deliberately, and now he would plough right on through this one too. A luxury perhaps only those of the sixth circle and above could enjoy.

He clubbed at Helen, blasting her black with a blow from his sceptre, light flashing like lightning at the point of contact. She rolled to the floor, her chest crushed. A wound that would kill any mortal, but essence surged through her. Her chest cavity snapped back into place, and she rose, coming at Roderick again, mindless. Other undead crowded around her. Some wore armour and carried weapons—the adventurers that had died with her. He didn’t notice Randall or his party amongst them.

To the left, where Rodercik and his squads had breached the auditorium, Eve’s party and the others were being swarmed. She wielded her powers of miasma to poison hosts of her enemies, secure at the centre of the Chosen.

“Bud, Varris, focus on maintaining the formation as we move,” Marcela said, drawing their attention back to their own situation. “Dylan, I want you healing us and replenishing our stamina. Try and avoid direct combat unless they push past Bud and Varris. Len, protect the flanks and rear. The rest of us will focus on offence.”

“What about the undead?” Dylan asked. “Do we kill them?”

“We purge them,” Bud corrected grimly, drawing his sword. Hump felt the cold of frostfire envelop him. His Armour of Ice manifested over his already existing plate, a second layer of protection.

“Right,” Dylan said, uncertainly.

Hump glanced at the druid and saw him shifting on his feet. He was hesitant. Their enemies were so human. Ordinary people dressed in ordinary attire. At least, they were once.

“Dylan, whoever they once were is gone,” Hump said. “What remains is nothing more than puppets of flesh.”

Dylan didn’t turn back but he nodded. His fist tightened around his quarterstaff.

“Any other questions?” Marcela asked.

There were none.

“Then let’s move.”

They kept to the wide aisles that ran between the rows of seats. Undead came at them from all sides, but they were staggered and unorganised. Easy pickings for Marcela and Emilia to take out with minimal effort, reserving arrows and large spells for when they were needed.

They reached the front of the balcony, where they could look over the edge at the ground floor. There, the fight was many magnitudes larger. Roderick fought amongst a swarm of undead, sweeping them aside and carving a path through them. Helen attacked over and over, her blows like hammers, echoing through the auditorium, giant explosions of essence radiating from where she struck. Roderick swatted her back, but she healed faster than any of the other undead, her fifth circle body filled to the brim with essence.

Hundreds of corpses lay shattered and broken on the ground, their faces unrecognisable. What limbs remained intact spasmed, as if the dungeon essence was still trying to control them. In the main fight, the Chosen slaughtered anything that came near them, their blessings making short work of the undead. The sight was hard to stomach. The fact was, the warlocks had killed these people. Murdered hundreds of citizens of Sheercliff. It made Hump wonder how many more had died already in the rest of the city, if this was just one part of a grander plan.

One thing at a time, he told himself. They had this mess to escape before they could worry about the rest of the city.

To the right of the balcony, the undead had formed a group and charged at Hump and the others. They swarmed across the seating on all fours, moving like cats, or charged along the front row of seating where there was a wider gap.

“I’ll clear a path,” Hump said, taking aim at the group along the front row.

Bud and Varris parted to the side.

Hump withdrew his spellbook, pages whirling, essence flowing between it and his staff. “Blast.”

A wave of pale blue essence exploded forward. It sent the undead scattering. Some fell from the balcony, falling to the ground below. Others were blasted back into the seating, where the still charging undead swarmed forward.

“Reform,” Marcela said. “Ranged stay against the rail. We’ll hold them back.”

They pushed through the created space at a jog, the melee fighters on the right, carving into any undead that approached. It wasn’t long before they reached the stairs, where Nina unleashed a torrent of water that cleared away the undead that blocked their path. Bud and Varris pushed down first, cutting through the gathering that remained. Empowered by the essence of the tree, the undead were powerful but far from indestructible.

Celaine leaped over the balcony ledge, trailing behind the rest of them. She shot an arrow, enhanced with Power Shot.

“Watch the rear, Len,” Celaine said. “They’re rejuvenating. Normal methods don’t seem to be finishing them off.”

“If I use fire I might set the room on fire,” Hump said. “That’s the last thing we need.”

“We’ve got enough killing power in our blessings.” Marcela’s blade shone blue. She swept it forward, a wave of water droplets exploding from the edge and showering half a dozen more undead gathering at the bottom, tearing through their bodies like shrapnel. “We group with Ricard and then decide what to do.”

“It’s like fighting in the dungeon core room,” Bud said.

He seemed at home amongst the undead. His frostfire attacks took them down and they didn’t get back up. They recoiled from his Heart of Frostfire aura, and came away pierced with ice each time they struck his armour. He tore through them with ease, reaching the bottom before any of them.

It really was like the dungeon core room. The power emanating from the tree was too similar. Even the tug on his soul, as if begging him to wield it. But how could that be possible? It made him wonder whether the warlocks truly did have some knowledge of dungeons that the rest of the world didn’t; they’d managed to spur the dungeon’s growth in Stonebark Forest after all. If the purpose of the Trees of Damnation was to establish dungeon domains, then perhaps all of Sheercliff might fall to them.

Hump blanked at the thought. It was a story straight out of legends, like the Fall of Lastrogath, the Heaven City, that was lost to the Hell Pit and was only the beginning of the Fallen Lands expansion.

“Stay sharp,” Celaine said, pushing Hump’s shoulder. “Keep moving left with the others.”

They’d reached the ground floor. Hump surveyed the room. It smelt of blood and rot, and if not for the adrenaline rushing through him, he would have gagged. They were now the closest squad to the tree, but Hump saw no sign of where the dungeon essence was coming from. The tree was simply full of it. It shone beneath its bark, trailing up it like a lightning trail scar. And its leaves glimmered like rubies, an aura of evil emanating from the glow.

“Ricard!” Roderick’s voice rose above the noise. Even through the horde of undead, he was clearly visible, barrelling through them with his sceptre. “Destroy the tree. Once its power fades so too shall this foul magic. My Chosen and I shall hold the auditorium.”

“On it,” Ricard shouted. Hump spotted him through the mass of undead. His spear was a tornado of motion. He danced his way through the masses, his spear whirling around his body with perfect fluidity. Gales of wind swept out from his movements, throwing back and clearing space, blasting them aside with the power of the storm god, Seres. In moments he was by the tree, Jessica following closely behind, cleaving through enemies with her axe and shield.

Standing before the tree, Ricard drew back his spear. Wind howled through the room. Lighting coiled down the spear’s length, white light that was blindingly bright. He let it build until Hump felt static in the air, even from twenty paces away, and then Ricard stabbed.

It struck the tree with the sound of thunder, piercing deeply. Red essence exploded from the wound like a spurt of blood, and white lightning rippled up the tree, tearing at the bark, filling the room with the scent of burning.

He withdrew his spear, and in seconds the wound was healing, essence pouring into it at an unbelievable rate. It hadn’t worked. Ricard stared at it with a frown.

We have to think of it as a dungeon, Hump realised. This power didn’t simply stem from the tree. Essence needed direction. Anthony may have activated the formation, but this scale of necromantic magic didn’t exist on its own. They were attacking the body, but it was the heart that had to be conquered. If the core had the resources it needed, there was no end to the repairs to its body.

Hump’s eyes trailed to the base of the tree and the crumbled earth around the trunk. It was underground.

“Ricard, we need to find the base of the tree,” Hump shouted. “I think the warlocks must have created some sort of artificial dungeon core. Attacking the trunk won’t be any good. We need to destroy the core.”

Ricard glanced their way, seemingly only just noticing their arrival. He then turned his attention to the ground, targeting the area around the tree instead. He struck again, but the formation glimmered on the ground, a layer of red forming. His spearpoint bounced off the tiled floor, a thick mist of red escaping it.

“It’s all reinforced,” Ricard said. “We need to get out of this damn room first. Natalie!” he roared suddenly, his voice carrying on the wind, echoing in the auditorium so loudly it hurt. Natalie must have used her blessing to reply from outside the room as he continued. “Find us a way underground. We’ll find a way to get to you.”

Ricard turned to them. “Marcela, your squad’s with me.”

They rushed over to him.

“What’s the plan?” Marcela asked.

“I’m going to break the barrier,” Ricard said, grinning, excitement clear on his face. “You keep them off me.”