Ramsel cursed his luck thrice, and once again.

The expected booms had rumbled the whole mountain, as they should, since both Frostine and Pearl were skilled vixen witches. Their lightning potent—when used right.

Even the smell of shattered rock fumed through the cavern. Biting his breathe harsh, but not as harsh had he been in his beast form rather than his wood elf form.

It tinged the air everywhere a dark gray. Clouding the light from the precious gemstones lining the ceiling. Blocking his sight of the other craters.

But not the one in front of him.

Giving Ramsel more leeway to act. The gasps of shock and dismay were nothing compared to what was coming.

The ceiling spikes shook like shivering dogs. Splattering water everywhere. A few even fell. Shattering against the floor.

But also shocking the dwarves into action.

The clonk of their iron boots as they dashed toward the rumbles. The booms.

And now, the squeal of undead orcs yearning for bloodthirsty vengeance.

But no matter. The orange outline of the tigermite girl, his final target was getting closer and closer to the crater he was in front of. The spikes and wall around it, the slits in the wall weren’t too thin for him to slip through.

Or his many blades.

The cries of shock. Alarm.

The dwarves finally realized they were under attack. Shouts for arms. To be ready for battle.

A battle a few of the closest dwarves never saw before Ramsel summoned his many steel sabers, before he slaughtered them, unseen, and unexpected.

More than enough time to summon his carded tigermite warriors. A dozen of their best from the forest below. All guys, of course, as Frostine chuckled to him, as if she knew he preferred men over women. Maybe she did. She was more clever than she let on.

Not the tigermites had their katars ready. They dashed away killing the unarmed, unexpecting dwarfs. Helping remove the “dwarven eyesore” from their beloved land.

When a cry rang out—and not a dwarven one.

Another yowl?

And another?

Ramsel snarled. “Who dares—”

Two more yowls. His tigermites were being slain? By who?

Their katars were covered with Crippling dwarven poison. A single scratch would do a dwarf in. Just the smell would weaken them. And it was scentless. So with the gray clouding the air, the dwarves would never notice until it was too late.

Yet yowl after yowl after yowl and …

“So you’re the one who harmed my students.”

Behind him?

A human woman? Thin. Scrawny. In a pathetic tattered dress.

And only one saber in her hand? Ha!

No need to hid his true nature any longer.

Ramsel transformed into his fox warrior form. Drew out all his sabers.

All hundred of them.

And yet they shattered before he knew it. His chest. Blood. Darkness.

Impossible. How could he fail here? When he was so close …

“My hundred …” he said, “how could one …”

“Blademaster secret,” the women said, “You had some promise, had you not crippled so many of my students …”

A splash. Behind him.

“Master?!” Ivy said, “Wha … oh no.”

The woman chuckled? “No need to sneak about anymore.”

“Oh …” Icy said, “Then … I’m captured?”

The splash of cat girl leaving the crater water.

Stepping closer.

And closer.

The darkness growing darker.

And darker.

The woman sighed. “Behave yourself, and I’ll make sure you’ll be fine.”

“Ooo,” Ivy said, “Okay!”

And that sleeved paw of Ivy in sight. Right by him.

And a card dagger in his hand …

Pain? He yowled.

Hacked up blood.

“Careful Ivy,” the woman said, “You almost got carded.”

“Ooo,” Ivy said, “I recognize him. He’s …”

But Ramsel knew no more.