They held their formation as they started the journey toward the white cliff. Marcela hadn’t given them the exact address, but her hidden path lay somewhere at the base of it. The fighting seemed to have died down a little already. Screams would still reach them, but they were more occasional. Hump wasn’t sure whether to take that as a good thing or not.

Running through the empty streets was a strange feeling. He’d grown used to the bustling city, and to see it so empty now was disconcerting. The wrongness pervaded the surroundings; combined with the dungeon essence, it was as if he’d stepped into another world. A nervous quiet hung over the group. Occasionally, a civilian raced past, fleeing for their homes or shelter. Through the windows, Hump caught glimpses of faces peeking out from behind curtains and blinds, watching the road outside fearfully. Often they would pass huddles of people—mostly men—in doorways, carrying whatever weapons they could get their hands on: large knives, staves, axes. They saluted as they passed, a resolve in their eyes that told Hump they were ready to protect their families and homes.

“Adventurers!” one of the men called out. “Take care up ahead. We saw giant rats coming up from the sewers not ten minutes ago. They had this… green filth rising off them.”

“A man got bit,” another said. “One bite, and his leg was rotten before he’d taken five steps. Demons, I tell you. Demon rats!”

“We will be careful,” Marcela said. “May the gods be with you and your families today.”

They continued onward.

“That didn’t sound good,” Len said.

“The dungeon essence must be transforming them into monsters,” Hump said. “We could be approaching another Tree of Damnation. With any luck, giant rats will be the worst of our troubles.”

“Why, what else could it be?” Celaine asked.

“Nothing good,” Marcela said. “When the Fallen Lands claimed Lastrograth, the tales speak of statues coming to life, furniture turned into mimics, and doppelgangers making it impossible to trust anyone.”

“We’re a long way off the situation in Lastrograth,” Bud said. “These warlocks may have done something to fill the streets with dungeon essence, but that doesn’t make it a dungeon. There is still hope.”

They approached the main street, the sound of fighting ahead of them becoming clear. They turned left at the corner, heading directly toward the white cliff. At a crossroad ahead, members of the Temple Guard had erected a quick fortification out of furniture from local stores and street stands. Surrounding them were rats. Lots and lots of giant, miasma spilling rats. Hump spotted adventurers amongst them, and a few Chosen on the far side of the fortification.

“Remain in formation,” Marcela said. “We’ll fight but save your arrows.”

Hump took a few stones from his pouch as they approached. The rats noticed them quickly, and a dozen turned their way. The creatures were waist height, with thick brown fur, and green mist rose from them like steam. Hump felt power from them. Not much, but these were no simple animals anymore. They’d been turned. As the creatures charged, Hump stopped and levelled his staff, gently throwing his handful of rocks ahead of him and catching them in a mist of bronze essence.

He envisioned four rats as targets. The bronze essence compressed around the stones, sinking into them. He filled them with power, and formed the spell in his mind.

“Rock Missiles.”

The stones arched forward, each one homing in on its target, fast as an arrow. Three struck true, piercing the skulls of the rat creatures, but the fourth missed.

Hump felt an explosion of cold from Bud. Frostfire exploded around his legs, and he leapt forward, surging toward the rats, his sword high overhead. He landed in an explosion of Frostfire, his new blessing sending five rats screeching to the sides. His blade found the sixth, carving the creature in two down the middle.

Around him, the others tore into the rats. Dylan beat them back with his staff, Aspect of the Bear enhancing his strength so that each blow threw the rats into the walls of buildings around them. Celaine swept through them like a patch of shadow, her shadowcat cloak billowing, her dagger finding its mark with ease. Emilia was beside her, wielding her rapier somehow even faster than Celaine’s blade. Marcela took out a group of them with a barrage of water droplets, while the rest of her party engaged with their own blessings. In less than a minute, two dozen rats now lay dead.

They reached the fortification and were hailed by a captain of the guard. “My thanks, adventurers.” A look of surprise flashed on her face as his eyes fell on Marcela. “Lady Daston.” He gave a deep nod.

“What’s the situation here, captain?” Marcela asked.

“We’re here on instruction of Fenella.” Hump recognised the name—it was the silver ranker that Roderick had instructed to remain on guard outside the Opera House. “We’ve instructed all citizens to return to their houses or go to the shelters. There’s a large number gathered on the guild campus where Lord Francis is in command of the defence.” The head of the adventurers’ guild branch in Sheercliff.

“Very good,” Marcela said. “Where is Fenella now?”

“One of those trees appeared in one of the food halls on Bakers Street,” she said. “It was overrun with undead. She and a number of bronze rankers are attempting to destroy the tree.”

“Thank you, captain. I’m afraid we can’t stay. We have a mission of our own to tend to.”

“Of course, my lady. If I may, do you know what’s going on? There’s been no end to the fighting.”

“Warlocks did this,” Marcela said. “The Trees of Damnation have appeared all over the city and are releasing dungeon essence into the streets. There is hope though—my mother, Sir Roderick, and Sir Ricard are fighting in the Upper City. We just need to hold on.”

“Oh, we’ll hold,” the guard said. “Now don’t let us keep you, my lady. Good luck, and may the gods guide your path.”

“And you,” Marcela said.

The dead were everywhere. Ordinary people ravaged by monsters. In places, the dead walked. Hump sensed the thickness of dungeon essence most strongly in those places. For the most part they avoided fights, though some small skirmishes were impossible to prevent. More than a few undead had attacked, but they made short work of them. Groups of undead were easy; it was the swarms of blood pigeons that were more challenging, swooping down at them with ravenous hunger and no regard for their own safety. Half killed themselves against Len’s barrier blessings, but the others were not so easy.

They passed a tavern where a Tree of Damnation poked out from the floorboards, filling up the dining hall. The furniture was positioned awkwardly on the road—mimics that revealed their teeth and tongues only as Hump and the others got close. Hump burned clear a path and the others finished off the job, leaving their charred remains behind on the street.

“We should destroy it,” Bud said.

“I don’t think we can,” Hump said. “We can only take on so much of the fighting. Either we remain in the Lower City and spend our effort here, or we spend it trying to reach the estate as planned. We need to pick our battle.”

“We already have,” Marcela said. “These trees are all over the city. One more won’t make a difference. We’re going for the big one.”

“How much further?” Celaine asked.

“We’re almost there,” Marcela said. “Come on.”

They were right beneath the cliff now. It was surprisingly bright here, the white rock reflecting the afternoon sun. Marcela led them down a street of large houses, with private guards stationed outside. They’d slowed down now as Marcela checked each of the houses for what she was looking for.

A pile of broken stone pieces lay on the floor ahead, gargoyle heads amongst them. Hump was pleased to see someone else had dealt with them first.

“Why do people design such creepy things?” Hump murmured. “If I ever get a castle, no gargoyles. In fact, nothing creepy. What is it with rich people and weird art.”

“Not the time, Hump,” Bud said. “Save the complaining about the habits of the rich until after the city is saved.”

“You know where you’re going, right?” Celaine asked Marcela.

“Yes,” Marcela said. “It’s been a while, but I’ll recognise it.”

Eventually, she came to a stop before the gates of a small estate with a tiny cottage at the back of a well-tended lawn. Hump wouldn’t have glanced its way if Marcela hadn’t drawn their attention to it. It was flanked on both sides by far more impressive manors, though he supposed for a secret passage, discretion was probably a good thing.

They entered the gated grounds and headed for the house.

Marcela gripped the handle. “By the will of Daston, I command you to open.”

There was a click, and she turned the handle. The door creaked open. Inside, the house was cramped and dusty, with cobwebs everywhere. What furniture there was had a dried out, weak look that wood took on after too many decades.

“Nice place,” Bud said.

“I’ve slept in worse,” Hump said.

“This house was always here,” Marcela said. “My family built it as the city grew and we needed to better conceal it. We’ve not frequented the place since but every generation we’re taught the path, just in case.” She headed for a door at the back. She opened it, and inside the far wall was the white rock of the cliff. “This is it.”

She pulled her dagger from her belt, cutting open her palm, and then pressing it to the wall. A formation activated beyond, and Hump sensed essence stir. A wave of power ran through the stone, filling the room with the sound of grating. The stones appeared to melt from the centre, moving to the side like quicksand over a hole. It widened, expanding into an arched entryway with a white stone corridor beyond.

“You didn’t mention that the passage went through the cliff,” Celaine said glumly.

“Is that a problem?” Marcela asked.

“I guess not,” she said.

Hump covered his smile—she’d always hated enclosed, underground spaces.

“Where does it come out?” he asked.

“The tower on our estate,” Marcela said. “This tunnel is almost as ancient as the cliff itself.” She lifted her chin and stepped inside. “Come on. We’ve got a long way to go.”

The door closed behind them, glyphs that Hump didn’t recognise appearing on the inside of the door. They appeared similar in design to god glyphs though he couldn’t say for sure. His spellbook didn’t recognise them.

With the door shut, the light of the white stone itself illuminated their path. Hump felt ancient magic within, so powerful, it must have been a remnant essence from when Osidium had first formed Sheercliff. They jogged up the pathway, soon finding steps. Surrounded by Chosen, and with Emilia being a martial, Hump was exhausting himself just trying to keep up. The steps spiralled up in a square staircase. Hump stopped counting steps at a thousand, and still they climbed. He breathed steadily, heart racing, taking each step as they came. Now wasn’t the time to slow down.

Eventually, they reached another wall, the same runes on its inner wall as those of the first. Marcela placed her hand on the inner circle and the door melted away once more. They stepped outside into the tower, a dim light coming in from a window by the small entrance. Marcela exited first, and Hump recognised the gardens of the Daston Estate. Stepping into the gardens, it was Hump’s first time catching a glimpse of Sheercliff as a whole, peering down at the city from the edge of the cliff.

Fire raged across entire streets, smoke rising in the air and obscuring much from view. Fighting was everywhere, too small to make out the details, but Hump saw blessings and magic in use. Bursts of light and power flaring amongst the city streets. Ant-sized people facing off against all sorts of monsters. There had to be dozens of trees poking out of houses, and shops, and emerging from the middle of streets. However many they’d discovered before, it was insignificant. The warlocks had planted their seeds everywhere, and now they were reaping the fruit.

“What are we going to do against that?” Emilia murmured.

Hump turned, knowing what he would find. His gaze swept over the damaged estate grounds, the lawn pockmarked with holes, and the walls damaged but not yet fallen. His eyes fell on the trunk of the tree, towering over the nearby buildings, its trunk as thick as the Tree of Damnation in the opera house had been tall. Hump tilted his head back, following the tree up to the canopy. Essence poured from the gaping rift in its trunk, so thick, Hump felt it on his skin. Part of him liked it, a thrill surging through him at so much power at his fingertips. He suppressed that side of himself ruthlessly.

“Do you really have artifacts that will make a dent in that?” Hump asked.

“I hope so,” Marcela said. “We’ll soon find out. Let’s get inside through the training grounds.”

They headed inside, pushing through the doors and into the main halls where a gathering of servants stared at them fearfully before recognition entered their eyes. Hump’s gaze swept over the room, noting the golems from the training grounds acting as guards. Another secret weapon of the Daston’s.

“Lady Marcela,” an old man greeted, approaching and extending a concerned hand.

Marcela took it in both of hers. “George, it’s so good to see you safe. My mother…?”

He shook his head. “She went to fight. I’ve heard no news since. Why are you here, dear? We were not expecting you back.”

Marcela’s eyes turned serious. “I need to get inside the vault.”

“Go,” he said. “We will be fine.”

She smiled fondly, and then headed downstairs to a basement beneath the house, the walls made of the white stone of Sheercliff. Another stone door barred their way, more obvious than the secret passages, but much the same. This time Marcela just pricked her finger and touched it, and the doors opened.

Hump didn’t know where to look first. Shelves of books formed a small library to the left side of the door, while to the right, weapon and armour racks lined the wall, many empty, but others filled with gleaming weapons. Cabinets and tables spread out throughout the centre of the room, stacked with spellstones, essence stones, jewellery, and all sorts of artifacts. The air was thick with essence, and the ancient power of Osidium.

“Arm yourself with whatever suits you,” Marcela said. “My family doesn’t like to leave much sitting in here unused, so I’m afraid the choice is rather limited.”

Limited, Hump thought. He’d never seen so much treasure, not even in the gorger’s treasury. And Marcela had just given him permission to take some.