The Storm-Swept Crag - Part 1
He looked past them, at the sea of faces stepping into their own private hells. They were all in this together, yet utterly alone in their instances. They would all face the fourth floor's unique horror simultaneously, in hundreds of mirrored realities. Some would die. Some would bring back the loot that would keep the kingdom alive for another month.
"Remember," Ryley said, his voice low, just for his group. "We're not just fighting for a chest anymore. We're fighting for the smoked meat in the cache. For the mortar on the wall. For the next bandage in the clinic. Bring back everything you can."
No cheers, no speeches. Just five sharp nods.
As one, they turned and stepped through the archway.
The transition was the same violent lurch. The familiar, silent flash.
They rematerialized, not on a bridge or in a swamp, but standing on a narrow, winding stone path that clung to the inside wall of a colossal, cylindrical shaft. A gale-force wind, screaming from the unimaginable depths below, threatened to pluck them from the ledge and send them plummeting into the black. Above, the path spiraled upward into darkness. There were no monsters in sight.
This was the fourth floor: The Howling Gyre. A test of endurance, agility, and sheer will against an environment designed to wear them down and fling them into the void. The fight wasn't against a beast, but against the Spire itself.
And somewhere, in hundreds of other identical shafts, the rest of the surviving thousand were taking their first, treacherous steps on the same path. The Great Ascent had truly begun. Not as heroes, but as laborers in the most dangerous mine in existence, sent to extract the precious resources needed to keep their fragile world from collapsing. The climb for survival was over. Now, the climb for sustenance had begun.
The fourth floor didn't welcome them. It assaulted them. The transition was a violent expulsion onto a jagged, rain-lashed mountainside path carved into the sheer inner wall of the Spire. A howling, supernatural gale screamed across the exposed rock face, carrying with it freezing rain that felt like needles and the acrid stench of ozone. Visibility was a shifting curtain of grey mist and driving water.
And the monsters were not waiting. They were the environment.
"Shields! Get to the wall!" Ryley's shout was torn away, but the intent was clear. They scrambled for the scant cover of the rough, wet cliff face on their left. To their right, nothing but a howling, mist-choked drop.
The "Storm-Cursed" came with the wind. They didn't walk; they flowed, their emaciated, grey-skinned bodies low to the ground, claws of black obsidian digging into stone. They moved in packs of five and six, using gusts to cover impossible distances in a blink. The first wave hit before Jax could fully raise his axe.
Three came low, scuttling like grotesque, wind-blown crabs. Two dropped from an overhang above. Ryley caught a descending claw on his upraised sword, the force driving him to one knee. Jax took a claw across his armored thigh, the screech of metal piercing even the storm's roar. Liana was a phantom, a spin of wet leather and steel as she parried one low attack and hamstrung another creature, its shriek lost in the gale. Maya was already glowing, her hands slapping against Jax's leg, the deep gash sealing as black blood washed away in the rain.
The fight was less about killing and more about weathering the first barrage. They were a rock being tested by a hurricane of claws. Liam was useless, his staff shaking, any attempt at a spell torn apart by the chaotic energies. He huddled behind Maya, a liability.
After a brutal minute, the first wave broke, the surviving Storm-Cursed melting back into the mist and rock. They had a moment to breathe, huddled against the cliff. Everyone was bleeding from shallow, stinging cuts. Their gear was already soaked through, the cold biting deep.
"The path goes up," Liana gasped, pointing a dagger into the murk. The narrow ledge twisted upward, vanishing into the storm. "We can't stay here."
"Liam," Ryley snarled, grabbing the mage by his soaked robes. "You are not a passenger. The wind kills your bolts. So don't use bolts. Use the wind. Make a wall. A shield of air. Something!"
Liam's eyes were wide with terror, but he nodded, a frantic, jerky motion. He began to mutter, his hands weaving not an aggressive pattern, but a defensive one, trying to impose order on the chaos around them.
They moved. It was a grueling, tactical crawl. Jax took point, his mass a bulwark against the wind. Ryley was his shadow, sword ready for anything that slipped past the Barbarian's sweeping axe. Liana flitted ahead, scouting the next ten yards of treacherous path before signaling them forward. Maya kept a hand on Liam's back, a constant trickle of warmth and focus flowing into him as he worked his spell.
The second wave hit as they navigated a section where the path had crumbled to half its width. This time, the Storm-Cursed used the terrain. One leaped from above, not at the fighters, but at Liam, aiming to knock the vulnerable mage into the abyss. Ryley's Basic Ward flared, a shimmering disc of force intercepting the creature in mid-air. It slammed into the magical barrier with a sickening crunch and fell, but the impact shattered Ryley's Ward and sent a spike of pain through his skull.
Simultaneously, two more erupted from a fissure in the cliff wall behind Maya. Liana, already at the front, couldn't react. Jax, facing forward, couldn't turn. Ryley was stunned.
It was Liam who saved them.
With a cry that was part terror, part fury, he finished his spell. He didn't fire a bolt. He grabbed the howling wind itself. With a wrenching gesture, he tore a localized vortex from the gale and flung it backward. It wasn't strong, but it was focused. The two Storm-Cursed were caught in the sudden, twisting gust, their precise leap turned into a tumbling cartwheel. They slammed into the cliff face, stunned.
Jax finished them with two brutal, backward chops of his axe without even looking.
They stared at Liam. He was panting, sweat mixing with rain on his face, but his eyes held a new, hard glint. « New Skill Unlocked: Gust Snare » flashed in his vision.
"Good," Ryley grunted, the single word carrying more weight than any praise. "Now do it again."