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  [Sigurd]

  They entered the rain forest, tired and frightened. Well, not afraid per se, but on edge at the very least. Vigilant, guarded and suspicious. What was hiding in those trees?

  Sigurd didn’t like the look of them. Immediately upon exciting the swamp level, the feelings that the stairs had exuded had put him on edge. They had no discernible difference to those of the previous floors, but something was more foreboding, perhaps it was the increased mana concentration as they descended but whatever it was it set him on edge.

  Logically, Sigurd knew he should be fine. They should be fine. He was in the company of experienced adventurers that delved new dungeons frequently. Nothing had really troubled them as of yet and why would this floor be any different? It wouldn’t. it couldn’t. Yet he couldn’t dislodge the thought that they were stepping from the frying pan and into the fire.

  Extremely dense jungle abutted the exit and though they could see a small clearing ahead, they had had to climb over the buttress roots of the trees for a good ten metres before reaching the clearing.

  Sigurd was beginning to feel that it was a standard feature that the dungeon had instituted. A staging area for them to set up in. The first floor had an initial clearing before the long grasses began. The second floor had the tree tops, and the third floor had the area around the waterfall and inside the sandbank. Now this time, although they had to climb around a bit, they reached a clearing where they could gather their thoughts: admittedly they could be attacked from behind, the dense trees capable of hiding a foe, but the clearing was a great help anyway.

  Hopefully, it would continue to do so, it was very useful.

  Sigurd suspected that in later levels, it would not be the case. The dungeon would soon realise there was no benefit to giving them time to prepare. Everything about this dungeon felt more intelligent than other dungeons, something about the way it had cultivated the ecosystems and designed the floors as one whole thing felt, purposeful, perhaps that was what had set his nerves off.

  “Does this dungeon feel more intelligent that other ones?” he asked the others.

  “Um how so?”

  “Well, the clearing once again, like a staging area, the design of the rooms as a whole ecosystem and the general ambiance seems so consistent, the quiet woodland, the serene grasses on the first floor the noisy swamp with the pools just murky and deep enough to set us off. Everything just feels more intelligently designed. It sets off my nerves far more than any other I’ve been in.” Sigurd elaborated.

  “You know, I think I agree, there’s been something I couldn’t put my finger on, that aside from the cavern style makes this place feel different.” Said Jenna

  “No, I feel you too, it’s like a whole realm beneath the ground,” commented Lorelei.

  “Yeah, it’s like being out in the open world but yet still stifling and claustrophobic, it sets me off too.” Kael replied.

  “Glad it’s not only me then”

  “Nope” said Jackson.

  Sigurd felt a lot better.

  “Just means we need to be more careful, if you’re right and this place is more intelligent, then we need to be on the lookout for designs and traps that may be unusual or even the way the vegetation has grown to funnel us in particular directions.” Sebastien said, warning them.

  That was a very good pick-up Sigurd thought. He wouldn’t have thought about how they could potentially be being shepherded about.

  Looking out over the rainforest from the clearing was daunting. From the soft, green grass and the firm, clear ground of the clearing in which they stood, to the matted, tangled, nest of branches that wove in and out of each other like a tapestry. A spider’s web waiting for the fly. They were the fly.

  Looming, like a monolithic machine of some unknown purpose, it waited. Waited for them. Sigurd shivered, feeling the tension like a rush of cold air along his spine.

  Stepping into the forest was a nerve-wracking endeavour, but like swimming in cold water, it was best to jump in quickly.

  Although it was the best choice, that didn’t mean it was easy. What became apparent quite quickly was how tough the journey was. The army of trees, vines, shrubs and mud forced them to slow to a crawl, battling for each metre of progress.

  All the foliage would have to be hacked through with their axes. Not the purpose of a battle axe but it served to clear the path well enough.

  It would need a professional touch up when they were done chopping through the woody environment. The soon to be dulled edge beyond his sharpening skills, but hopefully not beyond the skills of Tarran, the Littlebrook blacksmith, it was just a hobby and weapon smithing was significantly harder than making horseshoes.

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  Once the treeline to the clearing was passed, the world seemed to come alive. Like the swamp, the ambiance was one of life. It buzzed and chirped and croaked and growled so much so that Sigurd thought that perhaps it was the very vegetation they chopped through that was alive.

  It wasn’t.

  He checked. Several times.

  But it felt like it, nonetheless.

  It kept him on guard, the constant vigilance wearing at his brain as nothing sprang out at them. Sigurd took a few calming breaths and focused his mind.

  The floor was tough, both in terms of the physical movement of chopping their way through, and the mental strain of the rainforest environment.

  You knew there was going to be an attack, you knew it was going to come as a surprise, you knew to be on edge, yet the absence of such attacks played havoc with him and the others alike.

  The buzzing insects and constant barrage of sounds took all of your attention as you snapped around to track it focusing on this and that, your mind in a nervous flurry. At least in the swamp you could see around you, but here in the rainforest it seemed like danger could lurk around any of the trees and shrubs. Sigurd didn’t like it. It was far worse than the swamp.

  But, on the other hand, at least there were no clouds of midges. So on balance it was about equal to the swamp as an environment he would like to spend time in. As in, not at all.

  Nothing dangerous ever came out of the trees along their path, nor the shadows that clung like clothing to their wooden skin.

  They didn’t erupt from the ground or fall from the sky. They didn’t stand waiting for them in clearings or hidden in ambushes, they just weren’t there. But, of course they were. There was something waiting for them, of that Sigurd was sure. It was inconceivable that the floor was empty.

  Unless it wasn’t finished yet. Yes, perhaps that was it.

  As if mirroring his own thoughts, the others spoke up.

  “Do you think this is the last level. We’ve encountered no monsters so perhaps it’s not finished?” Jenna queried, hope filling her voice.

  “I doubt it Jenna. I have a feeling there’s more to this dungeon than we’ve seen. A lot more, keep your guard up everyone, just because we’ve seen nothing yet doesn’t mean it’s not coming.”

  “I know, I know. You don’t have to say it Seb.”

  “I do. Got to make it fresh. Keeping you lot alive is a damned difficult task, especially Kael. Crazy bastard.”

  “Hey!” he protested indignantly.

  “What?” they all responded in perfect synchronisation. Sigurd snorted in semi laughter at their antics.

  “Nothing.” He replied in a more subdued tone, “I’m not that crazy,” he protested muttering under his breath to himself.

  Glancing at the others a final time, Sigurd concentrated on the forest once again. He couldn’t afford to lose focus.

  They had made it a long way now, and the tension that had once been lingering over them only lightly was now suffusing the very air they breathed, almost thick enough to cut.

  The awkward silence of his companions and the sounds of the forest had slowly, unknowingly built up into crescendo, a looming storm cloud on the horizon. A trembling bubble buffeted by the wind.

  It would have to break. The bubble pop and the storm rage. The crash of the cymbal echoing out the coming conflict would ring out soon.

  And it did.

  As if they were within that very cymbal, the world shook as the storm took hold.

  Winds whipped around, flicking the branches and leaves around at deadly speeds. A whirlwind of plant matter, raining down cuts and bruises as it circled their little group.

  On unsteady feet, Sigurd clenched his axe as the floor seemed to tip and sway, trying with all its heart to dislodge him.

  With shaking steps, he moved over to Jackson and tried to support him. The large man with his towering shield was the last defence for the mages. His lumbering size and armoured hide kept them from danger.

  If he fell it would be disaster.

  Sigurd may have only been partly dwarven, but as sure as the blood in his body ran red, the dwarves were built for the earth, and he would stand strong.

  He looked over at the others as he endured. Both the mages were curled up on the floor behind Jackson. Safe and sound.

  Thank God.

  Sebastien was ok. Trapped on the outside of the storm somehow, he was busy battling something. They were diminutive humanoids though they fought fiercely enough. Kobolds perhaps.

  Though they fell to his sword at a decent rate he was slowly being picked off from afar with arrows and bolts. Already they were punching holes in his armour and nicking his extremities. Kael wasn’t to be seen.

  A bolt lodged itself in his bicep, tearing out the muscle with a spray of blood. Sigurd winced, watching stoically as the storm resurged and obscured his vision and he had to focus on supporting Jackson.

  If it didn’t end soon perhaps it would be the end of them.

  The storm surged once more, batting at the group like a cat with a mouse. Eventually it fizzled out and the world grew still. It seemed like hours, yet it could only have been seconds.

  As the storm died down Sigurd noticed a growing brightness. It stemmed from his waist, blooming and blossoming until the light touched them all suffusing him with energy.

  Sigurd looked down as he pushed Jackson away to stand. A small, pale white hand clutched at his waist. He smiled at its owner before wading into battle, letting the tide of fury power his swings as he chopped his way to Sebastien.

  As the storm died, the plan he assumed, was for the kobolds, for that is in fact what they were, to charge them, taking advantage of their disarray. Jackson was on his feet with Lore flinging spells and Jenna healing. Kael had emerged from the trees, having also been trapped in the storm and was supporting them, which left Sigurd to ensure Seb was safe.

  The kobolds were about chest high for Sigurd, though that would have been waist high for Jackson and had scaled limbs sticking out of the furred clothes that had presumably been roughly hacked out of the animals of the forest.

  It covered them modestly, offering little protection though and his axe sunk into them with ease, smashing chests and chipping bones.

  Absently he noticed arrows clink off his armour or thud into his body, but he paid them little notice. They hadn’t hit anything vital and he could be patched up later.

  So, he continued.

  The blood of enemies sprayed out in arterial spurts, bathing Sigurd in a life-filling warmth as he slashed away at the creatures. Sparing them no more thought than that of a bug as he ended their lives.

  What had the one whose head he split like an apple had for breakfast?

  He would never know, and if Sigurd was being honest, he didn’t care to know. Did dungeon creatures have hopes and dreams?

  No, he didn’t feel for them, didn’t think about them or agonise over them as he lay down to rest. They were there and then they were gone, as transient as a stray thought or a leaf in the wind.

  That was the dungeon life.

  Once he reached Seb, he felt the smile that had been threatening to break out, finally creep over his jaw. The rush, the adrenalin, the feeling of superiority from facing death and emerging triumphant. Oh, man. He had missed this so much.

  There was a reason almost no-one retired from delving, Sigurd realised then that he had been kidding himself if he thought it was over.

  Spotting another kobold he spoke:

  “Come over here little beastie and let’s see who’s better!” taunting it and revelling in the whole experience.

  It growled, furious, baring its teeth and rushing.

  Laughing, Sigurd pivoted on his back foot, turning around and slashing brutally at its back, crushing the spine and severing it, killing the beast on its feet. With light filled eyes he watched it stumble and fall. Never to get up again.

  It was over. Whew. What a rush. He loved it. He absolutely loved it. This was the first time this dungeon had felt like a proper dungeon.

  “Thank you, Dungeon. Thank you.” He said smiling as he walked back over to the group, dripping red and grinning like a madman.

  “I missed this.”

  “Yep, looks like it” Lore said, eyebrow raised at the frenzy he’d displayed.

  “How’s Seb?” Sigurd asked.

  “Good, good. It wasn’t that much damage though the bicep will need some work once we’re out. If you hadn’t rushed over to him then it could have been a lot worse.” Jenna said, glancing down at Seb fondly.

  “Come here, you’ve got a few scratches I can sort out.”

  “Nah, I’m fine” Sigurd replied confidently. Though he winced internally as he rolled his shoulder.

  Jenna sighed. He was in for it now.

  “I was being polite. You’ve got a damned arrow in your shoulder, you silly man. Now get the hell over here and let me heal it before I shoot you myself.” She demanded.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll come fair lady, don’t shoot.”

  “Arrrgh!” she threw her hands up in mock annoyance.

  “You like me really” He replied, pretending not to notice her slight blush as he sat down for her to heal.

  “Infuriating man” I heard her whisper gently.

  He smiled.