New Fantasy World: Galeia

Footsteps echoed in a narrow flight of stairs that barely fit three standing shoulder to shoulder. The breathing of people going into a battle with an uncertain outcome had no unified rhythm to it. Disperse at they were, so too, thoughts would follow.

Nervous coughs broke the silence, followed by hums to clear the uneasiness within. That sharp, short, and sure show of shallow disquiet came and went uncountable times during the descent.

Sighs followed with chuckles accompanied the whispered name of the monster waiting at the end of the stairs. Not defeated, not unwilling. Disbelieving, perhaps. Anxious, even.

The three at the front, those with physical power and endurance in abundance, were relaxed in their expectation for conflict. Hoping, maybe, for a satisfactory scratch to the constant itch that was the desire to do battle with powerful foes that most would choose to avoid.

Bright in ways life is not, the forward-most individual bobbed her head to an unheard tune. Evidently in fourths, the tap of gloved fingers on armored thighs, a clink of metal on metal was the only order within the small chaos. Still, the way her voice unnaturally spoke in all possible registers at once to dispel the illusion was still fresh in memory.

To the right, the quiet chewing of food could be heard under the nervous breathing of the ensemble. An impromptu intake of energy to perhaps gain a vital upper hand in the upcoming encounter.

Closely behind, the tallest yet lowest leveled individual, lightly tilting her head to not scrape the roof, had the calm disposition of a fighter in the face of promised violence. The breathing was even, as was her footsteps, louder than the rest, but no less secure in their advance.

An accepting march towards death. To deliver death. To profit from death.

Barely audible steps chased the first group. A pair acquainted with violence of a different breed. Of ambush and surprise. Of trickery and deceit. Of diversion and manipulation.

Although deeply committed to her beliefs, the younger yet more powerful Scout's breathing had none of the composed rhythm present on the vanguard group. It wasn't doubtful by any stretch of the word. The expectation within had no inclusion of the self. She wanted to watch one specific individual's violence. To witness it in full. To drive the final nail on the already solid worldview. A confirmation of sorts. Nothing more to it. Yet another one, that is. With evidence aplenty in recent memory, it was perhaps the exhilarating experience of it and nothing more. An obsession, if one used extreme words. Adoration, if one were to be nuanced.

The shorter and older Scout gave unsure glances to the Warrior tank ahead. An accepting, yet anxious view of cultural differences. Concerned love. Justified but uninvolved worry. His breathing reflected that and much, much more.

Behind the pair, Masters of E'er followed in silence, contemplating myriad possibilities.

The changed friend and oldest member breathed regularly, but shallow and anguished. Memories coming and going influenced odd footsteps. Certainty in something, but not this something. Another. One long lost, another one missing and wandering far away. A hidden pain that clutched at the heart with unforgiving brutality.

Deep in thought followed the other, much younger Wizard. Perhaps under the rush of massive level gains, her breathing was excited yet cautious. Footsteps that wanted to rush one moment, and stop entirely only to return the next. A trust that fought a surface level fear.

The most nervous breathing came next. The conductor of the orchestra of violence. The young but capable friend followed the group while concocting plans, formations, and contingencies in her mind. Footsteps that told of being acquainted with physical pain with willingness to face it once more to obtain more power, despite not entirely wanting to do so with the approach at hand. The risk was too high, but so were the rewards. Gauging the present force in full was not easy, all things considered.

An even breathing followed the group. Readiness to assist accompanied an experienced stride performed thousands of times before. The current situation was nothing new. Not the first, nor the last. The specific monster was the only thing that differed from what she had done nearly all her life, and she would make sure it remained that way with the tools at her disposal.

Finally, yours truly.

One of the pillars of culture for millions of years has been violence. There are near endless ways to translate violence in all manners of its occurrence. Be it War, a Dungeon delve, a feud between kin, a dispute between siblings, or the breach of love. Stories, music, paintings, statues, and more. A witness is necessary to translate the most basic facet of life into art.

Violence is a necessity.

Upon the 1598th step a door was reached.

The smell of E'er was pervasive and overwhelming that deep into Galeia. This mortal was sensing it with a richness that felt as if it could be grabbed if a hand were to be stretched and fingers clutched.

Were it not for the high levels of the individuals present, the thinness of the air would be dangerous.

Deep breaths in the patterns of absorption dictated by each followed legacy enriched the body, wasting no opportunity given.

The golden Protector stepped forth in her almost blinding radiance that almost forced the sight away, reaching the Goliath-sized gate, where she stood still. She muttered quietly in a single breath and in an unknown tongue, then let out a long sigh. A deep breath was taken. She repeated the words, followed by another long exhaling.

The golden glow dimmed ever so slightly.

"Swaha?" Pokh'Orra whispered one of the words as if trying to remember something. Her expression turned pensive, squinting at the ground.

Again and again the words were spoken. Each time, the glow dimmed.

We waited, observing the Protector calm whatever emotions swam in the ocean of her mind.

"I guess that works better than rubbing ears," Bonte muttered in amusement. "I could've lost a hand back then," he chuckled.

"Or worse," Pokh'Orra added with a sneer.

The Tigea shook his head. "Nah, she knows how to hold back," he assured.

"Yeah, right," Elena huffed in annoyance.

Quiet snickers answered her under the Protector's dimming glow.

"Just don't get mind controlled," Pokh'Orra offered in a joking manner with a shrug. "Not that hard, isn't it?"

Elena nodded with a smile. "I forgot to ask nicely," she joked back, raising her eyebrows as if just realizing.

"Get ready," Natasha suddenly announced, covering her head with a helmet. "I'll open the gate."

The party got into position after those words, assuming the formation the leader had chosen.

Channeling E'er within, [Dawn's Lullaby] started a rhythm that granted perspicacity, plucking at E'er as if a string instrument. [Harmonious Evening after Performance] followed, spreading through the Bond towards the party to increase Dexterity, Wisdom, and Intelligence.

The others prepared accordingly, E'er flowing in varied patterns with distinct effects.

The Protector placed both hands on the gate and pushed.

A groan came out of the material the door was made of as it slowly opened.

Crimson light similar to blood came out of the crack that opened, both a sign and a warning of the monsters that resided within.

Natasha walked in, and we followed.

A humongous cave came into view. Roots the size of buildings hung from the ceiling and stuck to the walls, emitting the bloodied light. The floor was uneven and rocky, with stalagmites sticking out of the ground every few meters, all dyed in deep scarlet.

"There!" The Elmari Elf warned, aiming at a spot further into the cave with her bow.

A creature laid on the ground, observing the party.

[Blood Fiend – Waxing Crescent Blood Moon, Unknown]

A tangle of red cords like blood vessels rose on a thicker one from which the others originated. Four long limbs resembling arms that had scythes for hands stood at the sides. The head was a naked, red skull with two black – almost void black – eyes.

"What level is it?" the Archer questioned, clearly at Natasha.

"That one is one thousand five hundred and twenty one," the Protector replied with palpable joy in her voice.

That one? I repeated in my mind and a slight tremble in my lower lip.

"That one," she pointed at the ceiling.

The party followed her finger, eyes widening.

A similar monster was hanging from the ceiling far above, but visible nonetheless.

"Is one thousand five hundred and ninety six," she informed us.

[Blood Fiend – Full Blood Moon, Unknown]

"Okay," Pokh'Orra breathed with a slight shake. "Quick, vote for retreat or stay!"

"Retreat!" Bonte replied.

"We can't," Thelea interrupted with gravitas.

"Yes we-" Elena started.

"Because of that one," the Goliath continued, interrupting the ancient Elf.

Once again, the party turned heads.

Yet another one was stuck above the gate to the cave.

[Blood Fiend – New Blood Moon, Unknown]

"One thousand two hundred and seventeen," Natasha spoke before the question came out of anyone's mouth. "You deal with that one."

Thelea had her shield raised, covering the group's rear in case the thing attacked.

"Aren't they loners?!" Pokh'Orra asked nobody in particular. "Why are there three here? And so high in levels!"

The monsters made no sound and didn't move expect for the black eyes that moved from person to person.

Shadows gathered around the Blood Fiend behind the party, blocking its eyes.

A loud noise, similar to suction being released, echoed in the cave.

The one that was stuck above the gate fell first, blocking the exit and making a plop sound. Then fell the one on the ceiling, with a louder plop.

"Gross," Natasha muttered, looking at the monster that fell a good distance from the party. "I'll take these two," she decided and started walking towards the monsters.

The party focused on the aberration by the door, no doubt in our minds that the Halve would dispatch the other monsters on her own.

"Let's-" Lady Yolin began.

A loud boom from behind interrupted her, followed by an impact that shook the cave.

"RRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!" came a warcry that threatened to rend the very heavens, almost upturning the ground, and increasing the air pressure almost tenfold!

The fiend the party was facing shivered in place, its body undulating as if someone had thrown a boulder at an otherwise tranquil lake.

"GO!" Pokh'Orra finished Lady Yolin's sentence, releasing a barrage of ethereal arrows at the monster.

Lady Yolin rushed forward, standing next to Thelea, where she conjured uncountable arms along with spheres and a wide circle that floated behind her.

Thelea stomped the ground and shouted at the monster, sending a short lived shock-wave at it.

Five copies of Lady Hanna formed from her, splitting and rushing the Blood Fiend, then turning invisible with her.

Lady Lapia aimed with her staff. Fire and lightning came to life, striking the thing in an instant. A wave of her free hand and the party was encased in electric shields.

My fingers moved with practiced ease, playing the Cionile in my hands. "Öäääüüöööäääää~" I sang from my stomach, vibrating the air with subharmonics, which in turn made the air within the instrument move and produce a sound. Moving the bow, the strings came to life. [Mischievous Pendulum] took effect, stronger with the Cionile's aid, granting Strength, Constitution, and Dexterity.

Another Warcry came from behind, this time with an invitation to dance to the death.

Being perhaps the only one who could afford to look elsewhere, I turned around.

Flashes of gold and silver against red made for a colorful blur of violence.

The Halve was moving at high speeds between the two monsters, delivering perhaps fifty to sixty slashes each second along with parries. On top of her, like a golden mantle, stood a shape of reptilian nature. It held an ethereal spear similar to the Protector's in its scaled arms, copying each and every one of her movements.

The high pitched sound of something incredibly hard hitting metal came six times each second. Like whips that required no preparation between strikes, the scythes attacked relentlessly, founding no purchase on the much faster Protector and her mantle, or bouncing off her armor whenever she deemed it appropriate to not defend.

Absurdly quick swipes of two spears blocked most attacks with overwhelming strength, producing dull flashes of red as blood sprayed like mist every time the Mythical weapon struck.

I increased the tempo and lowered the notes, adding tension to the music and switching to [Dreamer's Promise], granting stacking alacrity to the party so their attacks moved faster to meet such monstrosities.

"Is that Dragon Roar?" Lady Alyssa muttered next to me, looking at the Halve as well. "So that's what she meant about her attacks striking twice and her strength doubling," she recalled with understanding.

"HööööääääÄÄ~" I sang from deep within while observing, unable to reply.