"All of you, run!" I shout. "Up the wall, now! Get out of its reach!"

"No!" someone shouts. "We stand and fight!"

"It's a whipper! It grabs you—armor is no defense!"

"Slash it apart!" Oludek yells. "Charge!"

Another scream pierces the blackness, followed by splashing. The whipper has taken another victim.

"Charge!" Oludek yells again.

Fine, then. If they want to fight—maybe we can beat it, with me and a first degree with us. It's no dragon. But where to charge? All is totally black. I think the whipper is directly ahead of me, and I stride toward it, but my boots sink into the broken earth. I stumble, end up turning slightly to the right. I compensate, but when the whip next slashes through the damp air, whistling then cracking, I think I've wandered off-target.

"Where is it?" someone shouts.

"Here!" another yells. "I've found its leg!"

She lets out a yell of rage, then there's a sound like a sword sinking deep into a heavy piece of wood. Was that the whipper's leg, or one of the plants? There is another whistle, and she screams. There's splashing, then the screams stop.

Cursing under my breath, I head toward the noise. But is it the splashing of the beast's belly I'm heading toward, or toward the splashing of someone tripped into a bog? I collide with another runeknight—sparks glint—and we both fall into muddy, slime-clogged water.

"Watch it!" he says, then the whip comes for him.

There's a whistle, then emptiness.

Sound! It comes for our sound. It must be able to see as well, which is why it first killed the dwarf with the lantern, but now with all absence of light, it tracks us by sound, grabbing whoever makes a noise closest to it. Another runeknight falls into a patch of water somewhere ahead, yelps in shock, and then is taken arcing through the air. Splashes again, then silence.

How can we defeat this thing? Like the black slinker I encountered on my journey from the surface with Vanerak, armor is useless against it. Once it takes you into that gaping back-maw, its burning juices will make its way through the minute gaps in your armor and melt your flesh within.

Unless, of course, your armor is waterproof. Then you could stand a chance. And do I not have armor just like that? I made mine to resist magma, of course, yet magma is also a liquid that burns. There is not so much difference between them.

Another dwarf is taken. He made no sound that I could hear—perhaps he managed to find the beast and give it a taste of another sense: pain. I rush toward his lingering scream, Life-Ripper thrust forward and ready to slay. I need to get in closer.

Curiously, I'm feeling little fear right now. What is some beast, compared with a Runethane? My first instinct to run was incorrect.

Another dwarf is taken. I'm very close now, judging from the scream. I hear crashing from the other side of the beast—a group of dwarves are charging, voicelessly. Has Oludek organized some kind of stealthy attack?

"Here!" I yell, as loudly as I can. "I'm here, beast! Grab me if you can!"

I hear the whistle. It's not as loud as it was with the other attacks—now that I'm close, the angle is awkward. Nevertheless, when it strikes me, the force is as great as any troll's blow. I'm thrown to my side, then feel a terrible pressure around my chest, even through my armor. In the next instant I'm high into the air. I yell out in shock, but regain focus and change it into a battle-cry.

My momentum suddenly shifts downward—my guts change shape inside me. The pressure around my chest relaxes. I smell a terrible stink below, like rotten smoke from death's black fire. Flailing and writhing, I attempt to orient myself upright. The only gaps in my armor are the openings for my eyes and mouth. As long as I don't get any liquid in there—

I smash into the heavy body of a runeknight, back first. The impact stuns me, rattles my head in my helmet. The stench is tripled, and I taste many-flavors from it: of burning flesh and decayed flesh, long-dead fungus and fecal matter. Thick liquid bubbles around me, releasing gas which burns my throat as I gasp for air.

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I struggle to right myself. Both boots sink deep. More gas bubbles up, and I can barely breathe anymore. Something grabs at me, a steel-clad hand grasping around my wrist, and I stab back with Life-Ripper. It lets go. I push forward through the muck, which is steadily rising around me, or maybe I am steadily sinking. I think it has passed my waist already, though of course I cannot know this for sure in the dark.

The whole beast shudders and the contents of its back-maw sloshes back and forth. I'm swept up in the waves, and struggle to keep my balance, only doing so by stabbing Life-Ripper deep down. Liquid splashes up and over me, and some dribbles through my helmet. It runs onto my neck and down my chest, leaving trails of fiery pain.

"Shit!" I scream, and I push forward.

The liquid hisses around me. My armor burns with the heat of life, and its runes glow brighter with power. They force away the maw's devouring juices just as they forced away the magma sea. Back then, it fought against the heat of the world itself. Now, it fights against the heat of gluttony. The beast's juices seek to tear whatever beings sink into it apart and steal their strength.

Another shudder runs through the monster. It tips, slightly, before regaining its posture. I hear another whistle and a runeknight splashes behind me. He screams, and I think it sounds like Oludek. Another whistle comes in quick succession, and the guildmaster's screaming is joined by another of his dwarves'.

The beast shudders again, but not as strongly. The Salamander Coats' counterattack is failing. It is all up to me, now. Everyone's fate rests on the strength of my metal. I force myself forward faster. My armor is beginning to vibrate strangely. It's fighting the power of the maw-beast with all its force, but I didn't compose for this particular kind of heat. If I don't kill the beast fast, my runes will fail, and my screams will join Oludek's now fading ones.

I collide with something firm: a high wall of flesh. I stab Life-Ripper's twin points deep, and nothing seems to happen. I shout in frustration and stab again, yet there is still no reaction, not even the merest tremor.

Maybe it can't feel pain, here. It can feel something on the outside, around its legs, but here is inside of its body. Probably the futile stabs and slashes of burning runeknights feel like nothing more than a stomach-ache to it. Again I stab, just to make sure, and again there's no effect. The thorns of magic-killing discord are doing nothing.

My armor is beginning to scream. It can't hold for much longer. I spin Life-Ripper around, stab high and deep. I pull hard with both arms and drag my full weight up, then brace my boots against the wall of flesh. I think I'm out of the liquid, but now what? How high is this wall?

I push myself up, trying to get one foot onto Life-Ripper's shaft. It's slippery with juice and I fall, end up hanging by one hand, kicking the water into unseen froth with one boot. I get my left hand back up, pull up again, swing up my feet and this time succeed in balancing on my weapon. I reach and find the top of the wall.

With strength born from of decades grasping the forging-hammer, I grip, digging my metal-wrapped fingers right into the flesh. The power of a salamander's bite, which I wrote into my gauntlet's poem all those long-hours ago, keeps hold as I pull myself up and swing my legs over. Life-Ripper, jutting at an angle now, I wrench out. I hear a splatter—maybe blood, maybe stomach juices.

I sense a slight tremor. The whip is coming for me. The monster can feel me now. My armor is shivering with a kind of pain: if I'm thrown back into the maw, I don't know if I'll be able to make it out again.

The whistle comes and I aim. My weapon is a weapon-catcher. Now it must do what it's been designed to. The whip tears the air before me apart—I need no runic ears to judge where it's coming from—and I thrust. The black strap comes between the points, and my thorns tear flesh.

Like a snake the whip tries to wrap around me. I twist, driving the thorns deeper. The beast convulses and I lose my footing, fall off. Now I'm hanging in the air, held off the ground only by my weapon, its thorns stuck right to their hilts into the monster's tongue, limb, whatever it is.

I'm pulled up, yet without so much force. The beast's whip seems to be sensitive, the body part most alive, perhaps. Now so much pain is flowing that the monster can barely stand to flex its weapon.

"I've got its tongue!" I shout out. "Its whip! All of you, charge! Slash it apart—without fear!"

Three times a dozen runeknights shout out, and I hear crashing and splashing. They're charging—Oludek was telling the truth when he said that most were at least fifth degree. Each has fought many a battle. Wet hacking echoes all around.

With one last desperate effort, the whipper beast thrusts its whip up into the air, trying to toss me away. Life-Ripper holds firm, though. I twist half a turn further, in the moment I hang weightless at the top of my ascent, and sense all strength go out of it.

Whipper beasts hunt from the shadows. They lash out and take their prey only when those smaller monsters have not the slightest suspicion they are being listened to. Nothing fights back against the whippers. Nothing dares to hunt them, not even runeknights. They are not used to pain and conflict. They are not used to fair fights.

I slam into a patch of marsh and sink deep. Mud fills my helmet. I pull myself up and, gasping and choking, push my visor up. Water rushes out my ears. Once it's gone, I can hear both wailing and cheering.

"Oludek! Oludek!" some wail.

"Zathar!" others scream. "Zathar, Zathar!"

Lanterns light up the scene—the monster has collapsed lifeless to the ground, its six legs splayed out like the points of a hextuple star. The limp form of Oludek being pulled from its maw. Exhausted, I stumble forward. I see that the runes on Oludek's golden scales are pitted and ruined. Thankfully, his face is hidden by both shadow and visor.

"Zathar!" someone shouts, and she points to me. "Zathar Runeforger!"

"He's unharmed!"

"Zathar!"

"Zathar Runeforger!"

"Zathar!"

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