Dungeon Master (Karma System)

The preparation-room guardian died with its fingers six inches from the bell rope.

Golden Axe did not pause to admire the distance.

The tracker cut the rope free and wound it around his arm while Matthew and the shield-bearer finished the two attendants. Their mage had used only one moderate spell since entering the burial tunnel. The healer had closed a cut on Matthew’s forearm and nothing more.

No alarm followed them through the crypt.

They reached the underground gatehouse eight minutes faster than before.

The portcullis filled the passage exactly as it had during their first attempt. Its chains rose into the protected winch room inside the fortress. Narrow firing openings overlooked the tunnel from beyond the bars. Green light moved behind them.

Golden Axe had stopped the guardian bell. The gatehouse saw them anyway.

A warning bell rang above the passage. Its answer spread through the keep, and black fire awakened in the channels along the walls.

The undead did not open the gate. They fired through it.

The shield-bearer caught the first bolts while the tracker dropped the carrying frame. Matthew released the side latches, and the portable mantlet unfolded into an angled wall. Its lower edge locked against the stone floor. A second volley struck hard enough to shift it half an inch.

”Set.” The shield-bearer said.

He braced his shoulder against the center panel while the others worked behind him.

The mage found the gray mortar at the lower-left groove and inserted Min’s marked chisel. Stone magic traveled through the metal in a narrow line. She did not attempt to lift the portcullis. She cut the newer repair away from the older wall, stopping precisely where the mark told her.

Matthew and the tracker assembled the jack beneath the mantlet. Its three base pieces locked together. The lifting tongue slid into the space exposed beside the trench.

A ribbon of black fire struck the upper panel.

The metal glowed. Heat rolled down the shield-bearer’s arm, but the angle turned most of the flame toward the ceiling. The healer pressed one hand against his back and repaired the burn without leaving her place.

”Turn.” Matthew ordered.

He and the tracker took the cranks.

The jack tightened. For one terrible moment, nothing moved. Then the weakened mortar split and the left corner of the portcullis rose a finger’s width.

The tracker drove in the first wedge.

They turned again.

The gatehouse defenders never left their cover. Bolts and dark magic battered the mantlet. Hooked weapons reached through the bars but could not find the jack team behind the angled panels. The shield-bearer shifted the wall whenever an attack began chewing through the same place.

The jack raised the corner slowly and steadily. Each new inch received another wedge.

The mage knelt beside the base and reinforced only the stone beneath it. She spent a fraction of the power she had poured into the floor during their earlier attempt.

Armored footsteps sounded behind them.

The tracker did not turn from the crank. ”Rear forces.”

The guardian bell had remained silent, but the gatehouse alarm had given the fortress time to respond. Shapes entered the far end of the burial passage.

Golden Axe had expected them.

The mage raised a waist-high barrier across the tunnel behind the mantlet. It would not defeat the arriving undead. It forced them to climb, break it, or approach through a narrow opening beside the wall.

The portcullis reached two feet.

Then two and a half.

The mantlet’s upper hinge broke. One panel folded inward, and a bolt slipped through the gap. It struck the tracker beneath the shoulder. He grunted but kept turning until Matthew locked the crank.

”Three feet.” Matthew said.

The shield-bearer released the mantlet.

It remained standing for the moment. He lowered himself beneath the gate with his shield ahead of him. Hooked blades scraped across its face. An undead guard thrust a spear through the gap, but the shield-bearer forced it upward and crawled onto the inner stair.

Matthew followed.

Together they drove the ground-level guards away from the opening. They did not chase the undead up the stairs. Their only purpose was to hold enough space for the others to cross.

The healer slid beneath the iron bars with the supply frame dragging behind her. The tracker came next, one arm weakened by the bolt wound. He kicked the frame through and rolled clear.

The mage remained outside.

The first undead reached her rear barrier. A weapon broke through the top. She released the spell rather than spending more strength to repair it and dropped beneath the gate.

Her sleeve caught on a bent spike.

The tracker seized her wrist from the inner side. Matthew cut the cloth, and she came through as the rear barrier collapsed.

”Cord.” She reminded.

The release line trailed beneath the portcullis. The mage pulled it.

The jack’s retaining pin snapped free. Its lifting tongue folded. The wedges twisted beneath the returning weight, and the portcullis crashed into its trench hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.

The undead in the burial tunnel reached the gate seconds later.

Iron bars separated them from Golden Axe.

The party had sacrificed the jack and mantlet, but the gate remained closed behind them. The reinforcements could fire through it. They could not surround the party while the inner guards attacked from above.

That changed the gate from a trap into a boundary.

The defenders in the protected firing rooms continued attacking, but their openings had been built to cover the tunnel outside the gate. Once Golden Axe pressed against the inner wall and climbed the stair beneath them, most of those angles disappeared. The undead had to remain in safety and lose sight of the party or leave their rooms to stop it.

They chose the stairs.

The shield-bearer held the first landing while Matthew prevented the defenders from forming a rank. The tracker used the higher position to keep crossbowmen away from the firing-room doors. Golden Axe cleared only the space required to pass, then jammed one door and left the remaining undead on the wrong side of the portcullis.

Golden Axe climbed.

They moved through the keep according to the route they had practiced. The shield-bearer controlled the first landing while the tracker confirmed the central stair. The mage sealed the western intersection with a narrow wall anchored between existing stones. She collapsed nothing and preserved enough strength for Kildra.

Undead reached them at every level.

Some fired from galleries. Others formed ranks in the halls or tried to descend ahead of the party. Golden Axe did not fight for empty rooms. They broke the formations blocking their route, passed through, and closed doors behind them. Matthew used his spear to keep armored defenders from settling into the narrow stair. The tracker attacked joints and hands because slowing an undead warrior mattered more than destroying it. The healer spent magic before injuries crippled movement and used bandages when they did not.

The fortress took its price anyway.

The shield-bearer’s left leg was bleeding by the time they reached the armory gallery. The tracker’s injured shoulder reduced the strength of every shot. Matthew had lost one side of his helmet. The mage had spent nearly half her mana, and the healer had consumed one of her three reserved potions.

They were tired.

They were also alive, together, and far stronger than when they reached the same point before.

At the final intersection, a black knight stepped out of a side passage. Golden Axe did not allow it to become a chase. The mage fixed its feet to the floor while the shield-bearer turned its weapon. Matthew and the tracker damaged the armor holding its knees. They left it struggling against the stone and barred the door behind them.

The throne-room hall waited above the last stair.

Two grave knights guarded the doors.

The party had no way around them and no intention of searching for one.

Golden Axe attacked before the knights could stand shoulder to shoulder. The shield-bearer drove one toward the wall while Matthew occupied the other. The mage used the floor to keep them separated rather than hurling power into their armor. The tracker targeted the gaps exposed whenever either knight turned. The healer protected the party’s pace, spending just enough to prevent a wound from ending the attempt.

It was still a hard fight. Grave knights did not tire, panic, or surrender ground willingly. One broke the shield-bearer’s reinforced edge. The other drove Matthew to one knee before the tracker severed a strap at its elbow.

Golden Axe won because they fought the pair as obstacles with a shape, not enemies that needed to be overwhelmed.

The first knight fell against the wall. The second collapsed across the hall.

The tracker immediately pulled the iron clamps from his pack. The mage prepared the two stone anchors she would drive into the floor once they were inside. Armored footsteps echoed from the stair below.

Golden Axe had arrived at their destination first.

There was no recovery room. No restored equipment waited beyond the doors. No system refilled their health or mana because they had reached the boss.

The healer counted what remained aloud. Four moderate spells if no one suffered a mortal wound. Two stronger spells if someone did. The mage estimated a little more than half her mana remained. The tracker had eleven arrows, three of them cracked. Matthew’s spear point had loosened, and the shield-bearer’s defense would not survive another prolonged hall.

The information did not improve their condition. It made certain nobody began the fight imagining resources the party no longer possessed.

The shield-bearer tightened a strip of cloth around his leg. The healer drank half a potion and gave the remainder to the tracker. The mage flexed shaking fingers. Matthew picked up his damaged spear.

All five were still standing. That would have to be enough.

Matthew pushed the throne-room doors open. The clamps and stone anchors remained ready behind them for when the doors closed again.

Black pillars rose toward a ceiling lost in shadow. Undead courtiers withdrew against the walls.

Kildra sat at the far end with black fire moving around his skull.

The Warden rose from his throne. His gaze passed across their damaged armor, depleted supplies, and unbroken formation.

”You have crossed the road beneath my walls.” Kildra said.

Matthew lowered his spear. The doors closed behind Golden Axe.