From the shadows, they came.

  At their head walked the rgest, tall and imposing, towering over the rest. A female. A rare sight beyond their tribal territories, even more so in a dungeon like this. After all, in gnoll society, the females ruled. They were bigger than the males, stronger, and meaner. So they had little reason to leave their nds to serve as hired muscle for some dungeon in another world.

  Her fur was a deep, sooty charcoal, nearly blending into the shadows from where she emerged. A thick, reinforced pauldron protected her left shoulder, and around her neck hung a gorget of dulled steel decorated with small bones, yellowed teeth, and what looked like a freshly cut human finger. Her glowing eyes scanned Noi’ri’s group with contempt, and each shift of her gaze lifted her expression to a new height of disgust. First Noi’ri, then Cedric, then Lucian, and Fiora most of all.

  To her left stalked a gnoll with rust-colored fur, patchy in pces, his pelt marred by a crisscross of old wounds and fresh scars. His armor was cobbled together from mismatched parts, shattered steel pting shed together over hardened leather, much of it stripped from fallen foes. He twitched as he moved, fingers tightening and loosening around the grips of his twin axes. He breathed fast and sharp, nostrils fring with anticipation. Clearly, he was waiting for the word, the command that would set him loose.

  The third one slouched, shrinking himself behind the others. He would be taller than the rest if he stood straight, but he chose to bend his spine in a submissive curve, as if he didn’t dare to offend the queen standing next to him. He had a jagged notch that split his nose, and his left ear was gone entirely, leaving behind a ragged stump. He wore no armor. Just a filthy rag across his waist, and a crude, barbed spear clenched in his hands.

  And then came the st. White at the muzzle, white on the chest. Cloudy eyes that had seen too many winters. Gods, he was ancient. Much older than Noi’ri himself, and that was saying something. What is rarer in a dungeon, he wondered, a female gnoll, or one that should’ve died ten years ago?

  It was not hard to guess what brought the old gnoll to this pce: his tribe had probably cast him out. Too slow, too feeble, no longer useful. So he chose the dungeon; better to die swinging a bde than starving in the wild. But the real question wasn’t why he wanted to be here, but why the Dungeon Core wanted him. Why pick a gnoll one step away from the grave, when it could summon someone younger, with more strength to spare?

  The old one limped forward, his steps uneven as he leaned heavily on his worn wooden staff. Slowly, he approached the party, and to Noi’ri’s surprise, the hulking female stepped aside with a grunt, clearing the way for the elder. He came to a stop before Noi’ri and gave a half nod.

  “T’harek, of the Bckhide.”

  Noi’ri blinked, momentarily taken aback, before returning the gesture. “Noi’ri, of the Moonscar.”

  He hadn’t forgotten the way gnolls traded names, of course. But usually, it was the pack leader who did the talking, and judging by sheer size and posture, anyone would have assumed it was the towering female who led this group. But no, the old one was in charge.

  Noi’ri shot the female gnoll a gnce. She was staring at T’harek’s back, suppressing a growl. She didn’t yield out of respect, that much was clear. He could see the tightness in her jaw, the restrained twitch of her clenched teeth. No, she hated it. But she yielded all the same.

  There was only one expnation he could think of. The Dungeon Core had decided to make this old, limping gnoll the leader of the group, and the others had no choice but to obey.

  “What do you want, T’harek? The dungeon sent you to fight us?”

  The old gnoll gave a slow shake of the head. “No, we came on our own.”

  Made sense. If the dungeon really wanted to get them, then four gnolls were not enough. On the other hand, if this was merely a probing attack, then four gnolls would be too many. The Core should have used something more expendable, like goblins, to test the waters.

  “What for?”

  “We’re bored,” said the one with the twin axes, grinning wide to reveal rows of jagged teeth. “Not a lot of intruders tely. Those cowards have been scared shitless ever since the ballista incident.”

  Ballista? Was he talking about the giant shaft that had impaled the poor bastard at the entrance? It had come from a ballista? Noi’ri frowned. What the hell was a siege weapon doing in a bloody maze? The damn bolt should have hit a wall ten paces in.

  “You talk too much, Gorh,” the old gnoll said with a low growl, before turning back to Noi’ri. “We caught a strange scent, one that belonged to one of us, mingling with those of the humans. So we came to introduce ourselves.”

  “You’ve introduced yourself, now what?”

  “Why are you with them?” the female asked, her eyes gleaming with savage amusement. “Sve, maybe? If that’s the case, you’re lucky today. Time to break your chains. Kill them with us. Join our pack.”

  “They’re my friends,” Noi’ri said ftly.

  After a stunned silence, she erupted into a guffaw. Gorh, the rust-colored gnoll wielding two axes, threw his head back and joined in, while the hunched one hesitated, eyes darting nervously between the female and the old gnoll, before he eventually caved and added his voice to the chorus.

  “That’s a good joke,” the female said once her ughter died down. “But if you’re serious, then it’s just pathetic. Well, to be fair, it’s not that we’re any better. We’re also—”

  “Shut up, Varka,” the old gnoll cut in sharply.

  They’re also what?

  T’harek let out a heavy sigh. “Listen, Noi’ri of the Moonscar. I don’t really want to fight you. But they do, and I can’t stop them. After all, it’s our job to defend the dungeon. So, here’s a compromise: turn back the way you came, and we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

  “Hey, we can’t just let them get away without paying the toll!” the female protested. “Each human leaves a finger. That’s the price.”

  “Shut up, Varka.”

  “At least the bitch’s finger.”

  “I said, shut up!” the old gnoll barked.

  Noi’ri, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. “If you don’t want to fight, then don’t get in our way. Otherwise, bloodshed is unavoidable.”

  “Wait!” Cedric stepped forward with a raised hand. “Let’s just... do what he said. We go back. Try again another day.”

  Noi’ri turned to him. “And then what, young Cedric? When we come back tomorrow, they’re still here. If not them, then other gnolls. And if we stop coming to this dungeon, there will be gnolls in other dungeons as well. Are you pnning to turn away every time you see one of my kind for the rest of your adventuring life?”

  “But...”

  At that instant, Noi’ri realized he had been too optimistic. He had thought four gnolls could not pose a threat to his party. He was wrong, dead wrong. The three young pups behind him had grown up in Beryn, a city where gnolls coexisted with humans. For all their lives, gnolls had been friends. They had forgotten, or perhaps never truly understood, that gnolls were originally savage warriors summoned to this world to kill in the name of the dungeons. Sure, they had heard the stories. But knowing isn’t the same as seeing, and seeing isn’t the same as doing. They might raise their weapons if cornered, but could they bring themselves to deliver the killing blow? They could hesitate at the st moment, and that was a mistake that would cost them their lives. And a risk he couldn’t afford.

  This was not a four-on-four fight. It was four-on-one.

  So be it.

  Noi’ri exhaled slowly. The course of action became crystal clear in his mind. If killing was what he needed to do, then better to strike first and strike fast.

  With no warning, the curved bde hissed free from its leather scabbard and sang through the air in a lethal arc, aimed straight at T’harek’s throat.

  But the old gnoll moved like lightning.

  His staff whipped up, wood meeting steel mid-swing with a sharp crack, and the blow was parried almost effortlessly. Before Noi’ri could blink, the counterattack came. The staff whirled, a blur of weathered oak, and struck his arm, hard enough to numb it to the fingertips. The sword almost fell from his grip.

  One exchange was all it took to know the truth: the old gnoll was far more formidable than what his feeble appearance might suggest. This was bad. If the others joined in while he was held in pce by the old bastard, he would be minced meat. So he leapt back, increasing the distance between them.

  T’harek didn’t press the advantage, probably because of his limp, but Gorh was already coming, twin axes carving the air in vicious arcs.

  Noi’ri deflected the first, steel cnging against chipped iron, and sidestepped to dodge the second that swung toward his knees. Too slow. Gorh’s muscles bulged, but his movements were sluggish and clumsy compared to the old gnoll’s. Noi’ri stopped tracking the axes. Instead, he locked onto his opponent’s bloodshot eyes, reading the intent behind them. He saw the attack before it even began. His feet skidded on the stone as he pivoted sharply to the right. The other gnoll blundered past, his axes cutting nothing but air, while Noi’ri’s curved bde already swept upward, cleaving through bone and flesh.

  Gorh’s head slid off his shoulders, severed clean. For a heartbeat, the body stood upright, a geyser of blood spraying from the stump of its neck. Then it crumpled. The head rolled across the floor, jaws frozen in a snarl of rage, until it settled nose-down in the dust.

  No time to celebrate, though.

  A hulking mass rammed into Noi’ri’s side. His sword cttered to the ground as he staggered backward, his wounded arm screaming as he tried to brace himself.

  Varka.

  The female gnoll loomed, fangs bared, cws curved like sickles. She didn’t need any other weapon; her whole body was a weapon. She charged again, moving far faster than her size suggested, and in the blink of an eye, she was already next to him. But instead of impaling his torso, she seized his colr, hauled him upright like a ragdoll, and hurled him over her shoulder, smming his back into the earth.

  Ah, the type who liked to py with her food.

  Not that it would help much. Pain shot through his ribs. Two, maybe three, had been broken. Varka sat on him, her weight crushing his hips. Her jaws yawned wide, rancid breath washing over his face as strings of saliva dripped onto his neck.

  But before she could rip out his throat, the female gnoll froze. Lucian’s handiwork, obviously. Noi’ri had been around the boy long enough to recognize his magic, and he seized the opportunity without hesitation.

  His hands shot up, fingers digging into the coarse fur of Varka’s muzzle, one palm wedging under her upper teeth, the other cmping down on her lower jaw. Then he twisted. Her guttural roar turned into a strangled gasp, her breath hitching in her throat. He twisted harder. His arms burned as he forced her jaws open wider and wider. She thrashed, cws raking his chest, but his grip was unrelenting. With a feral grunt, he wrenched his wrists with all of his might, and a sickening crack split the air as her jawbone snapped like dry twigs. Varka’s head jerked sideways at a grotesque angle, her neck twisting with it. Her body convulsed in one final spasm before she crumpled on top of him, the weight of the lifeless body pressing him into the ground.

  Noi’ri shoved the corpse aside, ribs creaking as he struggled to his knees. Ignoring the blood dripping down his chest from the cw marks, he swept his gaze across the surroundings, searching for the next target.

  Cedric was fighting the hunched gnoll, if that could even be called a fight.

  The boy was on the defensive, his shield raised high, teeth clenched, but his sword stayed frozen at his side, unused. He kept stepping back, blocking, deflecting. This whole charade should have been over in seconds. Against such an opponent, one strike would have been enough. One swing, and the gnoll would have hit the dirt. But his sword didn’t move. Couldn’t.

  On the other hand, the hunched gnoll was having a grand time. He bared yellowed teeth in a jagged grin, sneering with every jab, attacking with an ugly enthusiasm. A cur that had been bullied his whole life had suddenly found someone he could bully. Clearly, he was relishing every moment of it.

  Letting out a sigh, Noi’ri picked up his sword from the ground and then lunged forward, gritting his teeth against the fire in his ribs. The other gnoll spun, eyes widening, raising his spear in a panicked block.

  It didn’t matter.

  The curved bde descended, effortlessly shattered the wooden shaft, then carved through colrbone, flesh, and organs, before exiting the body through its hip, cleaving the gnoll diagonally into two sagging halves. Entrails spilled out like a grotesque tapestry, blood gushing from severed arteries and painting the walls in a warm crimson arc.

  The three young pups just stood there, their faces drained of color, their hands trembling. Fiora’s crossbow hung limp in her grasp, bolt unfired. Lucian’s lips parted as he gasped for breath. And Cedric, he was rigid, eyes cast down, fixed on the corpse of the gnoll he never struck. They had fought before. They had killed before. But this was the first time they looked like this.

  Noi’ri turned to the final enemy still standing. “T’harek,” he asked, “do you still want to fight?”

  The old gnoll didn’t answer. He only stared at the bodies on the ground. His packmates, who now y still, broken and scattered. A deep breath escaped him as he closed his eyes. Then, without a word, he tightened his grip on his staff and sank into a low stance.

  “I can’t walk to you,” he said. “So come at me.”

  Why? What was the fucking point? The fight was over. He could just walk away. They both could just walk away. And why had the old bastard come here at all, if he didn’t want to fight?

  And then, the answer came to him.

  He, of all people, should have known. If the three pups decided to come, then what else could the old gnoll do? Of course, he was going to follow them, no matter where they went.

  Noi’ri’s heart clenched. Slowly, silently, he shifted into a combat stance of his own.

  Then he charged.

  The staff snapped upward, coming straight toward his face. He jerked his head aside to dodge, but not fast enough, and oak smmed into his temple. Stars exploded before his eyes as he stumbled, but his bde had already found his mark, steel punching deep into T’harek’s chest. The old gnoll colpsed, blood frothing at his lips.

  Noi’ri blinked away the dizziness. As his vision slowly returned, he looked down to find his opponent sprawled on the stone floor, his torso shuddering with wet, ragged breaths.

  He hefted his sword. “You must’ve been a great warrior in your prime, T’harek.”

  The old gnoll grinned, teeth red. “You’re... a great warrior yourself. Honor... to fight you... Noi’ri of the Moonscar.”

  “Likewise, T’harek of the Bckhide.”

  Then, the bde came down.

  Noi’ri lurched toward the wall and slumped against the cold stones, his knees giving way as his sword cttered beside him. His limbs were heavy, his head throbbed like a drumbeat, his ribs burned with each ragged inhale, and the gashes across his chest now fred with raw, living fire.

  Lucian scrambled to his side. “Don’t move,” the boy muttered.

  “Wasn’t pnning to,” he said with a low growl.

  As the young mage cast a spell to stop the bleeding, Noi’ri gnced at the other two pups. Cedric and Fiora looked terrible, their shoulders hunched, their weapons dangling uselessly from their arms.

  No one said a word. Well, what was there left to say? It had been his idea in the first pce, hadn’t it? Let reality do the talking. And reality had spoken, with cws and teeth and blood on the stones. The dungeon didn’t give a damn about their dreams of glory or their tales of heroes, so if they didn’t have the heart to kill what crawled out of the dark, then maybe they weren’t cut out for this life after all.

  Get hard or get out, that was a choice they had to make.