The Dungeon Defiled

The laughter carried down the hallway, a sharp, mocking sound that sliced through the eerie quiet of the dungeon. Grashok’s heart thundered in his chest as they sprinted towards the source of the commotion, his companions at his heels. The tension that had hung in the air since their arrival now crystallised into a single, burning purpose.

The sound of the female’s muffled cries reached his ears before they rounded the corner. The training hall came into view—a place of discipline and camaraderie now desecrated by the scene before them.

Two loot bags lay discarded on the stone floor, their contents spilled out like the aftermath of a looted treasure hoard. But it was the figures in the centre of the hall that commanded his attention.

Three adventurers stood there—a human fighter, a half-elf rogue, and a stocky gnome with a cruel sneer—their armour dented, weapons drawn, laughing amongst themselves. The gnome had his trousers down around his ankles, his stance both triumphant and lewd.

On the ground before them sat Maren, her honey-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in disarray. Blood trickled from the corner of her lip, and her chest rose and fell in quick, panicked breaths. Her tight leather top was torn, revealing her cleavage, and she clutched it to her breasts with white‑knuckled hands, struggling to preserve her modesty. Her leather skirt was hiked up, exposing her shapely legs and boots.

"Ha! Look at this one, boys," sneered the gnome, one foot planted between Maren's spread thighs. "That should teach this little slut a lesson not to mouth off." His companions guffawed idiotically.

"Didn't have to hit ya, cunt," he jeered, leaning closer. "But now we're gonna have some fun with you, aye?"

With tears streaming down her face, Maren looked up with horror at what was about to come.

The sight of Maren, vulnerable and humiliated, sent a tidal wave of rage crashing through Grashok. His vision narrowed, and a roar erupted from his throat—a primal sound that shook the very walls of the dungeon.

Before the gnome could react, Grashok leapt. Soulrend arced through the air, aimed at the filthy intruder who dared to defile his home and harm one of his own.

But the human fighter and half-elf rogue moved to intercept. They stepped into his path, blades already rising. Grashok twisted mid‑leap, redirecting his attack, and Soulrend rang against the fighter's longsword. The rogue darted to the side, daggers glinting.

Grashok landed in a crouch and surged forward, driving into the fray.

The fighter was broad-shouldered, clad in dented but functional plate armour, his weathered face set in a determined scowl. He wielded his longsword with practised precision, movements efficient and methodical.

The half-elf rogue was lean and wiry, his dark cloak fluttering as he darted around Grashok like a shadow. Twin daggers gleamed in his hands, his green eyes searching for openings.

The gnome magic user staggered back, cursing as he yanked at the fabric still bunched around his shins. His wild grey hair stuck out in tufts around his pointed ears. His bright orange robes were spattered with dirt, and a wand crackled with faint magical energy in his hand. "Kill them!" he screeched, his voice high-pitched and grating.

Sylrith surged forward, her twin blades spinning in a deadly dance. She targeted the rogue, her blackened steel flashing as she slashed and thrust. The serpentine runes on her swords glowed faintly, as if feeding off the tension. The rogue was quick, narrowly avoiding a decapitating strike, but Sylrith's relentless assault kept him on the defensive.

Nyxie raised her Hexwood Staff, her beautiful features twisting into a scowl of concentration as she unleashed a crackling bolt of Eldritch Blast. The energy streaked across the room and slammed into the fighter, searing through his armour and drawing a grunt of pain. He stumbled but quickly recovered, his narrowed eyes fixed on Nyxie. He spat at the ground."Bitch," he snarled—then had to spin back as Grashok's blade came down in a wide arc. The fighter raised his longsword in a desperate parry. The impact reverberated through the room, sparks flying as steel met steel.

Maren scrambled to her feet, clutching the remnants of her top and limping toward the safety of the far wall. Her tear‑streaked face was a mask of shock and shame, but she took advantage of the distraction, retreating as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her.

"You'll pay for what you've done!" Grashok roared, his powerful blows hammering at the fighter's defences.

The gnome mage muttered a quick incantation, and a shimmering barrier of translucent energy sprang up around him—Mage Armour. "You think you’re clever, beast?" he spat, pointing his wand at Nyxie. A bolt of fire erupted from the tip, but her Hexwood Staff seemed to pulse as Nyxie deftly stepped aside, the flames scorching the stone behind her.

Sylrith pressed her attack against the rogue, her swords a blur as they struck again and again. The rogue managed a counter, his daggers flashing out to slice across her arm. Blood welled up, but Sylrith barely flinched, her expression twisted in fury.

"Is that all you’ve got?" she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

The rogue smirked, his movements growing more confident. "You’re fast," he said, his voice smooth. "But I’m faster." He ducked under her swing and drove a dagger into her side. Sylrith staggered, her breath hitching as blood seeped through her tunic.

Nyxie took a step back, her sharp eyes scanning the battlefield. She raised a hand and whispered a few arcane words, summoning the shadowy tendrils of Arms of Hadar. The tendrils lashed out at the adventurers, forcing them to dodge and disrupt their rhythm. The fighter growled as one tendril caught his arm, yanking him off balance, but he quickly shook it off and advanced again.

Grashok felt the weight of the battle pressing down on him. The adventurers were skilled, their coordination growing as they adapted to the group’s attacks. He swung at the fighter again, but the human sidestepped and retaliated with a precise slash that left a shallow gash on Grashok’s arm.

The gnome mage cackled, his wand now aimed at Sylrith. "Let’s even the odds!" he cried, releasing a spell that sent a bolt of ice streaking toward her. Sylrith narrowly avoided the attack, but the rogue took the opportunity to drive another dagger toward her exposed side.

"Enough!" Grashok bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He realised with a sinking feeling that they had underestimated their opponents. Charging in without a plan had been a mistake—a tactical blunder born of his fury at seeing Maren harmed.

The adventurers grew bolder with every passing moment, their confidence swelling as they landed blow after blow. Grashok’s mind raced, searching for a way to turn the tide.

The clash of steel and the crackle of magic filled the training hall as the chaotic melee raged on. Grashok’s mighty swings with Soulrend forced the human fighter to stay on the defensive, though the adventurer’s skill and armour absorbed most of the Hobgoblin’s devastating blows.

Sylrith, blood trickling down her side, danced away from the rogue’s daggers. Her twin blades parried and slashed, each strike meant to exploit the rogue’s overconfidence. Despite her skill, another shallow cut opened along her thigh as the rogue moved with serpentine grace, his smirk infuriating.

"Too slow," the rogue taunted, his green eyes flashing with amusement.

Nyxie’s eyes narrowed. Lifting her Hexwood Staff, she called upon dark energies, her voice low and resonant as she incanted a spell. A shimmering haze surrounded the fighter as her spell, Hex, took hold. His movements slowed, his strikes becoming sluggish as the weight of the curse settled over him.

Grashok took advantage, landing a crushing blow to the fighter’s shoulder. The man grunted in pain, staggering back as his armour buckled under the force of Soulrend’s blade.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Grashok snarled, his lip curling in anger.

The gnome mage barked an incantation, releasing a series of arcane missiles that struck Nyxie squarely in the chest. She cried out, stumbling as the magical force sapped her strength. Despite the pain, she raised her staff again and fired an Eldritch Blast, the crackling energy slamming into the gnome and sending him tumbling back into the wall.

Sylrith, panting and bloodied, feinted to the right, drawing the rogue’s attention. With a sudden pivot, she aimed a slashing strike at his midsection, but the rogue twisted just in time, the blade glancing off his leather armour. The rogue retaliated with a thrust, his dagger finding a gap in her defences and cutting deep into her arm. Sylrith hissed in pain, her grip on her sword faltering.

Grashok saw Sylrith stumble and let out a roar of fury. He leapt away from the fighter, who was still struggling under the weight of Nyxie’s spell, and barrelled into the rogue. Soulrend crashed down in a deadly arc, forcing the rogue to dive out of the way.

"Get back!" Grashok growled, planting himself between Sylrith and the rogue.

Taking advantage of the reprieve, Sylrith dropped one of her swords and fumbled for a small vial at her belt. She uncorked the potion and downed it in a single gulp, shuddering as the healing magic coursed through her body. The wound on her side knitted closed, the pain subsiding enough for her to snatch up her fallen blade and rise with renewed strength.

The gnome mage, now recovered, pointed his wand at Grashok and muttered an incantation. A thin, crackling beam of lightning streaked toward the Hobgoblin, striking his shoulder and searing through his armour. Grashok gritted his teeth against the pain, his muscles spasming from the electrical shock.

"Focus on the big one!" the gnome yelled to his companions.

The rogue, emboldened, darted around Grashok, his daggers aiming for weak points in the Hobgoblin’s armour. Meanwhile, the fighter, shaking off the effects of Nyxie’s spell, lumbered forward with his longsword raised.

"Enough of this!" Nyxie hissed, her voice carrying a dark edge. She raised her staff high and unleashed the Arms of Hadar once more. Shadowy tendrils erupted from the ground, writhing and lashing at the adventurers. The rogue was caught off guard, one tendril wrapping around his leg and yanking him to the floor.

Grashok shifted to finish him—only for Sylrith to surge past him in a blur of steel.

Before the rogue could recover, she drove both blades down in a precise, practised motion. The strike was clean and final, cutting off his panicked gasp as his form shimmered and dissolved into motes of fading light. A small loot bag clattered to the floor where he had been.

Sylrith exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders as she stepped back into stance, ready for the next threat.

The gnome and fighter froze for a moment, their expressions grim. But the pause was short-lived. From the corridor came the sound of hurried footsteps, the echoes growing louder with each passing second.

"Reinforcements!" Nyxie shouted, her sharp eyes darting toward the hallway.

Grashok’s mind raced. The adventurers were tough, and while they had taken one down, the battle was far from won. More foes were coming, and his group was already battered and bloodied.

Two new figures burst into the room. The first was a sturdy dwarven cleric, his thick, auburn beard bristling with each fervent motion as he brandished a mighty, gleaming warhammer adorned with intricate runes of protection. A brilliant golden light radiated from the sacred symbol of Moradin, the dwarven All-Father, hanging from a heavy chain around his neck. The divine energy emanating from the symbol was already at work, weaving threads of healing magic that mended the wounds of his battered allies, restoring their vitality and bolstering their resolve for the impending battle.

The second was an elven archer: curved and dangerous in a blood-red leather tunic, its laces straining across her hourglass figure. A very short black leather skirt sat high on her thighs above white stockings and sleek black knee-high boots. Her hips rolled with each step. Full lips curled in a wicked grin over bronzed skin, and beneath flowing blonde hair, piercing green eyes locked on her target. An arrow was already nocked, the bow half-drawn—ready to loose.

Grashok clenched his fists, realising they couldn’t keep fighting like this. He glanced over at Maren, who was huddled near the wall, her tear-streaked face still pale with fear.

"Everyone, to the Mana Pool!" Grashok bellowed.

He nudged Maren forward with a firm, protective hand at her back, guiding her ahead of him while keeping his body between her and the adventurers. As she moved, Grashok reached to the rack beside the training room door and snatched up a wooden practice shield, gripping it in his left hand while Soulrend gleamed in his right.

"Move!" he shouted to the others, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Sylrith and Nyxie exchanged quick glances before falling back, their weapons raised defensively as they followed Grashok toward the corridor. Skarn, who had been keeping the gnome at bay with his snapping jaws, growled and retreated as well, his fur bristling.

The adventurers shouted after them, their confidence bolstered by reinforcements. "Cowards!" the fighter bellowed, starting after them.

But Grashok wasn’t running away. He was leading his people to a place of power, a place where they could turn the tide.

The retreat was a chaotic blend of frantic movement and defensive combat. Grashok led the group, Soulrend sweeping in wide arcs to keep their attackers at bay as he stepped backward. His shield thudded under the impact of an arrow, the wood splintering but holding. Behind him, Sylrith and Nyxie worked in tandem — Sylrith deflecting strikes with her curved drow blade, Nyxie firing bursts of dark magic to discourage pursuit. Skarn growled and snapped at any adventurer daring enough to close the distance, his powerful jaws a constant deterrent as he retreated alongside them.

Maren stayed close to Grashok’s side, pressed against him whenever the corridor narrowed. He guided her with subtle pressure at her shoulder or back, shielding her with his broad frame. Another arrow clattered against his shield, shaving off a chunk of wood.

Yet the adventurers pressed after them with increasing fervour. Their confidence had grown, their jeers and taunts filling the air.

“This way!” Grashok bellowed, his voice hoarse with effort.

“Grashok!” Nyxie hissed as she glanced down a side corridor. “They’ve got reinforcements!”

Grashok gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of frustration and helpless rage. His morning had begun with irritating notifications about his minions’ readiness to evolve, and now his carefully constructed domain was under siege. His crimson eyes burned as he motioned for them to keep withdrawing, his sword held ready.

He watched as a woman emerged from the side corridor they had just past and fell in with the other adventurers, her silhouette framed by the faint glow of torches.

The new arrival was a tall, alluring human woman dressed in a form-fitting leather outfit that hugged her every curve. Her chestnut-brown hair was stylishly cropped at the nape of her neck, framing her angular features and luscious lips. She wore a short skirt that barely covered her behind and knee-high boots that accentuated her shapely legs. A wicked, barbed spear rested in her hand, its haft adorned with small charms made from bone and feathers. Her sharp hazel eyes blazed with intelligence and cruelty as she surveyed the scene, amused by the hunt unfolding before her.

“Hey, Chloe!” the gnome called out from behind, his voice ringing in the enclosed space. “Find anything good?”

The woman grinned, her teeth flashing in the dim corridor. “Nah, Rick. Not yet. But I haven’t finished searching. Still a lot of places to loot.” Her grin widened, malicious satisfaction dripping from her tone. “Killed a few gobbos, though.”

Grashok felt his rage boil over, but he bit it back. Losing control here would doom them all. With a glance at Nyxie, he motioned for them to continue falling back.

The corridor became a whirlwind of steel and magic as Chloe joined the fray, her spear a blur of precise thrusts and sweeping arcs. She targeted Sylrith, forcing the dark elf to dodge and weave, unable to fully retaliate while maintaining the retreating line. Grashok stepped in, his strikes creating a barrier between Chloe and Sylrith as he guided them backward. An arrow whistled toward Maren — Grashok snapped his shield up, the impact cracking the wood nearly in half.

Nyxie, seeing the tide turning against them further, planted her staff on the ground and cast Mirror Image. Three shimmering duplicates of herself sprang into existence, mimicking her every move. The gnome mage’s spells crackled against one of the illusions, dissipating harmlessly.

“Where are we going?” Nyxie shouted as she unleashed another Eldritch Blast toward the dwarf cleric, who raised his shield just in time to absorb the impact.

“To get our own reinforcements!” Grashok yelled back, his voice straining with effort.

Maren stayed tight to his side, her wide, frightened eyes darting around. “Stay close to me,” he growled, shifting his stance to keep her behind him as another arrow slammed into the shield. The wood split further, dangling in two barely connected pieces.

The fighter closed in again, his longsword sweeping toward Grashok’s side. The Hobgoblin caught the blow on Soulrend, but the sheer force pushed him back another step.

“Not so tough now, are you?” the fighter sneered, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.

Grashok growled and retaliated with a powerful overhead swing — not to advance, but to force the fighter to give ground so the group could continue their withdrawal. The fighter sidestepped just in time, the blade smashing into the stone floor and sending up a spray of rubble.

Sylrith took advantage of the moment, darting in to slash across the fighter’s leg before slipping back into formation. He roared in pain but didn’t fall, his heavy armour absorbing much of the blow.

The group fell back through the twisting corridors, their movements becoming more desperate with each step. Every adventurer seemed to thrive on the chaos, their attacks growing more aggressive as they sensed victory. The gnome cackled, his voice echoing off the walls as he shouted taunts.

Grashok bellowed orders as they retreated. Sylrith’s blade sang through the air, her strikes measured and precise despite her fatigue. Nyxie’s staff crackled with power, her spells deflecting incoming attacks and creating brief openings for their withdrawal. Grashok himself was a wall of brute force, his sword intercepting blows and forcing space rather than pressing forward. His shield took another arrow — and finally gave way, the wood splitting apart in his hand.

With a snarl, Grashok hurled the ruined remains at the fighter, the splintered pieces striking him squarely in the chest and staggering him for a heartbeat.

He stumbled back, armour ringing from the blow, then steadied himself with a furious glare.

The adventurers, emboldened by their seeming dominance, shouted to each other between attacks. Their leader, the human fighter, called out, “Don’t let them escape! They’re retreating — this is our chance!”

The Elven Archer’s mocking laugh rang out as she fired another arrow. “Running already? I thought Hobgoblins were supposed to be tough!”

Finally, the Mana Pool Room came into view, its entrance a large archway framed by jagged stone. Grashok felt a brief surge of relief, but the adventurers were still close on their heels.

“Inside!” Grashok ordered, his voice echoing.

He and his group burst into the cavernous room, their breaths ragged and weapons slick with blood, their boots skidding across the smooth stone floor. The sight before them was awe‑inspiring — a stark contrast to the grim corridors they had been navigating. The vast chamber opened up like a sanctuary hidden deep within the earth, its high ceiling giving way to a cathedral‑like expanse.

Bioluminescent fungi clung to the walls, their soft bluish glow reflecting off the rippling surface of the Mana Pool. The pool itself shimmered with an otherworldly light, its iridescent hues shifting between green, blue, and violet. Thin arcs of magical energy leapt from the surface, crackling in the charged air before dissipating. The water’s stillness was almost hypnotic, as though it held the weight of ancient, untapped power.

Around the pool, stalagmites rose like jagged sentinels, their crystal deposits refracting the light into a myriad of colours. The stones edging the pool were smooth from centuries of mineral flow, their surfaces catching the glow as the water pulsed with quiet power.

In the water, the Spindle Spawn drifted serenely, their translucent forms glowing faintly. Closer to the perimeter, several Brine Crawlers moved sluggishly, their thick tentacles stirring the water as their black, glassy eyes turned toward the intruders. Though unsettling in appearance, they made no move to attack Grashok or his companions, their instincts tempered by a deeper connection to their master.

Grashok’s chest heaved as he took in the sight, his mind already racing with plans. The adventurers were close behind; their footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. They had to make a stand here.

With the onrushing sound of the adventurers growing louder, Grashok shouted, “Protect me for a few seconds!” He quickly directed Maren toward a far corner, out of the direct line of battle, then pulled his focus inward and brought up his notifications.

He scrolled rapidly to the daily pop‑ups that had been irritating him for the past week and selected:

Evolve Minion

Minion Evolved – Brine Crawler – +5 Fame.

He triggered the evolution again and again, working through the backlog with sharp mental commands. The faint chime of each successful evolution barely registered. When the Brine Crawlers were done, he switched to the remaining entries.

Minion Evolved – Abyss Warden – +15 Fame.

“No idea what they are,” he muttered, sweat beading on his brow, but he continued selecting the evolutions. The echoes of clashing steel and Nyxie’s shouted warning cut through his concentration. His heart pounded as he dismissed the screen and braced himself to rejoin the fray.

When he looked up, the battle had surged dangerously close. Sylrith, her dark‑elven blades flashing in deadly arcs, held a defensive line near the centre of the chamber. Her movements were fluid but strained, each parry and riposte a desperate attempt to buy time. Skarn fought with feral aggression, lunging at the nearest adventurer with reckless abandon. Nyxie, a step behind them, hurled Eldritch Blasts while weaving away from the arrows raining down from the elven archer. Even Maren, pressed into her corner, was snatching up stones and hurling them at their attackers, though they bounced harmlessly off the adventurers’ armour.

“Grashok, any day now!” Sylrith barked, deflecting a blow from the human ranger known as Chloe. She moved with the precision of a seasoned predator, her blades flashing as she feinted left and right, probing for weaknesses in Sylrith’s defence.

Grashok’s gaze shifted to the Brine Crawlers slithering towards the fray. The translucent creatures, their glowing blue veins pulsing with mana, were unnoticed by the adventurers. He sprang into action, roaring as he charged towards the enemy, drawing their attention away from the creeping threat.

The adventurers’ camaraderie was evident in their banter, even as the battle raged.

“Rick, you’re out of position again!” Chloe snapped as she dodged an incoming slash from Grashok.

The gnome mage, Rick, stumbled back, his trousers now securely fastened but his movements still awkward. “I’m trying, Chloe! Not like I’ve got a shield over here!” he retorted, hurling a firebolt that narrowly missed Nyxie.

“Then stay behind me,” grumbled the dwarf cleric, whose name was Marcus. He swung his hammer in a wide arc to ward off Skarn. “Bloody mages,” he muttered under his breath, before chanting a quick prayer to heal a wound on the human fighter.

The fighter, a towering man named Steve, grinned as the healing magic coursed through him. “Thanks, Marcus. Now let’s teach these dungeon trash a lesson!” He stepped forward, his shield raised, absorbing the brunt of Grashok’s next furious attack.

Nearby, Rick and Alyssa exchanged a quick glance as they manoeuvred around the chaotic skirmish. "Once we finish this," Rick said, his tone light despite the sweat dripping down his temple, "we’re heading back to Ingunde. That new Mayor, Garrick’s, going to owe us big for clearing this dungeon."

Alyssa loosed another arrow with practised precision, narrowly being deflected by Grashok’s sword. "Yeah, and I’m claiming extra for hazard pay," she replied with a smirk. "This place has been a nightmare."

"You think he’ll actually pay up?" Rick ducked under a wild bite from Skarn and retaliated with a sharp thrust.

"He’d better," Alyssa muttered, nocking another arrow. "Garrick may be stingy, but he knows better than to short-change the people keeping his town safe."

Chloe barked a laugh as she circled Sylrith. “Safe? He paid us enough to make this worth the trouble. Ingunde’s got coin to spare if it means wiping out a dungeon.”

Grashok froze for half a heartbeat. Paid.

The word hit him like a hammer.

Someone from Ingunde — a town he had never threatened — had paid to send these killers into his home. Paid for the smashed chambers, the dead creatures, the missing Snippa and Rukk. Paid for the fear, the blood, the destruction.

His grip tightened around Soulrend until the leather creaked.

A hot, focused fury surged through him.

With a roar, he drove forward, his next strike carrying enough force to send Steve staggering back a full step, armour ringing from the impact.

“Focus, Grashok!” Nyxie shouted, her voice cutting through the haze of his rage. Her staff flared with an ominous glow as she cast, dark tendrils erupting from the ground to slow Steve’s movements and open him to Grashok’s next blow.

Sylrith, blood dripping from a gash on her arm, took the opportunity to retreat. She pulled a healing potion from her belt, its contents shimmering as she gulped it down. The wound began to close, her strength returning just in time to deflect an incoming arrow.

The Brine Crawlers made their move, slithering into the midst of the adventurers. Their paralytic bites were swift and precise, catching Chloe off guard as one latched onto her leg.

“What the hell is this thing?” she shrieked, kicking furiously. The venom caused a searing pain that nearly buckled her knees.

“Focus fire on the jelly things!” Rick shouted, launching a bolt of lightning that fried one of the Brine Crawlers but left his back exposed.

“Watch it, Rick!” Marcus warned, stepping in to block Skarn’s follow-up strike. The wolf's maw clanging against the cleric’s shield, but the diversion allowed Sylrith to dart in and land a shallow cut across Marcus’s leg.

Alyssa, perched on a nearby rock, took aim and loosed an arrow that grazed Nyxie’s shoulder. The goblin hissed in pain but retaliated with a blast of Eldritch magic that sent the elf scrambling for cover.

“Steve, get them under control!” Chloe yelled, hacking at another Brine Crawler as it lunged for her.

The fighter stepped forward, his shield raised high, absorbing the brunt of Grashok’s renewed assault. He bellowed a challenge, trying to draw the dungeon’s defenders towards him. Marcus stood behind him, chanting another prayer to mend Steve’s wounds.

The Brine Crawlers were thinning, their numbers dwindling as the adventurers adjusted their tactics. Steve held the line, his shield a bulwark against Grashok and Skarn. Chloe darted around the edges of the fight, picking off the remaining visible Crawlers with deadly efficiency. Rick and Alyssa provided ranged support, while Marcus kept their health in check.

It was looking dire for Grashok’s side. The adventurers were organised, their roles clearly defined, and their confidence growing. Nyxie was panting, her spells taking their toll. Sylrith’s movements were less fluid, her injuries slowing her down despite the healing potion. Skarn was wild but tired, his attacks lacking their usual ferocity.

Grashok, however, noticed something. Thin, glowing tentacles were beginning to emerge from the Mana Pool, creeping across the ground towards the adventurers. The Abyss Wardens had arrived, their presence a potential turning point.

He grinned grimly, gripping Soulrend tighter. "Hold on," he muttered to his companions. "This fight isn’t over yet."