Deacon was moving at speed through the underbrush. Branches and thorny pricker bushes not slowing him down at all as he phased right through them. The others were not so lucky. Since they recently had all that rain, the forest was extra lush. The sky was entering the twilight hours, so visibility was another factor slowing their mad dash away. The Deep Dwellers had decent night vision but Deacon’s soul sight only covered fifteen feet.

The giant was hot on their heels. One step for it covered a great distance and smashed several trees each time. If it kept chasing them there would be an easy to follow trail for any other monster in the area. Deacon lost sight of several members of the hunting party before he heard shouts and the ringing of steel. As he popped through another tree, he appeared in a small clearing where that woman from the pile of Deep Dwellers was grappling with Uncle Jared.

“Let go of me you crazy bitch. Can’t you see The Mastodon is coming!” he screamed.

“Where are the twins? Did they complete their wright of passage?” she asked.

“Sorry, no time,” Deacon said as he clotheslined her off Uncle Jared at full speed.

The Dweller woman flipped end over end before slamming into a nearby tree feet up. They could hear the cracking of bone before she slumped to the ground. Then Deacon heard the snapping of branches and turned to see the two others from the pile charging him with makeshift wooden spears. As they closed on him, he grabbed at both spears, and they reacted as he anticipated. His palms were pointing down and the tips of each spear shot into the ground at an alarming speed. This launched both Dwellers into the air and they crashed into the branches of the same tree. One fell out of the tree, cracking his head open on a sharp rock while the other remained on a high branch. Too Deacon’s eyes it was like they both successfully pole vaulted.

“How strong are you?” asked Uncle Jared as Deacon helped him up to his feet.

“Not important. Which way to safety?” asked Deacon.

“This way toward the city. Shit, look out—” said Uncle Jarred before a boulder the size ten yards around came flying into the clearing.

Deacon snatched up Jared and bolted into the trees as the rock slammed down. Now he had to be careful as the Dweller insisted on being put down and he couldn’t phase while holding him. Deacon used Spectral Jump to clear some smaller trees and get some distance before placing the man down.

“I’m a ranger. I’ll be fine traveling through the forest. Have you seen the others?” asked Jarred.

“No. We all kind of scattered at the beginning of the chase. It boggles my mind that it hasn’t overtaken us yet,” commented Deacon.

“It’s nighttime and it can only use its sense of smell. The Mastodon is not a natural hunter. Primarily an omnivore. It will eat plants more often than not, but it must have seen us standing by its dead brethren. That left it ornery. Smell is not very precise and there are a lot of Dwellers out here I suspect,” Jarred explained as he effortlessly moved through the environment.

Deacon almost commented on how well he was navigating the area but thought better of it. There was a loud rumble just before Deacon received the regional event message. He could see that Jarred was reading it as well.

“What does that mean?” asked Deacon.

“The city is under attack and based on the message it could spell the end,” said Jared solemnly.

“No, I’ve seen a slate message like that before. Don’t worry, Typhus Bloodbeard has been preparing. I meant that comment about a lot of Dwellers being out here,” clarified Deacon.

“Typhus Bloodbeard? You know the third son of House Bloodbeard? You are full of surprises. It goes back to that note you gave me. To disrupt the migratory pattern of the giants you’d need to setup pit traps and landslides between the peaks to keep them going on their normal nomadic routes. That is a large undertaking. I’d say no less than two hundred hands to make it work. Not just for this hunt either, they must have been on a long term contract. I can’t for the life of me figure out why? Even if the twins themselves failed there would be another elevated in their place,” mused Uncle Jared.

“How far do you think this thing will track us?” asked Deacon while slipping through some bushes.

“I’m not sure. A regular giant would have gotten distracted by something shiny by now. In any event we can’t lead it back to the city. Thousands could die. If it keeps following us, we need to take it to the pit falls. That would at least deter it from giving chase.

“What are the pit falls?” asked Deacon.

“What are the pit falls? You had to pass through them to even get into the game preserve. Wait, how did you get up here?” queried Jared.

“Climbed the cliffside,” answered Deacon.

“Climbed the cliffside? Climbed the cliffside!” sputtered Jared skeptically.

“The pit falls?” Deacon asked, steering the conversation back to useful information.

“Right. We have setup both magical and rudimentary protections from anything approaching the Jinkbon district from the mountain range. The largest one is a pit fall that just drops into the open cavern about half a mile from the Memorial to the fallen. Nothing survives that,” explained Jared as they encountered another member of the hunting party.

As one of the crossbowmen from the giant fight closed in on them waiving, a tree folded over on top of him. It smashed him into a meat and blood paste as a golden skinned hand parted the tree line. A trunk as thick as an ocean liners anchor chain snuffled into the clearing. Jared took off in the opposite direction and Deacon followed suit.

“Push!” yelled Typhus as the first line of Goblins clashed with the defenders.

The front line consisted of two rows of Deep Dwellers. The front row held shields out in a defensive measure while the second row held shields above their heads. The Goblins sent out their flyers as an opening salvo. They fired their crossbows to great effect. Some combatants received glancing blows between the cracks of the shield wall. Then came the charge. The first two charges were rebuked, and the corpses lined the area in front of the defenders. Mages launched a huge, spiked ball of ice to land in the goblin’s midst. Then a cryomancer manipulated the ball sending it smashing through their back line like they were playing beautiful Katamari. They were taking massive losses, but the goblins just kept pouring out of the Deep Cavern.

Alfred, true to his word, was exchanging blows with cyclops. The cyclops was easily five yards taller than the war golem, but Alfred had spent enough time in this body for his dimensional membrane to infuse every inch. He bobbed and weaved just like Deacon did in his sparring sessions with Sun Wu. Much like the carriage and the clockwork gentlemen, he had full control. The downside was he was just manipulating it like a puppet. He couldn’t bring any of the potent abilities of the ancient weapon to bear. His external interaction upgrade didn’t allow him to cross that barrier.

“Master, I was told that the old defenders were inoperable. Can you do nothing about that thing?” asked Pumus as he prepared the altar.

“These were great marvels of the Dwarven people. It was said only those with the War Golem Rider class could even use them. None of them survived the last battle. I am shocked one is still functioning. I’ve attempted to depower its runes, but they are not even active. That should be impossible. I suggest you finish the altar of Hipag and let the Berith manage the war golem. Without activating the weapons, it is just a large suit of armor,” replied the Dwarf seated on his liter made of bones.

The cyclops dipped low and grabbed at the golem’s leg in an attempt to bring it down. Alfred lifted his right leg up slightly and flicked his foot out from the knee down to kick the cyclops in the face. It roared in displeasure as it stumbled back. That stumble crushed even more goblins as the cyclops fell back. Then Alfred felt a subtle thrumming coming from the direction of the open doorway. There was a tall Goblin praying over a bone altar. It was spraying a dark red substance all over it and bowing its head up and down. That was all the attention Alfred could spare as the cyclops ran full speed at him. The monster buried its right shoulder into Alfred’s chest and looped his arms around his waist. Then it heaved with all its might. The War Golem lifted off the ground. Alfred’s arm with the spear in it was pinned to his side. He couldn’t use it to strike and had to use his left fist to bash down on top of the cyclops’ head. Its grip loosened a little, but it continued to hold on. After a few minutes of holding the War Golem in a bear hug, the cyclops realized it wasn’t doing any damage to it and threw it to the side. This managed to slam Alfed into a weakened section of the cavern wall. Large stones began to fall on top of the War Golem.

The debris from the partial collapse smashed more Goblins before the stones halted in midair. One of the House Bloodbeard mages was launching the rocks into the horde around Alfred. They even managed to pelt some stones off of the cyclops. That proved to be a mistake as the one great eye zeroed in on the defenders. It began to run toward them only to be tripped up by the shaft of the spear Alfred still held. Alfred’s right leg was trapped under the initial fall of the rubble. He was down on that knee with the left firmly planted on the ground. The Goblins had already begun throwing ropes over that leg to keep the War Golem in place. Then it sounded like a pressure bubble popping and all the Goblins eyes began to glow red. The same color as the cyclops.

The Goblins hit the defenders like a title wave. The shield wall broke and a fierce melee began. Typhus and several of the House Bloodbeard defenders began jumping through shadows and assassinating goblin leaders. Even that didn’t slow the tide. After jumping back behind his lines, Typhus called out to Breem getting a frowning headshake. He then swore under his breath as the screams of dying Deep Dwellers reached his ears. The cyclops had gotten back up and was heading this way. He gripped the hilt of his blade in a white knuckle grip before calling a retreat.

“Back to the fort. Retreat,” called Typhus as his line broke.