"Be dead, damn you!" screamed the dwarf.
His hammer crashed down on the creature's head. The mummy's empty, dried skull shattered to pieces, leaving only tattered wrappings above its shoulders. But the corpse kept clawing at him, groping for chinks in his armor. Brek knew that the fight could only end with either him or the mummy truly and completely dead.
As its dead hand blindly reached for him again, Brek swiped the warhammer sideways against the desiccated creature's elbow. The forearm broke away and hung by the wrappings. A succession of quick blows reduced the stumbling creature to a heap of feebly twitching bones and wrappings.
Ember zipped after Brek. She was glad for the dwarf's influence over the undead, but she wanted to deal with the monks herself. Without thinking about it, she selected an advancing red mask and ran at him full speed. Even among those of equal talent in the Order, Emher was known for her speed. Before her enemy quite knew where she was, she was hammering him with shi kune. He gasped and collapsed, but his friends were already drawing their net around Ember.
She jumped away from the first monk and whirled on the others, slipping between the sweeping hands of a scythelike strike. A back-kick tapped that man's head, sending him reeling. Two others closed in, spinning their own lethal kicks, but she rolled between them. A second later she was up and outside the broken ring. Two out of seven were dazed and stumbling.
Ember was barely set in her stance, bahng ah jah se, before three of the monks were on her. They tumbled forward in an impressive display of martial threat. She did not retreat; instead she leaped straight in the air at the last moment, scissoring her feet in a sharp arc that connected with the heads of two men. Using their heads as steps, she launched a spectacular flying elbow-strike against the third. The crack of her hardened joint against his skull dropped him instantly.
Two of the seven remained on their feet. The man she had attacked first with shi kune also was struggling back to his feet, but the others were clearly done.
From behind them, Sosfane yelled, "Get her, or your ineptitude will doom your souls before Nerull!"
Steeling themselves, they advanced. Ember smiled and crooked a finger.
Hennet stood half in the chamber, gazing in awe at Ember's martial display. At this rate, he thought, they'll all be dead before Nebin gets up his nerve! Then he noticed Aganon. As Sosfane angrily ordered her monks forward, Aganon's gaze narrowed on Hennet, and the sorcerer glared back.
Aganon smirked and said, "Small world, no? I told you I would have my revenge. Now, I can simply kill you. Rules won't protect you here. I'll have the Duel Arcane trophy in the end."
He drew a pale wand from his shirt. It was thin but jagged, like a stylized bolt of lightning.
Hennet said nothing, but held forth his own wand. It was golden, and its light was not tainted by the evil illumination of the chamber.
"Another duel, then," the sorcerer said. "It will end the same way, except today you'll be losing your life along with the match."
Nebin decided that Hennet could deal with Aganon; he had once before, after all. Brek was the one who needed aid. As he demolished the second mummy, the abyssal slug was already bearing down on the dwarf. Nebin raised his hands to fling a spell at the slug when three more red-masks sprinted into the chamber. All bore themselves like monks and moved to join those menacing Ember. She was already outnumbered, so Nebin turned to face them instead. He had to neutralize all three of them somehow. The gnome reviewed his magical arsenal.
When in doubt, stick with what you know, he decided.
Nebin gestured and uttered arcane syllables, manifesting a twisting pattern of subtle, shifting color directly in front of the red-masked men. One cenobite ran through it without noticing, but the other two stumbled to a stop, staring in complete fascination at the pattern.
I've snared you, you bastards! Nebin exulted.
He concentrated on the pattern, weaving it with new variations of color and complexity. The combinations thrilled him. A few greens, some purple. It was a sight to behold.
The red-mask who hadn't stopped hesitated when he found himself suddenly alone. Glancing around, he saw the gnome at the edge of the room. Nebin shrank back, frantically sputtering a spell of shielding as the cenobite charged him. The spell triggered just as a fist rocketed toward his face. Nebin squealed, his magical shield flared blue as it deflected the blow, and the red-mask yelped in pain over his broken knuckles.
"You know not who you face!" roared Nebin, trying to make himself sound intimidating as he groped for a scroll of staying, or his wand, or anything that could disable the attacker quickly.
The cenobite laughed grimly, then swept his leg out parallel to the floor, neatly tripping Nebin. The floor met the gnome's face with a sickening jolt. Nebin scrambled to roll over, and half succeeded before the red-mask struck again.
His hands whirled too quickly for the gnome to follow. Before Nebin really understood his peril, he was struck four times. For him, the battle was over.
Brek Gorunn swore. The damned slug was just looking at him. The dwarf gritted his teeth, anticipating anything.
It piped, "Flee, priest, unless you would die in a place where your pitiful god will not hear your screams."
As it spoke, the creature's eyes flared red. A compulsion washed over Brek Gorunn, pushing him to drop everything and flee to save his life. Gritting his teeth and groaning with the effort, he fought the urge. A cleric of the Dwarffather would not be bested by such a miserable trick! Brek had walked in many deep places of the world and faced real terrors unafraid; he would not run now, demon or no.
A red-mask hammered him from the side; the dwarf barely deflected the blows with his iron shield. Behind the cenobite lay Nebin's crumpled body. The dwarf looked away from the demon slug. There would be time enough to deal with the fiend after he showered the monk with the Dwarffather's "blessings."
The magical oil seemed almost to guide the hammer on its own and multiply the force of its blows. Instead of grasping the weapon by its handle, he gripped the stout leather thong and whirled it like a sling. The shrieking hammer was like a hurricane, threatening death at the slightest, glancing blow. Now it was Brek who advanced and his foe who was suddenly uncertain.
The red-mask impressed Brek with his bravery by deflecting the first three hammer blows, but deflecting a whirling hammer with a hand or elbow has its price. The cenobite tried to regain the initiative with a flurry of counterattacks, only to learn too late that his wrist and elbow were already shattered.
The dwarf growled from beneath his beard, "Your death god is weak!"
He pounded the sentiment home by bashing the man's face with his shield. Its clang against his skull was the last sound the cenobite ever heard.
Brek spun around, wondering where the abyssal child had gone.
Three cenobites lay senseless at Ember's feet. Three more maneuvered to renew their attack against her, calling out instructions to each other as they circled. Behind them, Sosfane watched, her eyes glittering. Ember had no time to wonder why Sosfane waited. The three cenobites rushed her with perfect timing.
Defiantly yelling, "For the Hand!" Ember pivoted on her heel and thrust her palm into the first red-mask's neck.
Cartilage parted under her ferocious blow. Someone clubbed her but she feinted away, drawing her attackers on with her movement. Doubling back with a cartwheel kick, she caught a second under the chin. The impact was enough to hurl him backward, unconscious.
The last monk paused, taking stock, as Ember completed her cartwheel. More cautious with his own safety than his former compatriots had been, this one adopted a defensive posture. As Ember advanced, the cenobite retreated, step for step. Reluctant to expend time she might not have, Ember coiled her body, then thrust herself forward with both her fists out and together. Her full-body blow caught the last cenobite squarely on the chest. Ribs snapped, and the man fled, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.