Moss hid, silently thanking his chronicler once again. His UnseenRunt ability was the reason he was still alive. The chaos brought on by the ghoul had helped distract the commander. But the golden knight had used an impressive ability. His shout, like a clap of lightning, was heard throughout the cave. The noise even overwhelmed the sound of actual lightning that was fired from his mages hands. This had brought the raiding party charging back in a flicker. Straight towards the keeper. 

Stuck in the cave entrance between the ghoul fighting Sir Talon and an army. Moss leapt at the nearest cover he could see.

In a not so smooth roll, he tumbled away from a stray ice shard and landed on the carpet of fur.

The school group of furries had died in a somewhat neat pile, making it easy for the keeper to gather all their bodies around him.

He was going to craft another protective ball, when a horrendous cry went out. The fat, naked man bounded towards him. Glistening in sweat, blood and tears. He looked like a newborn, baby ogre that had, only a flicker ago, leapt out of his mother’s TrapDoor.

Nope.

Moss didn’t want to see the fight. He didn’t care who won or lost. As long as he survived. Unfortunately when you use children as a crafting material. Their tiny bodies don’t go too far. He’d only formed half a boulder and all the other corpses were deeper in the Grotto.

He immediately abandoned the typical boulder shape and simply drew them together instead. A long drape form, which he crawled beneath to block out the carnage.

The thundering thighs of the berzerker pounded passed. 

In the darkness, the keeper could hear the clash of battle. 

Clanging metal, cries of pain, small explosions and under it all, a deep moaning. 

More footsteps pounded by as more heroes joined the fight. Most skirted him, but some managed to step on his drape, missing him by a moth’s wing. 

For once, he was happy to be a small monster.

The carnage grew louder. Moss’s anxiety grew with it. He knew they couldn’t defeat a ghoul. Soon they’ll be retreating into the cave. Possibly fighting on top of him as they went.

He timidly poked his head out. 

The raiders had grouped together in formation. Creating a wall of heavily armoured heroes to block the cave mouth. 

To Moss’s surprise, the fat berzerker was overwhelming the ghoul. Shredding its body in an endless tornado of attacks.

“Beg Beorn for forgiveness!” The brute yelled.

And the ghoul dropped to its knees with a moan of pure ecstasy.

Holy Hells. He did it.

The berezerker, equally as shocked, stuttered in his onslaught. 

Leaving the ghoul with an opening. With the agility of HellHare, it sprung into the air towards the cave. And landed beyond beside the shield wall, out of the keeper’s sight.

Sir Talon yelled and spears, spells and missiles were unleashed. 

Flames roared beneath the warriors legs, arrows punctured the floor and the heroes cried out in frustration. Moss knew it wouldn’t work. The fiend was too fast and even if you hit it, it would heal in a flicker. 

The keeper wasn’t going to waste his chance though. He crawled, still draped in fur, towards the cave wall and away from the main thoroughfare.

Here a mage, clung to the side of curving sides, calling out as her prepared spell finalised. Archaic, glowing runes rotated around her hands as bolts of amethyst shot forward. They trailed purple lines in the air as they tracked the ghoul. Twisting and turning with its movements. The ultimate hunter spell - MagicMissles. These were the bane of monsters. Once set on a target, they never missed. The flying gems ripped through the ghouls cloak with quick succession. 

A cheer went up as the fiend was flung through the air. Its body corkscrewed like a leaf caught in a storm.

The cheer died as it hit the frontline. Its claws spun, shredding the shield bearers like paper.

The line of defence collapsed as it weaved into the back ranks. Screams of pain echoed off the walls. Moss could see the hero's faces. Fear and panic. Frantic eyes searching for flight. 

Only now he noticed that the bridge was down. Their only option was to retreat back into the cave.

Praise Pools, Moss thought. Glad his cowardice had driven him out of the danger early.

Moss licked the fur carpet and stuck it to his back. He then crawled further along, trailing the furry younglings behind him.

The cave floor sharply sloped into the wall, halting Moss’s progress. His claws were capable of climbing such a sheer incline. But his disguise as a dead monster was less convincing off the ground. For now, he would stay still and rely on his abilities and camouflage. 

The heroes will break soon. Then I’ll… wait till the ghoul leaves?

Suddenly Moss was betting his scrips on the raiders winning. He sighed, but couldn’t help smiling at the realisation. He’d bet on the heroes with his first plan, which had led to this disaster of a situation, and now he was doing it all over again.

Any hope he had soon faded as the battle continued.

Even with the hero's shining gear, epic abilities, varying classes and coordinated team work. He was surprised to find them losing so badly. Men and women were tossed like discarded toys. Swords snapped, ShieldSpells shattered and their tactics were futile.

Discipline amongst the units started to collapse. Training forgotten as they resorted to raw power and brute force.

A fiery-haired sorceress unloaded a ray of intense sunlight. Her wand bloomed like a beacon in the dark cavern. The ghoul squealed with delight, turning to take the concentrated Flow straight in the face. The hero screamed in fury. Pouring all her strength into the weapon. The beacon grew into a bright star, then exploded. 

The keeper was already beneath his child’s blanket as the heat wave washed over him. But he was still blinded for a flicker. With rapid blinks, the hazy smear on his vision faded.

The ghoul stood in a black crater. Screeching in dismay. It seemed to love the pain of battle as much as killing. 

Any doubts Moss had had before were gone now. He knew for certain it was Pittons. Beneath the warped form of the fiend, his old chainmate was in there.

With a bounding leap, the ghoul smashed into a row of ironclad dwarfs. 

Behind them a blue light flashed, and the Squire appeared at the edge of the cave. 

Sir Talon grabbed the boy and several of the Captains and - to Moss’s horror - ran towards him.

He wanted to sink deeper into his drape but was too petrified to move. All he could do was to trust in his ability.

The commander removed his helm. Revealing drenched hair and a haggard gaze. 

“Full scale retreat. Form up on your squads. Dezmand, take your mages and form a bridge back to the platforms. Harper, defend them from any potential threats on the other side and secure the elevators. Signal when in place and we’ll begin pulling back. My Iron Front will support the retreat. When the moment comes, I can hold it with my Steel Grip while we abandon this side. Then I want you to collapse the bridge.” He held a gauntlet to silence their protests.

“Once the bridge is gone. Jennifer will Misty Step us both across. My sacrifice would make a bard’s cock quiver, but my family needs me more.” As he spoke he clasped a brass broach holding his cape together. 

The scout Captain, who’d made Moss kill the old furry, stepped forward. “Sir, allow my men to stay with you. We can set rope lines into the mist and meet back at the ritual.”

“Can your men see through the mist?” The knight asked.

“Like owls during a full moon.”

“Then I’ll take three of your best shots to watch me from the far side of the bridge. I’ve seen that monster do the impossible. Let’s assume it’ll follow. Understood?”

They saluted and spread out to initiate the retreat.

Sir Talon held the Squire back. 

The young hero's gaze constantly shifted from the ghoul and back.

“Father, I-”

“Don’t be afraid, my son.” He said, grabbing his hand and placing it on his broach. “The Divine watches over us and she has a plan. I am a part of it, she told me herself. We must trust in her or all is lost.”

The Squire nodded, and they said a silent prayer together. A golden light shone between their clasped hands. The broach was a HolyRelic. Moss could see the confidence it gave them. They stood tall, their dread forgotten as their deity acknowledged them with her Holy light.

The Squire raced off as the commander slammed his helm back into place. His cape whipped around, drifting close to the keeper, as he turned to face the ghoul.