Headed by a Snake

Elle felt her muscles stiffen, frozen in fear as the bipedal creature stepped into the light cast by Summer Song.

He... was even taller than she was. The snarling head atop his broad shoulders was that of a golden lion, his mane weaved into thick braids. He wore a set of battleworn Centurion armor-- old if not ancient, and bearing emblems of a legion forgotten by time.

As he approached, Elle found her attention on his wicked right arm.

The entirety of its skin glowed green and was marked with a scale-like pattern. At its end, enclosed in his fist was an evil-looking staff, the blood-red crystal atop it finely honed to a deadly point.

He was built like a Martial Class... but he was obviously also a Caster of some kind. Either way...

⟬ This... creature is too powerful to fight. ⟭

Elle gulped as she heard a voice in her head. She glanced down worriedly at the Saronite Protector strapped to her arm. Her summon, Gaheris, didn't seem to think she had much chance... and she was afraid he was right.

The lion-creature in front of her easily had the capability to kill her-- or worse.

"S-stay back!" She shouted, "Or-- or else!!"

What could she say? That her boyfriend was a Gold-Rank? That her bestie belonged to a powerful Mage Tower? That she had a Divine Armor she could summon in the blink of any eye?

None of that could help her.

All she had was an enchanted sword and a certificate that said she completed a one-week course on Tyrion wrestling.

--which she almost failed.

"Surrender to me..." The creature took another step forward, undaunted. "O'zherwise, your death will be slow and excruciatingly painful."

"S-sorry, Mister Cat..." Elle pointed her Summer Song forward as she began to carefully back away, "I... I have a boyfriend."

A loud crack resounded in her ears-- like something broke.

"Nyuhh..." The lion sneered in disgust, "You have NO idea what you are dealing with."

Taking a deep breath, he roared loud enough to shake the walls, "Hold still or DIE WHERE YOU STAND!!!!"

Elle flinched-- she couldn't help it. When she opened her eyes... it was already too late to react.

The lion-man slammed the end of his staff into the ground, a circle of magic emanating from his sandaled feet. A dozen streaks of light leapt from the staff's blood-crystal, surging towards her.

She couldn't even swing her sword as they struck her in the chest... curled around her heart... and bored into the depths of her mind.

Elle felt her sword fall out of her hand... the metal clanging upon the stones.

She... she had lost control of her body.

The lion-faced man... he could do with her as he pleased.

She felt her chest tighten... as a sob rose to her throat... "T... tychon... s-save me."

...

⟬ Elsewhere... ⟭

Tycon was growing worried. It had been nearly four bells and he hadn't heard from any of his party members.

Still, the forest was not small. His best and simplest course of action was to be patient.

Yet... that was a tribulation in itself.

The inside of the log cabin was larger than it appeared on the outside.

...irrationally so.

Granted, it was because the cabin was part of a Dungeon.

"I think... I'd like one of those," Tycon casually pointed up... "Some sun, anyroad."

"Who?" Megara tilted her head, "You mean Lady Alana?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Yes."

He'd immediately identified the Dungeon Core as the Whitesaber-Tuna-sized crystal formation that appeared to be growing out of the high ceiling.

Apparently, her name was Alana.

It-- or she, rather, illuminated the inside of the spacious central area, providing excellent light to navigate the tall bookcases, the study area, and the lounge.

Further, it artfully did *not* cast light upon a still-spacious corner near a back door. There, a horse-sized, Iron-Rank Shadow Hound dozed peacefully, lightly snoring.

The facilities were perfect for a studious young mage like Megara... which was a somewhat ominous sign that at least one mad wizard was involved in the Dungeon's construction.

If such was true... it could also be assumed that connected to the cabin and the surrounding area was a traditional underground structure filled with traps and creatures.

Tycon hoped none of his companions were teleported there...

He also hoped that Megara's master was *not* a supremely powerful mad wizard solely responsible for the Dungeon's creation. However, unlike his former hope, that may have been the case.

There were a few signs inside the log cabin home to allude to his or her identity as a Martial Class.

Against the far wall was a display of bladed and bludgeoning weapons, protected from dust by a passive formation. At first glance, it seemed to belong to a collector rather than a practitioner, as a disproportionate amount of items only saw use in gladiatorial arenas.

There were uniquely-shaped swords and shields, a murmillo helmet, and... an adamantine sphere that Tycon was fairly certain was only used in the recreational sport of pin bowling.

Prominently displayed over the entrance were banners with imagery generally used by noble families of the Holy Country. There, the practice of mad wizardry was classified as heresy of the highest degree.

There were also mementoes originating from other nations. Of note, there was a cork-board pinned with postcards written in the Kingdom's old language. Not out of place, but awkward all the same, there was a large wooden plank suspended by rope.

It bore metal script in the Sleeping Country's language that translated roughly to... 'F*ck the Ocean.'

...If it formerly belonged to a sailing ship-- it was an odd name.

"Master used to be an adventurer," Megara grinned. "I can... I can tell you about anything here! If... if you want?"

"I'd like that," Tycon sat up from the couch and reached out a hand, "After you let me check your work."

Regardless of whether or not Megara's master was a mad wizard... the young mage's words from a few bells prior lingered in his memory.

She said... her master was a Hero.

If she was being literal, Tycon had a plethora of questions... most of them with uncomfortable answers.

What was a Hero doing in command of a Dungeon Core? And so far from civilization? What was the fate suffered by his traveling companions, the authors of the postcards-- the wearers of the varied armor sets and wielders of gladiator weaponry?

...And who commissions a bowling ball made out of adamantine?