In the heart of the dungeon's abyss, where even the shadows lived in fear of what slumbered in the deep, Castalla, Karlach, Elrin and Quill stood before the entity they had awakened. Their arcane ritual, heathen and unholy, had torn open the veils and this figment, this skull, was to be their penance. The Skull loomed, no mere legend or relic of forgotten nightmares, but a primal being furious at being awakened by mere mortals. Rising above them, it dwarfed even Karlach, bathing them in the ink of its shadow and fixing them with the burning embers ensnared within the abyssal sockets. The gnashing of its teeth was doom's bell tolling in the deep, snarling through their chamber and thrumming in their bones. Shadows twirled and danced as they fled what light remained from the flicker of their torches, and the walls pressed in closer, closer, closer until there was nothing left but the determination in their hearts and the profane face of their fate.

Castalla and Karlach//

Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath as the Skull loomed over the group. Karlach tightened her grip on her cleaver, shifting her weight from hoof to hoof as energy and anticipation threaded through her veins. But even she knew the odds were not on their side. 

"What the fuck have we done, soldier,"  she growled, sparing Castalla a side long glance.

Castalla’s gaze was fixed on the Skull, the line of her lips set in grim determination as she spun her weapon testily, assessing their options. Were she alone the Wolf would have thrown herself upon it, all teeth and steel and no reserve. But she was not alone and she could not cost others their lives.

“Fall back,” she yelled to the others, her voice guttural with frustration, defiance. She hated running, it went against every instinct bleed into her scars, but it was their best hope for survival.

Their hooves clattered upon the cobblestones, deafened by the roar of the unembodied skeleton as it raced toward them. Further and further away the door seemed to drift, as though it too were fleeing the Skull, and reality crashed heavily over Castalla. They weren’t going to make it. Just as she was about to call out she felt a force hurl her to the side as bone connected with body and then body connected with stone.

“Castalla!” Karlach plunged her hooves into the ground, turning towards Castalla, towards the skull that blocked their escape. 

Castalla rose to her feet, chest heaving.

This was death crowned in unholy light, the heathen embodiment of arcane and decay. This was the voiceless jaws of doom, the sightless face of annihilation. This was to be their end. Castalla would not cower before it, she would not meet it with her tail between her legs or scrabbling on her knees. She would make it an end worthy of the ancients, one sung in the whispers of the dungeons and the magic that thrummed like lifeblood through the fallen Kingdom. Lip curled, teeth bared, she stood before the maw of oblivion and grinned. Bloodied but unbowed, aching but uncowed, she was the elegant tip of a lethal knife. She who had faced tyrant kings and lesser gods; she who was the last of her kind, the only surviving daughter of Nightfall, she would stand her ground and go down fighting.

Elrim & Quill//

Initial curiosity had turned to sheer terror as the skull rose. Castalla's command didn't fall on deaf ears as the younger courser turned tail, galloping back behind the others. Passing Castalla, passing Karlach, and then Elrim who stood like a statue, a wall for him to hide behind. A flutter of wings above told him that Walter was following, but with his heart stammering in his throat, the gnashing of teeth behind him as his hooves battered on cracked stone as a war drum. 

Karlach's scream had him turning around, his body near the door as the skull descended upon Castalla, and he cried out as well. He froze, the pressure of Walter on his back bringing little comfort in the face of death itself. This was beyond anything that he was prepared for. He hadn't heeded warnings. He hadn't considered whether they should. 

Elrim surged forward, hooves near silent against the ground as he moved like a ghost, the thrumming of his blood in his veins and the feeling that he'd fought this creature guiding him. A dance macabre, one that he had failed, one that he had tried with others who still had parts of themselves lingering in this room. Names that he couldn't speak; faces that he didn't remember. He wouldn't add the three newest that he travelled with to that list. Castalla, Karlach, and Quill wouldn't become bones littering this dungeon's floors. They wouldn't be ghosts that roamed these halls. 

This time, if anyone was going to go down, it was going to be him. He'd played fate long enough. 

He pressed his shoulder against Castalla as he stood beside her, the disembodied skull that charged at both of them to be their damnation or their victory. A slam against his side threw him to the wall. Blood drops on the floor letting him know that he was injured as he picked himself back up.

'You can't avoid fighting forever,' a voice whispered to him, an invisible presence against his side that he felt for a moment before it vanished. A soft caress, a final goodbye, the last vestige of power of someone who waited for him to come back. How long? The ghost didn't linger to say, and Elrim didn't hesitate to allow the past to repeat itself. 

"No more running. Let's fight," Elrim growled as he pulled his sword and dashed forward, engaging with the Skull as it came. 

Watching his companions surge forward, Quill took a shaky breath. He couldn't leave them. He couldn't be a coward where they might get injured or die. 

"Stay here, Walter," Quill begged as he took his sword shakily, ignoring the tremors as he took a step. 

Walter honked behind him, the knife in his harness slipped free and the goose gripped it in its beak. There was a glint in its eye, and at the sound of thundering hooves as Quill charged forward, Walter followed. 

Together, they couldn't lose.