As the spider regained its footing from Owlbert's earlier assault, the baby Owlbear and William began to circle their prey, eyes glinting with a dangerous blend of lethal intent and insatiable hunger.
SKREEEE!
With a shriek so sharp it seemed to slice through the air, the monstrous creature expelled a stream of thick, sickly green fluid from its gleaming, razor-edged mandibles. Midair, the liquid twisted and solidified into a quivering, gelatinous orb, an ominous, pulsating sphere radiating pure fury, before the spider launched it straight toward Owlbert.
In an instant, the baby Owlbear's feathers fluffed outward, ballooning its small frame into something resembling a giant, mismatched puff of gray and brown cotton. It bounded upward, just barely evading the orb as it whistled past beneath one hind paw.
Owlbert landed deftly upon the spider's head, using it as a springboard to propel itself into a swift and assured retreat. The owl's sudden weight threw the spider off balance, forcing it to stretch its spindly legs to their limits or risk being crushed against the unforgiving ground. Its screech warped into a venomous hiss as it whirled, desperate to strike at its nimble foe.
Yet before it could complete its deadly lunge, a sharp, searing pain tore through its abdomen, wrenching another scream from its throat as it reared back and howled its agony into the darkened sky.
William crouched low behind the monstrous spider, his dagger driving deep into a vital point within its grotesque form, landing a devastating, critical blow.
A sudden gush of sizzling, acidic blood erupted from the wound, hissing as it ate away at the metal of his only weapon.
The once-polished blade warped and sagged into molten slag, forcing William to release it lest the corrosive spray claim his hands.
He slid backward across the ground, desperately creating distance while his eyes darted about for anything he could wield.
That's when he spotted her, a young female Tiefling, clearly unaccustomed to the chaos of battle, cowering beneath a stack of crates.
In her trembling hands, she gripped a longsword far too large for her frame, perhaps a relic of someone dear who had fallen.
While the spider was still writhing mid-screech, William lunged forward, dashing toward the pile.
In an instant, he stood before the frightened woman, his sudden appearance, an unfamiliar Half-Elf Drow, startling her just enough to break through the fog of fear clouding her eyes.
William slowed his steps just enough to make his presence known. Not looming, not frantic, simply there, a steady figure amid chaos.
His gaze darted briefly to the longsword clutched in the Tiefling's hands before locking once more with her eyes.
Lifting one open palm, he made a short, deliberate gesture toward the weapon, a silent command that needed no words.
Her grip tightened instantly, knuckles whitening, the single syllable "No" escaping like an instinctive shield.
Her tail snapped behind her, sharp and protective, as though the sword were the final anchor keeping her from being swept away.
The blade quivered in her grasp, too long, too heavy, but she held it with the fierce determination of one who had already lost more than she could bear.
Around them, the battle thundered on.
A horn's blare tore through the air from the wall, mingling with goblin screams and the groan of splitting stone.
An explosion nearby sent sparks and dirt cascading across the ground, and the spider's shriek rang out again, closer now, its jagged limbs scraping stone in a sound that rattled the bones.
William didn't press her.
He stood firm, meeting her fear with unwavering eyes, shoulders squared despite the blood soaking into his sleeve.
A single, resolute nod, then a glance past her toward the advancing danger.
The moments they had were slipping fast, each heartbeat carrying the weight of the fight to come.
Her breath caught sharply as her gaze darted from the spider to the sword, then back to him.
With a fierce, guttural sound, half curse, half prayer, she thrust the longsword into his hands.
The weight struck him at once, far heavier than his dagger had ever been, the balance strange yet manageable.
Before he could adjust his grip, her hand lashed out, seizing his collar and yanking him down until their eyes locked.
Heat radiated from her skin even through the fabric, an infernal pulse thrumming beneath crimson flesh, and her irises flared with molten light as the magic in her bloodline rose to meet her fury.
"You break it," she growled, voice low and quaking with restrained fire, "and I will personally hunt you down when this is over."
Her grip tightened like a vice. "Not a nick. Not a chip. Not a single gods-damned scratch."
William exhaled a breath that might have been a laugh if not for the pain edging it. "No pressure," he murmured.
Behind them, the spider reared high, mandibles clattering as it lunged again.
Owlbert hooted defiantly, feathers bristling, and charged headlong to meet the threat.
Wrenching free of the Tiefling's grasp, William rolled his shoulders and lifted the borrowed blade into a ready stance.
"Stay down," he called over his shoulder as he moved forward. "I'll bring it back."
William pivoted sharply on his heel, diving back into the chaos just in time to witness the spider strike again, its bladed limbs slicing murderous arcs through the air.
Owlbert was already in motion.
Despite his deceptively round and fluffy form, the baby owlbear transformed into a whirlwind of feathers and ferocity, darting in tight, taunting circles around the monstrous arachnid with impossible speed.
Each pass drew the spider's focus just long enough for him to slip from its immediate reach, only to reappear from an unseen angle with a piercing screech and a sudden burst of movement.
Talons gleamed as he launched himself like a living slingstone, raking razor-sharp claws across the spider's swollen abdomen.
Thick ichor sprayed as deep, jagged gouges split open its chitin, the slash marks etching a cruel tally of pain across its body.
The creature shrieked, convulsing violently, its legs stabbing at empty air while Owlbert darted away to prepare another strike.
A grim spark of pride flared in William's chest.
"Yeah," he muttered, tightening his grip on the borrowed longsword. "That's it."
Owlbert rounded once more, building speed, feathers slicked flat, eyes locked on the wounded mass ahead, this would end it.
But then the spider's abdomen pulsed, and a thick flood of webbing burst forth with brutal force.
The strands slammed into Owlbert mid-charge, coiling around his small frame in an instant, halting his momentum like a snapped tether.
The sudden stop whipped him backward, and before a cry could escape his beak, the webbing flung him violently into a nearby tree.
The impact thundered through the grove.
Silken strands snapped taut and anchored deep, pinning Owlbert hard against the gnarled trunk. He let out a frantic, indignant hoot, wings thrashing in vain as he writhed, feathers plastered flat by the crushing bind.
"SKREE!"
The cry was sharp, raw with panic.
The spider turned.
Not slow. Not rushed.
Certain.
It prowled toward the struggling owlbear, mandibles yawning wide, venom trailing in languid, glistening threads as it drank in the helplessness before it.
William didn't pause to think.
He moved.
Exploding forward, he cut sharply to the side, one boot slamming against a fractured stone pillar at the grove's edge. He kicked off with reckless abandon, hurling himself upward in a desperate, all-or-nothing arc.
The world spun.
He crashed down onto the spider's abdomen just as it recoiled in shock, the force wrenched a piercing screech from its throat. Chitin dented under the blow as he clawed for grip, fingers tangling in coarse, bristling hairs that raked his skin raw.
"Stay down," he snarled through gritted teeth, more vow than order.
The spider convulsed, legs battering the air, desperate to shake him loose. William clung tighter, vision swimming, blood seeping hot from his shoulder, yet still he forced his weapon arm high.
The blade arced upward, catching the sunlight in a brilliant flash that danced along its blood-streaked edge.
With a raw, guttural shout, William brought it crashing down.
The strike was fierce and unyielding, driven by pain, fear, and sheer desperation.
Steel bit through the spider's soft neck with a wet, tearing sound, severing flesh and sinew in a single, ruthless sweep.
The head tore free, tumbling to the ground with a dull, final thud.
The monstrous body spasmed once, legs jerking violently, then collapsed inward, its bulk striking stone with a resounding, hollow echo.
Silence settled over the scene like a held breath.
William slid from the corpse and dropped to one knee, chest heaving with ragged breaths.
A moment later, the sticky webbing holding Owlbert slackened and fell away.
The baby owlbear tumbled to the ground, scrambled upright, and shook himself with feathery indignation.
A triumphant hoot burst from him, part relief, part outrage.
William, battered and bloodied but alive, looked up at his small companion.
"See?" he rasped, raising the sword just slightly. "Not a scratch."
Owlbert blinked once, then waddled forward and pressed his head firmly against William's chest, letting out another victorious hoot as the chaos of battle roared on around them.
William barely had time to draw breath before the thunder of the greater battle crashed back into him like a relentless tide.
He and Owlbert wheeled in unison.
Across the grove and along the battered walls, the defenders surged forward with renewed fury.
At the forefront stood Zevlor, his crimson skin smeared with soot and blood, horns gleaming in the firelight as he bellowed orders that sliced through the chaos.
Around him, the strongest of the Tiefling warriors clustered together, shields interlocked, muscles taut as they seized the hooked ladders the goblins had hurled against the stone.
"Now!" Zevlor roared. With a unified heave, they ripped the ladders free.
Wood groaned, iron hooks screeched against stone, then gravity claimed its due.
The ladders tipped outward and fell.
Goblins clung, shrieked, scrambled; some leapt too late, bodies tumbling in wild arcs before vanishing beneath the crashing timber.
Others froze in terror and were dragged down with the ladders, crushed beneath their weight as they slammed into the earth below.
Bones snapped, armor buckled, screams cut short in wet, final thuds.
More ladders followed, one after another, hurled over the edge until the assault became a storm of broken bodies and splintered wood.
The goblin advances faltered, their momentum shattered, their confidence spilling out across the blood-slick stones.
William felt a coil tighten in his chest, not fear, but unshakable resolve.
And then he saw him.
Dror Ragzlin loomed in the heart of the wreckage left by his faltering advance, a towering figure even among his own kind, his massive silhouette etched in firelight and shadow.
The hobgoblin's once-tusked grin was gone, replaced by a snarl carved deep with rage, his gaze snapping upward, locking with Zevlor's.
For a single heartbeat, the chaos of battle seemed to fade. Steel rang, arrows streaked, fire flared and died, yet none of it mattered.
Across the blood-soaked ground, two commanders met each other's eyes, the hatred between them drawn taut like a wire between wall and field.
Zevlor stood rooted, chest rising and falling, sword grounded at his side, while Ragzlin's grip on his weapon tightened until the leather groaned, veins bulging along his arm.
In that instant, they understood each other perfectly. This fight was far from over, nowhere near its end.
Ragzlin broke the stare first, his movements sharp and seething as he seized the horn at his side and blew.
The sound ripped through the battlefield, low and commanding, slicing through goblin cries and the clash of steel.
It was no rallying call.
It was an order. Retreat, immediate and absolute.
The goblins froze mid-charge, confusion rippling through their ranks before discipline reclaimed them.
Those still able to fight began a hasty retreat, hauling the wounded and leaving the dead where they fell.
Arrows hissed after them, shouts rang from the battlements, but the tide had shifted, and even Zevlor held back from ordering a chase beyond the safety of the walls.
They had come to probe the defenses, to gauge the strength of the response, and now, having taken their measure, they would carry word back to their masters.
William stood at the parapet, chest heaving, the weight of the borrowed longsword dragging at his arms as he watched their lines recede into the distance.
Beside him, Owlbert loosed a long, contented hoot, feathers settling as the tension bled from the air.
William reached out, resting a hand on the owlbear's massive head, fingers brushing over singed down and crusted ichor.
"We're not done," he murmured, eyes locked on the retreating hobgoblin commander. "Not by a long shot."
Owlbert answered with a softer hoot, the sound mingling with the crackle of fires along the walls as, one heartbeat at a time, the defenders began to grasp that they had endured and still stood.
The battle did not conclude so much as it breathed out a long, shuddering sigh.
Sound ebbed from the grove in ragged waves, steel sliding home into scabbards, shields lowering with weary relief.
Fires still crackled, but their flames now offered comfort instead of peril.
Druids moved through the wounded with swift, hushed devotion, hands aglow in soft greens and ambers as they coaxed life back into torn bodies.
Tieflings ripped cloaks into makeshift bandages, knelt beside companions, and with trembling reverence closed the eyes of those who would rise no more.
Victory, William realized, was never loud for long.
He stood in the midst of it all, blood stiff against his sleeve, lungs aching, Owlbert pressed tight against his side like a warm, feathered anchor.
The mingled scents of sap, smoke, and iron clung heavy in the air.
Then it struck him.
At first, only a subtle pressure behind his ribs, like a breath trapped too long, but it swelled and deepened, expanding through him.
William froze as something immense and unseen seemed to pour into him, drop by deliberate drop, filling every hidden hollow.
His veins hummed, his muscles drew taut, not with pain, but with a strange, solid weight, as if his body were being compressed from within.
Each heartbeat landed heavier, pounding in his chest until the edges of his vision blurred.
The pressure climbed.
Not outward, but inward.
As though the very world sought to fold him smaller, while something vast inside him refused to stop growing.
His fingers curled instinctively, nails digging into his palms. Heat surged beneath his skin, not burning, but swelling, layer upon layer of energy pressing upward with nowhere to escape.
His bones thrummed, a deep, resonant vibration that echoed through his teeth. Breath came in shallow sips, each inhale feeling stolen, inadequate.
For a harrowing instant, William was certain he might break.
That the seams of him, flesh, spirit, and something deeper still, would finally tear apart.
And then, teetering at the precipice…
It happened.
The pressure didn't erupt.
It transformed.
The suffocating fullness dissolved in a single, breathless moment, flowing through him rather than against him.
Energy threaded itself into muscle, sinew, breath, and thought with flawless precision.
Strength realigned.
Balance restored.
Perception sharpened.
William drew in a deep, trembling breath.
It was like stepping into his own skin for the very first time.
His body felt both lighter and heavier, every movement smoother, cleaner, as though the friction of existence had been stripped away.
Pain receded to a distant whisper. His senses flared, the world snapping into crystalline clarity, colors vivid, edges razor-sharp.
Not power seized recklessly.
Power forged.
Before his eyes, the words *Level Three* shimmered in radiant blue and violet light.