The alarm system didn't trigger just one bell but a series of alarms distributed throughout the mine. Bells and warning mechanisms echoed through the underground tunnels, their sound reverberating like the echo of an impending sentence.
Although the shrill ringing of the alarms alerted the guards, for many, it was merely an initial warning. It wouldn't be the first time one of those bells had been accidentally triggered: a clumsy slave tripping over a mechanism, a minor collapse in the tunnels, or even a large rat could set off the alarm. Most guards didn't pay much attention at first. After all, who would attack a mine in such a remote location? They were deep within imperial territory, far from any disputed borders. There were no nearby enemies, and though nobles had their constant conflicts, mines were rarely targeted in attacks; slaves were too valuable to destroy without reason. If a mine changed hands, it was through politics, not assaults.
However, some of the more disciplined guards decided to investigate. Among them was one just waking up in another of the rest quarters. He rose with irritation, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. The bell had interrupted his rest, and his foul mood was evident.
"Damn it…" he muttered to himself as he slowly stood. He had worked in the mine for years and was about to receive a promotion. He wasn't particularly cruel but was strict in his duties. Meticulous and disciplined, he had worked hard to earn a higher rank. He wouldn't let a false alarm distract him from his responsibilities.
He dressed quickly, securing his sword to his belt. He walked decisively toward the door of the room, his mind still clouded with sleep. His routine was simple: check, ensure everything was in order, and return to his rest. But the moment he crossed the threshold, he felt a sharp, searing pain in his chest.
He stopped abruptly. His eyes, wide with surprise, slowly drifted down to his torso.
A sharp blade protruded from his chest. A firm hand gripped the hilt of the sword that impaled him.
The guard felt his legs falter. Hot blood began to rise to his throat, choking any attempt to cry out. His breathing became erratic, and reality shattered in an instant. His mind processed the impossible: he was being killed inside what was supposed to be a safe territory.
His assailant said nothing. They merely pushed the blade further in before pulling it out with a precise twist, allowing the guard to collapse to his knees. His vision blurred, his body trembled. He felt his life slipping away with each agonizing heartbeat.
But even on his deathbed, he didn't forget his duty.
With the last ounce of his strength, his foot found the alarm cable on the floor. He stomped on it with all the force he could muster, activating a second alert.
The metallic sound echoed through the tunnels like an inescapable roar. A second chime.
If one alarm could be ignored as an accident… two were a certainty.
The guards, drowsy or distracted, set aside their skepticism. Their years of training kicked in. They unsheathed their weapons, their gazes hardened, and they began to move.
A second alarm only meant one thing.
Someone was attacking the mine.
The guards, now fully alert, hurriedly donned their armor and grabbed their weapons. Some raised spears, others swords and shields, preparing for the sudden attack.
The hooded figures hadn't wasted time. They had infiltrated with precision, eliminating several guards in their quarters, but more than half of the garrison remained. The mine was vast, and despite the initial surprise, the battle's balance had yet to fully tilt in their favor.
A group of eight guards who had been sleeping in a room armed themselves quickly and exited into the corridor. Not far away, they spotted five hooded figures emerging from another room. For a brief moment, both sides froze, staring at each other with a mix of surprise and tense anticipation.
The guards wore standard imperial armor, thick metal pieces that provided solid protection for vital areas. Four carried heavy shields, while the other four wielded long spears.
The hooded figures, on the other hand, appeared unarmed. Their garments concealed any details beneath the shadows of their cloaks, but what unsettled the guards most were the strange masks covering their faces. Made of grayish wood, they had a rustic texture and lacked mouths, but the most terrifying feature was their eyes: two glowing red orbs shone from within the masks, staring at them with an inhuman coldness.
One of the guards swallowed hard.
"Who the hell are you?" shouted one of them. "Stop and surrender!"
The response was immediate. The hooded figures raised their bows in perfect synchronization and drew their strings with fluid movements.
The guards reacted instantly, forming a defensive line and raising their shields. They weren't afraid of arrows, but those red eyes reminded them of a dangerous race they couldn't trust. Their instincts screamed not to underestimate these opponents.
The first volley of arrows was loosed. The sound of projectiles striking shields echoed. A faint blue light enveloped the guards' defenses, an enchantment meant to enhance their resistance.
But something was wrong.
The arrows pierced the aura created by the guards' enchantments effortlessly and embedded themselves in the wood of the shields. They didn't break through, but the impact was enough to unsettle the guards.
One of them cursed under his breath.
"How the hell did they break our barrier?"
A sharp snap from one of the hooded figures broke the brief silence. It was a signal.
The archers drew their bows again, this time positioning themselves more tactically. Some crouched while others stood, ensuring their shots didn't obstruct one another. Arrows rained down with precise cadence, striking without pause.
The guards held their ground, but each impact weakened their defenses. Just as it seemed the battle was evenly matched, the sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor.
Five more guards arrived in formation, surrounding the group of hooded figures. The relief on the faces of the initial eight was palpable.
"We've got them!" one of them exclaimed.
The guards began to advance, but the hooded figures showed no intention of surrendering. Just then, one of them crouched and pulled out what looked like a scroll. They quickly unfurled it and pinned it to the ground with two daggers. Then, with precise movements, they retrieved a strange cylinder from their cloak and placed it at the center of the scroll.
The scroll bore an intricate circular design with unknown symbols and patterns. As soon as the cylinder was placed at its center, the figure pressed the device firmly against the ground. The cylinder seemed to shrink, collapsing in on itself in an impossible motion, as though absorbed by the stone. At that moment, the scroll emitted a faint glow before vanishing into the darkness.
The torches flickered briefly before extinguishing completely.
Darkness engulfed the corridor in a matter of seconds.
The guards were left completely blinded. The sudden blackout caught them off guard, their eyes still adjusted to the light. In their moment of confusion, it was already too late.
Those carrying shields felt a strong tug, as if something invisible was pulling them. They barely had time to react before chaos erupted.
A few minutes earlier, at the same scene.
The hooded figures had just cleared another of the rooms where the guards slept. They knew they had to move quickly. The concept of an alarm had been ingrained in them by their savior; these sounds existed solely to alert the enemy, and every second spent there increased their risk of discovery.
But their luck ran out quickly. They encountered a well-armed group of guards, ready for combat.
It wasn't fear that the hooded figures felt, but caution. A frontal confrontation was a risk they couldn't afford. They knew their weapons could counter, at least partially, the energy protecting the guards, but they weren't infallible. They confirmed this when they fired their first volley of arrows: they easily broke through the magical barrier but were stopped by the physical shields. The guards were strong in their own right, with muscular, well-trained bodies.
They knew they could win, but not without casualties.
The enemy communicated with shouts and direct orders. In contrast, the hooded figures used subtle sounds: tongue clicks, brief whistles, pre-trained signals that provided no information to their adversaries. The logical solution was to press them with ranged attacks and avoid close combat. However, the situation changed when another group of guards appeared at the opposite end of the corridor, surrounding them.
They had no time to waste.
They decided to opt for a riskier but effective strategy. One of them retrieved one of the devices provided by their savior: a scroll covered in inscriptions and unknown patterns, designed for a single purpose.
To eliminate all sources of light.
They didn't fully understand how it worked. Their savior had tried to explain, mentioning something about "luminous radiation" and "photon absorption." To them, these were meaningless words. They didn't need to understand it; they just needed to know it worked.
With mechanical precision, they unfurled the scroll, pinning it to the ground with daggers. Then, they placed the activation cylinder at its center and pressed it.
The world was plunged into absolute darkness.
The hooded figures didn't hesitate. Two of them turned nimbly, charging at the five guards surrounding them from behind, while the other three lunged directly at the group of eight in front.
The corridor became a stage of absolute darkness, but the hooded figures were not as blind as their opponents. Their masks, meticulously designed under the guidance of their savior, were equipped with two red crystals embedded in the brown wood surrounding their eyes. This contrast of color with the gray wood of the rest of the mask gave them an even more terrifying appearance. However, beyond their looks, their purpose was clear: to allow them to see in the dark.
Unlike their enemies, their movements were neither erratic nor hesitant. Their steps were confident, calculated. The design of their masks not only enhanced their vision in the gloom but was also linked to other runic devices. Engraved in their equipment and connected to small metallic cylinders in their cloaks, these symbols allowed them to perceive the contours and movements of their enemies, even in total absence of light.
One of the hooded figures quickly slid among the guards raising their shields, observing their postures and desperate attempts to form a defensive barrier. Within seconds, they found a weak spot. With precise movement, they barely lowered one guard's shield, creating a gap in the defense just above his shoulder. Another figure slid across the ground, skillfully maneuvering between their legs, while the last one exploited an opening at the corner of the formation to flank them.
The guards barely had time to react.
The first felt a sudden cut on their exposed arm. They let out a stifled cry and reflexively extended their other arm to defend themselves, only to awkwardly collide with one of their companions. Their shield wavered, leaving them even more vulnerable.
Another guard felt a sharp pain in their ankle. Hot blood ran down their boot, and they lost their balance, falling heavily to the ground. They tried to get up, but a second cut made them drop their weapon.
A third guard, confident in the protection of their helmet and armor, never saw the sharp blade that found a small opening in their helm and slid mercilessly to their neck. A gurgling sound of blood escaped their throat before they collapsed, their life ending in mere seconds.
The guards' armor was thick but had strategic gaps to allow mobility. And the hooded figures moved like snakes, slipping through the cracks and attacking with surgical precision at the exact points to cause maximum damage with minimal effort. They weren't mere senseless assassins; each of their movements was designed for efficient elimination.
But the worst part wasn't just the speed of their assault.
Each wound the guards received brought a new horror. It wasn't just a simple sword cut. With every strike, they felt something draining slowly within them. An unnatural fatigue began to take hold of their bodies. Their muscles, once full of energy, now felt twice as heavy. Their movements became clumsy, sluggish. Their stamina, strength, and will… all seemed to be absorbed along with their blood.
The scroll featured an intricate circular drawing with unknown symbols and patterns. As soon as the cylinder was placed at its center, the figure pressed the device firmly into the ground. The cylinder appeared to collapse, shrinking impossibly as though absorbed by the stone. At that moment, the scroll emitted a faint glow before vanishing into the darkness.
The torches flickered briefly before extinguishing completely.
Darkness engulfed the corridor in mere seconds.
The guards were left completely blind. The sudden blackout caught them off guard, their eyes still adjusted to the light. In their moment of confusion, it was already too late.
Those carrying shields felt a sharp tug, as though something invisible was pulling them. They barely had time to react before chaos erupted.
The five guards who had tried to flank them from behind fared even worse. They carried no shields, only swords and spears, and had approached hastily, disorganized, relying on their numerical advantage. They hadn't anticipated the darkness, much less the speed of their opponents.
Before they could even raise their weapons, their bodies were pierced with clean, precise cuts. One attempted to lift his sword to defend himself but had his arm severed in a single stroke, blood spurting like a fountain in the gloom. Another felt a blade plunge into his side, and when he tried to turn to see his attacker, his throat was slashed in a swift, singular motion.
One of them managed to step back just in time, terror filling his mind as he tried to flee, his instincts begging for escape from the nightmare unfolding before him. But before he could take two steps, a searing pain burned through his back. A short sword plunged between his shoulder blades, paralyzing him as he fell to his knees.
The corridor floor soon became a pool of blood. The only sounds were the final gasps of the dying, the dripping of blood onto the stone, and the slow steps of the hooded figures as they surveyed the bodies of their victims.
The battle had ended in mere minutes.
One of the hooded figures straightened and issued a tongue click, a signal to the others. His companions responded with a brief click of their own, indicating the task was complete.
The mine felt gloomier and more somber than usual. In some areas, a dense, eerie silence hung in the air, a funereal stillness brought by the absence of life. Only blood-soaked corpses adorned the rooms, mute witnesses to an unrelenting massacre. In other areas, the roar of battle and cries of agony shattered the shadows, signaling that death was still hard at work.
Deeper within the mine, where those sounds couldn't reach, three guards stood, cursing their luck.
They watched with disdain as a group of slaves struck the walls with pickaxes, chipping away fragments of glimmering rock with each blow. The flickering lantern light cast distorted shadows on the jagged walls.
One guard, a cruel smile on his face, mercilessly lashed a slave with his whip.
"Come on, come on. Because of you, I have to stay up late," he growled in frustration. "I should be sleeping in my warm bed, but no, here I am, waiting on you because you haven't met your daily quota. Hurry up!" he demanded, delivering another blow.
The slave fell to the ground, his back arching in pain. He didn't make a sound. He simply gritted his teeth, took his pickaxe with trembling hands, and resumed his work, not daring to lift his gaze.
The other two guards watched the scene with indifference. They couldn't care less. In fact, they were just as annoyed as their companion. These slaves had been assigned to their shift, and their poor performance meant they too had to spend extra time in the mine. It didn't matter if the slaves were exhausted, if their bodies were at their limits, or if the rock simply had no more minerals to extract. The quota was the quota, and it had to be met, no exceptions.
One of the miners, a man with a famished body and calloused hands, suddenly stopped striking the rock. His body trembled, his legs wobbled, and without warning, he collapsed to the ground with a barely audible whisper.
The guard holding the whip sighed in irritation and approached with heavy steps. "Get up, you useless thing!" he barked, delivering a hard kick to the man's side.
But the miner didn't move. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale, and his cracked lips quivered from dehydration. He had simply reached his limit.
The guards exchanged glances, then looked down at the slave with disdain. One of them shrugged. "Give him another beating. He'll stand up after a few hits," he said with total indifference.
It wasn't the first time they'd seen something like this. Slaves were resilient, too much so to die simply from exhaustion. A good thrashing, followed by a little water and bread, would have him back on his feet in no time.
The guard raised his whip once more, ready to unleash his frustration on the miner's battered body.
But before he could, something changed.
The air grew heavier, as though an invisible shadow had seeped into the atmosphere. A shiver ran down the spines of all three guards simultaneously. They didn't know why, but a sense of imminent danger gripped their bodies.
Then, they fell to the ground.
There was no warning. No sound. Only the dull thud of their bodies collapsing onto the mine's cold stone floor, as if something had yanked them out of existence in a single instant.