Feeling Flat

The Guardian's steam vents roared as it locked onto Shadowheart, every molten joint grinding with flat, mechanical purpose while the four magma mephits laced the air with their sulphuric stench. Phalar Aluve lay useless at Shadowheart's feet. Kagha's rapiers and Lae'zel's greatsword was cooling on the ground in similar disgrace. Only Karlach still gripped her axe, just barely.

A tough situation, but not an unexpected one.

In this battle timing and positioning was more important than swords and axes—and I planned to use that advantage.

I triggered the Boots of Speed and felt the stored magic spread through my calves like a bowstring loosed. The world seemed to slow. In seven blurred steps I slid behind Karlach, planting myself dead-center between the three disarmed women and the glowing golem. Perfect line of fire. Perfect shield. Perfect cluster.

Three Compelling Blasts left my hands in rapid succession. Each impish elemental jerked towards me as though yanked by invisible threads, howling in pleasure as they tumbled straight into the fourth already hovering near Karlach. A lightning bolt cracked loose from the Spellsparklers stored charges and speared through the nearest Mephit, killing it midair and triggering it's last "defense"—exploding in spray of lava and fire in defiance of its own death.

The force of the explosions started a chain reaction.

Boom!

“Ouch—! Boss what the—!”

Boom!

“Fucking ow—!”

Boom-boom!

“Unfriendly Fire! You absolute maniac—!”

Four successive pops painted Karlach in soot and brimstone adding to her a devilish vibe. Steam rose off her shoulders. Her engine hiccupped once, then settled into a vengeful thrum. She was still on her feet, axe still in hand, freckles dusted with fresh ash. Her eyes had narrowed to slits, mouth curved in something between snarl and reluctant grin.

I brushed off the minuscule amount of soot that had made it's way past Karlach. “Great job. You make for a good shield.”

“Yeah, well.” She rolled her singed shoulder with a wince that didn't quite hide the grin underneath it. “I'll take it out on you later. Trust me.”

I grinned “Looking forward to it.”

The sound of metal on metal cut the moment.

The Guardian had slowly started to move closer to Shadowheart. I filled my lungs and yelled across the forge.

“We need to keep him in the middle!”

Before I had the chance to move, hundreds of wet globs of silk buried the Guardian's legs. Its arms and featureless helm followed. The mass of spiderlings had made it down the stone walls and was now working in absolute frenzy, cord after cord, layer upon layer, each strand thicker than the last. The Grymforge Guardian took one strained step and the webbing doubled. It raised a fist to tear free and ten more strands pinned the limb mid-swing. In mere seconds the Adamantine monstrosity stood locked solid just by the edge of center—like a gift-wrapped statue for the worst of enemies.

Eliette's delighted laugh spiraled down from the wall. “Darling! I told you they liked you.” She added her own thick spinnerets to the silk storm.

The three women used the pause in combat to retrieve their weapons.

“What do we do now?” Shadowheart asked, almost conversationally.

“Back to work.” My gaze turned to Karlach. “Open the valve.”

She spun the wheel without missing a beat. Lava surged back through the floor channels, flaring orange again, eating at the base of the spider silk. Webbing hissed into steam. The Guardian's armor flared once more into glowing vulnerability. It stirred, slowly starting to regain its mobility.

I yanked the lever.

CLANG.

The piston came down like the divine hammer of a god of metalwork. Ten meters of blackened steel hammered the golem flat. The entire platform jumped. Lava vanished through the floor as the valve sealed once more. In the sudden steel-gray silence the crushed form twitched once, then began the slow grind of trying to stand.

The walls came alive again and plastered it before it had cleared its own knees. Fresh silk. Fresh layers. Instant immobilization.

Karlach opened the valve. I slammed the lever.

CLANG.

Lava recede. Re-web. Valve open. Lever down.

CLANG.

By the third cycle Lae'zel, Kagha, and Shadowheart had simply clapped both hands over their ears and watched the process with dull fascination. What should have been a high-level boss battle felt more like assembly work in a factory. The fourth impact left the Guardian as a flattened disc of fractured plate and orange slag. Its furnace-heart guttered once and went cold.

[Experience Gained]

The walls erupted in ecstatic chittering. Spiderlings poured over the cooling wreckage in a jubilant wave, climbing the shattered construct, tugging free scraps of scorched plate, and weaving fresh strands of silk between its broken limbs as though determined to make certain it never moved again. Others chased one another across the ruined armor, clicking excitedly as they celebrated their victory.

I looked up to where Eliette perched among them, her eyes beaming with pride.

I lifted my hand into a thumbs-up. “Thanks, you really helped us out.”

Her smile grew. “Oh, but it was you who demanded action.”

I blinked. “I did?” the realization dawned on me “...I did, didn't I.”

She nodded with approval “Indeed.” Her voice dipped, just slightly. “Although I admit... I am a little offended. They have never worked that hard for me”

Karlach moved to the crushed remains and gave them a sad kick. “I almost feel bad for him, you know?”

Shadowheart managed a graceful half-shrug. “By the end it was basically mercy.”

Lae'zel's voice was clipped. “The enemy is crushed. The execution was flawless.” Her eyes moved over the battlefield. “And yet, I find no honour in this victory.”

She crossed to the wreckage and crouched beside it, forcing both hands beneath the Guardian's enormous helm. Metal groaned as she tore it free, turning the battered prize over in her hands.

“If no honour is to be won, then I shall settle for power. I will claim this trophy.”

Her eyes lifted to me. “May I?”

I nodded. “Go for it.” heavy armor wasn't really in high demand for anyone else

Without another word, she braced the helm against her knee and pulled at the cracks, working the metal into fatigue.

She meticulously tore off piece by piece until what remained could sit comfortably upon her brow, more crown than armor, the Grymskull Helmet framed her face with a combination of grace and authority.

Her lips curved into a smile “This will do.”

It suited her—not just because of her makeshift remodeling; the helm itself complemented her fighting style. It rewarded her with a damage boost when singling out enemies in combat, granted resistance to fire, and made it impossible for foes to land lucky critical hits. A worthy prize, especially considering the rest of the girls had been steadily receiving upgrades throughout our journey in the Underdark.

Kagha's eyes hadn't left me once through any of it. “As expected of our dear leader.” Her voice carried quiet certainty. “The construct never stood a chance against you.”

The platform still hummed beneath our boots with the lingering rhythm of ancient machinery while steam drifted lazily through the forge. With enough skill and patience, the Grymforge Guardian was a manageable fight.

With an army of spiders... It had never really been much of a fight at all.