Hours. It felt like they had been walking around the damned dungeon for hours after the odd doorways. With exhaustion nipping at their heels, they found it would not be ideal to build a camp this close to the surface. Or at least, so Thunderstepper had said and so they listened. It felt like an eternity before they found their next obstacle. The party stopped in front of another doorway. This one seemed to lead to a large and vast round chamber. Sand shifted around the entrance that was about a meter down, not enough to bother a soul if they landed right, but enough to be a hassle if they had to get back up onto solid ground.

“Are we going to rest? Or are we going in?” Twix questioned, and Helissent, Thunderstepper and Reaper all paused at their question. “Cause I vote we make like a tree and leaf.”

Despite the serious situation, Thunderstepper snorted before he could stop it. The other three laughed at his offended look. “We should.” He said, after the laughter had stopped. “But I can’t help but feel something about that place is very, very wrong. And we have a duty to the others roaming in this dungeon to at least check what it is.”

There was a cool breeze that ran past them as the group approached, beckoning them to enter. That stifled the lightened mood. The four Coursers stared at the doorway and felt an ominous feeling settle on the second cold breeze that carried past them. It asked them to enter again, just this once. This time, they did not consider it. Something was in there, something bad. Like jaws preparing to slam shut. There was no sound except for their own hoofsteps as they stepped back, but they felt like they were being watched. Sand shifted when Twix, their scout, took one look back at the passageway they just came out of. The beckoning feeling shifted as the cold reared, reaching out. It twisted, growing cruel until it was the sense of overwhelming, gut-wrenching trepidation rolling in, a tension that settled in their legs, urging them to flee.

“I’m going to call it. It’s going to fight or chase us no matter what we do, if that thing is already watching us. If we turn around it will chase us out, like hunted prey.” Reaper said, concluding what all of them had been feeling. His mouth tightened around the handle of the lantern  until he could taste blood. He knew that he looked as if he was itching to draw his crossbow.

“So, cousin? We can try. It’s bad, yes, but not hopeless.” Thunderstepper finally voiced. “If that thing does not wish for us to leave we shall make it regret doing so. Let’s make a plan and spring the trap, and do it before whatever that thing grows impatient enough to lunge for us.”

Twix and Helissent shared a look as the cousins bent over to talk. If they were going to make a plan it would be a reckless one. This Harvest had shown them one thing- those two, under the influence of their blood, could be real menaces. They trotted over to create a few escape plans instead. Someone had to keep common sense alive in the dungeon.

After one last look back the four trotted into the arena. Shadowy crowds gestured and leaned in from the corners of their vision, still seated in crumbling auditorium seats high above. They turned to see the shadows move and quickly blanched when the creak of iron echoed behind them. Reaper glanced back and cursed when a gate slammed shut on their entrance. Thunderstepper grimaced and raised his cleaver. Helissent brandished her blade. Twix did the same with their second lantern so they had a shot at piercing the darkness. Reaper blinked, raised his crossbow and fired.

The arrow pierced the moving shape- or it should have. It hit the wall instead and shattered on impact. And the shape was fast, faster than anything they encountered before. It moved on four legs, thin and skeletal, tall like a Courser. Then it lunged and the party scattered as the ghost, for that it what it looked like, splattered against the wall. All were immediately aware that they did not carry any blessed or holy weapons. Not even a scrap of silver, rare as it was.

“Shit.” Thunderstepper said. He tried to say something else but the shadows on the walls moved and the arena fell silent. All that surrounded them was a thick, unnatural silence. Like the forest would do when a predator was nearby. As one, the party glanced back at the soup in front of them. It slid upon the sand, then thickened. Then parted, to form something that was right yet not. It looked like a cloaked Courser for a few seconds, before the eyes opened. They were glowing red. A sense of deep, deep malice filled the arena with the unnatural cold. The ghost drifted, gaze turning to each of them, its form barely holding together. Wisps of mist trailed from its body and the edges flickered as it took a step. It stopped to look at Reaper, then Thunderstepper. It wavered, as if the creature’s form was being torn apart and reassembled every second. Just for a second, the world stopped.

Then Reaper had to blink against the ringing in his ears while the world went black. A harsh, cold laugh filled his ears. The laugh of an angry spirit, a tormented ghost. The pain only registered when he slammed into the sandy floor. One swing. The ghost had sent both him and his cousin, poor Thunderstepper, to the ground with a single swing. The gray Courser was doing a lot better than him, already moving to jump back into the fray, but Reaper needed a moment. Spitting out a few mouthfuls of sand he shivered when in the back of his head, the spirited voices and shadows reared up. Something possessive and probing. He hated himself at that moment for an obvious weakness. But he breathed in, out and tried to move.

When Reaperstood he felt the prick of being watched. The ghost was staring at him with red, burning eyes. Anxiety tightened around his ribcage and squeezed, paralyzing him with a horrid wave of fear that did not even seem to be attached to any rational thought. But as the panic set in and he took a step back when it reared, anger brewed up too. How dare that bastard of a spirit challenge him and his friends to an unfair duel. How dare it send them down into the arena, wishing they were likely to lose. And how dare it cast a silence over all of them, unable to hear their last words even if he wished to. His heart slammed into his ribcage, speeding up each time it beat against flesh instead of the dark mist half of him expected to find.

That ghost was not going to win. Not to them. He was going to use the plan, find an exit, and escape that thing. It could not leave- would not have lured them here if it could. And maybe, just maybe-

They could make it pay.