I wake to the sound of the swamp coming alive at dawn—a symphony of croaking amphibians, chirping insects, and the deep, resonant calls of creatures I can't identify. The constant humidity has left my clothes perpetually damp, and my first conscious action is to swat at a blood-sucking insect on my neck. God, I miss air conditioning.
"Fucking swamps," I mutter, sitting up on my makeshift bed of moss and leaves. Despite Morkath's assurances that this bedding is the finest the swamp offers, it feels like sleeping on a wet sponge. My back aches, and the swamp markings on my skin itch intensely in the morning humidity.
Around our camp, my monster army is already stirring. The goblins move with surprising energy considering the conditions, their evolved forms adapting better to the environment than my human physiology. The orcs look miserable in the humidity but maintain disciplined formation as they prepare for the day's march. The trolls, of course, seem perfectly at home, drawing sustenance directly from the swamp itself.
Our visitors from the Concord are also awake, huddled around their own small fire. The tamer, Roland, feeds his drakes small pieces of dried meat while watching our camp with poorly disguised fascination. I catch him staring at Morrigan particularly often, clearly struggling to comprehend her evolved form.
"You slept poorly," comes Morrigan's voice from behind me, making me jump slightly. Despite her imposing presence, she moves with unnerving silence when she chooses to.
"Is it that obvious?" I ask, rubbing my face.
"Your breathing patterns changed seventeen times during the night. Signs of discomfort." She hands me a small clay cup containing a steaming liquid that smells like mint and something earthier. "Swamp-root tea. Helps with adaptation to environment."
I take the cup gratefully. The tea tastes better than it smells, slightly sweet with a tingling sensation that spreads warmth through my body despite the muggy air.
"Thanks," I say, already feeling more alert. "What's your assessment of our visitors?"
Morrigan's eyes narrow slightly as she glances toward the Concord members. "The tamer continues to evaluate your bond network. His own abilities are... rudimentary. Simple control rather than true symbiosis." There's something almost dismissive in her tone. "The warrior watches Gorthal's axe. The mage has attempted three subtle detection spells during the night. I neutralized them."
I hadn't even noticed the magical countermeasures she'd been implementing while I slept. "And their information about the fragment?"
"Potentially valuable, but incomplete. They know it exists but not its exact location. They seek your tracking capabilities as much as you might use their historical knowledge."
As we break camp, Roland approaches me directly, his two drakes perched on his shoulders like scaly parrots. Up close, I can see the creatures more clearly—reptilian but with distinctive mammalian characteristics around the eyes and jaw. Their scales shift color slightly to match their surroundings, a natural camouflage ability.
"Monster Lord," he begins, the title still sounding strange to my ears despite months of using it. "I've been meaning to ask... your bond technique. It's unlike anything in the traditional taming literature."
I feel a flash of annoyance at his presumption, but also curiosity about how other tamers operate in this world. "What specifically interests you?"
"The enhancement factor," he explains, eyes lighting up with scholarly enthusiasm. "Traditional taming creates control bonds, the beasts serve but remain essentially unchanged. Your lieutenants have clearly evolved beyond their species' natural limitations."
Before I can respond, Morrigan steps between us, her towering form creating a physical barrier that makes Roland take an involuntary step backward. His drakes hiss anxiously.
"The expedition prepares to move," she states flatly. "Morkath identifies potential dangers ahead. Your expertise might be better applied to the path forward rather than theoretical taming discussions."
Her interruption feels oddly protective, though I'm perfectly capable of handling the conversation myself. Still, she's right about priorities.
"We can discuss taming techniques after we've secured the fragment," I tell Roland, who nods reluctantly and rejoins his companions.
Morkath approaches, his root system disconnecting from the soil as he shifts into mobile form. "Deep water ahead," he reports. "Ancient channel cuts through swamp. Must cross to reach fragment location."
According to the map and the Concord's information, we're entering the true deep swamp now—territories so ancient and isolated that even the troll tribes avoid them. The vegetation has already changed noticeably, with species I hadn't seen before. Massive pitcher plants large enough to trap small animals hang from gnarled trees. Floating islands of vegetation drift on the water's surface, some supporting entire miniature ecosystems.
"Beautiful in its way, isn't it?" the elven archer—who introduced herself as Lysara—comments as she falls into step beside me. "The deep swamp holds plant species extinct elsewhere on the continent. Some have powerful alchemical properties."
She's right about the beauty, though I'd never admit it aloud. Despite the discomfort, there's something primordially magnificent about this untamed wilderness. Life finding a way in the most challenging conditions, evolving specialized adaptations over countless generations.
Our path soon leads to the channel Morkath mentioned—a stretch of deep, fast-moving water nearly thirty yards across. Unlike the stagnant pools of the regular swamp, this water runs clear and cold, suggesting underground springs or distant mountain runoff.
"Ancient riverbed," Sir Valen observes. "Diverted during the Cataclysmic War if the histories are accurate."
"Can we cross?" I ask Morkath.
The troll lord studies the current. "Not directly. Water too deep, flow too strong. But..." he points downstream where the channel narrows slightly, "natural bridge there. Stone arch beneath water surface. Trolls can guide others across."
It takes nearly two hours to get our entire expedition across the submerged stone bridge. The trolls form a living chain, anchoring themselves to create handholds for the less aquatically adapted members of our party. The goblins manage fairly well, their light weight and natural agility serving them well. The orcs struggle more, their heavier builds fighting against the current.
I cross in the middle of the group, Morrigan and Nerk flanking me though I haven't asked for their protection. The water is shockingly cold against my skin, and the current pulls insistently at my legs. Halfway across, my foot slips on the algae-covered stone, and for a heart-stopping moment, I'm certain I'll be swept away.
Before I can even shout, Morrigan's taloned hand clamps around my wrist, her grip like iron as she holds me against the current until I regain my footing. She says nothing, but I notice she stays closer for the remainder of the crossing.
Once everyone is safely across, including our Concord visitors, Nerk's scouts range ahead to assess the path forward. They return quickly, excitement evident in their movements.
"Large clearing ahead," the lead scout reports. "Ancient ruins. Stone structures, partially submerged. Strange energy signature, similar to blood-priest's axe."
This matches the Concord's information. According to their historical records, a temple complex dedicated to some forgotten deity once stood in the deep swamp, preserved by its isolation after the Cataclysmic War. If their theories are correct, the fragment was sealed within its innermost chamber by covenant mages to keep it from being used again.
As we approach the clearing, the landscape opens dramatically. What was dense swamp vegetation suddenly gives way to an enormous circular space perhaps a quarter-mile across. At its center stands the ruins—weathered stone structures of clearly non-human design. The architecture features sweeping curves and spiraling motifs rather than the angular construction typical of human or dwarven building.
"Serpent People temple," the dwarf—who has introduced himself as Dorin Stonehammer—identifies with scholarly precision. "Pre-dates human civilization on this continent. Dedicated to water deities and primal forces."
The ruins are partially submerged in a large, perfectly circular pool that dominates the clearing. The water here is different—darker, with an oily rainbow sheen on its surface that shifts and moves independent of any breeze. Most notably, the pool is perfectly still despite the obvious depth and size. No ripples, no movement at all—like black glass reflecting the ruins and sky above.
"Fragment within central chamber," Roland confirms, his drakes sniffing the air anxiously. "Beneath water level now, but the temple contains air pockets and passages."
Gorthal steps forward, unwrapping the axe from its protective coverings. The black metal blade immediately begins to pulse with crimson energy, responding to something in the ruins ahead.
"Fragment calls to fragment," he intones, ritual scars glowing in rhythm with the weapon. "Strong resonance. Definitely here."
I organize our forces for the approach. "Nerk, establish a perimeter around the clearing. Morrigan, have your hagravens conduct aerial surveillance—watch for any movement or energy signatures. Gorthal, prepare your blood-warriors for underwater combat if necessary. Morkath, what can your trolls tell us about that water?"
The troll lord extends his root system toward the pool, seeking connection. His face twists in confusion. "Strange. Swamp consciousness... absent here. Water alive but... different. Ancient. Waiting."
That's not comforting. "Waiting for what?"
Before Morkath can respond, the Concord members approach. "The histories speak of guardians," Sir Valen informs us. "Constructs or beings bound to protect the fragment from those who would misuse it."
"Not constructs," the elemental mage—Zephyra—corrects, her pale blue hands weaving complex patterns in the air as she performs some kind of detection spell. "Something alive. Something that has grown with the fragment's energy over centuries."
As if responding to her magic, the perfect stillness of the pool suddenly breaks. A ripple forms at the center, then another, concentric circles spreading outward toward the shores. The water begins to move, slow at first, then faster, beginning to swirl like an enormous whirlpool around the central ruins.
"Defensive formation!" I shout, adrenaline spiking through my system. My monster forces respond immediately, the goblins nocking arrows, the orcs forming a protective wall with their shields, the trolls moving to higher ground for better tactical positioning.
The Concord members likewise prepare for combat—Sir Valen drawing his sword which gleams with enchanted light, Lysara nocking an arrow to her bow, Dorin hefting his massive hammer, and Zephyra beginning a complex incantation. Roland's drakes leap from his shoulders, growing noticeably larger as they touch the ground, their previously cat-sized forms expanding until they stand as large as wolves.
"What the fuck..." I mutter, watching his taming abilities in action. Not evolution like my bonds produce, but temporary enhancement for combat purposes.
The center of the pool erupts upward in a massive geyser of dark water. Something enormous thrashes within the column of water—something with multiple serpentine forms writhing and twisting around a central mass.
"Hydra!" Dorin shouts in warning, just as the creature fully emerges.
It's a monstrous thing, far larger than any creature I've yet encountered in this world. A massive, barrel-shaped body the size of a small house supports twelve serpentine necks, each ending in a horned, reptilian head with jaws that could swallow a man whole. Its scales gleam like oil-slick metal, shifting through dark greens, blues, and purples as it moves. Most disturbing are its eyes—twenty-four of them, two on each head, glowing with the same energy signature as Gorthal's axe.
"Fragment corruption," Morrigan identifies, already beginning a complex spell. "It's absorbed the fragment's energy over centuries. Become something beyond natural hydra limitations."
The central heads rear back and roar in unison—a sound so powerful it creates visible shockwaves across the water's surface. The outer heads begin weaving complex patterns, each seemingly operating independently yet coordinated in some greater purpose.
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"It's casting," Zephyra warns, her own spell faltering in apparent shock. "The hydra is performing magic!"
Before anyone can react to this disturbing revelation, three of the hydra's heads inhale deeply and then exhale in unison—not fire as I might have expected, but concussive force that slams into the shoreline with devastating effect. Trees splinter, earth erupts, and several of our perimeter guards are thrown violently backward.
"Elemental breath weapons!" Roland shouts, his drakes charging forward despite being massively outmatched. "Different head, different element!"
As if to demonstrate his point, two more heads attack—one spewing a stream of caustic acid that melts stone on contact, another releasing a cone of freezing energy that instantly creates ice sculptures of the vegetation it touches.
"Fall back to defensible positions!" I order, my heart pounding in my chest. This isn't just a guardian—it's a fucking apocalypse with scales.
Nerk's goblin archers loose their first volley, arrows arcing toward the massive creature. Most bounce harmlessly off its metallic scales, but a few find vulnerable spots between the plates, drawing rivulets of dark green blood.
The hydra responds with frightening intelligence, one head directing the others to focus on the archer positions. Five heads inhale simultaneously, each glowing with different colored energy at the throat.
"Take cover!" Morrigan shouts, completing her spell just as the hydra attacks. A shimmering barrier of energy manifests between our forces and the elemental blasts, absorbing much of the impact but visibly cracking under the strain.
The five simultaneous breath weapons—fire, lightning, acid, cold, and what appears to be disintegration energy—create a spectacular and terrifying light show as they interact with Morrigan's shield. The barrier holds just long enough to protect our main force before shattering into magical fragments that dissolve into the air.
Morrigan staggers slightly from the magical backlash, and I feel a stab of concern seeing her momentarily vulnerable. But she recovers quickly, her evolved form drawing on reserves of power that continue to surprise me.
"Conventional attacks ineffective against scales!" Sir Valen shouts, as the Concord members advance to engage. "Target the eyes and throat!"
He demonstrates his strategy by charging forward with reckless bravery, dodging a biting attack from one head and slashing upward with his enchanted blade. The sword connects with the soft tissue beneath the hydra's jaw, drawing a spray of blood and a roar of pain.
Lysara's arrows prove more effective than our goblins' mundane projectiles—each shaft trailing elemental energy that allows them to penetrate the creature's natural armor. Dorin wades directly into the shallows, his hammer striking with earth-shaking force against a head that dips too low to attack him. Zephyra's magic manifests as chains of elemental energy that temporarily bind two of the heads, restricting the hydra's attacks.
Roland's drakes, now grown to the size of tigers, leap with surprising agility between the thrashing necks, clawing and biting at vulnerable points while avoiding the more devastating counter-attacks.
But for every small victory, the hydra demonstrates why it has successfully guarded this fragment for centuries. When Dorin's hammer crushes one head against a stone pillar, two more immediately focus on him, one grabbing him in its jaws and tossing him thirty feet through the air. The dwarf crashes into the ruins with a sickening impact that would have killed a human instantly. Even with dwarven resilience, he struggles to rise.
"Need better coordination!" I shout to my lieutenants. "Gorthal, blood ritual to enhance penetration! Nerk, target the wounded heads! Morkath, can your trolls enter the water?"
"Water toxic from hydra's presence," Morkath warns. "But trolls can sustain damage. Regenerate afterward."
"Do it! Attack from below while we distract from shore!"
Through our bond network, my orders translate into immediate action. Gorthal performs a rapid blood ritual, slicing both palms and pressing them against the weapons of our front-line fighters. The weapons begin to glow with the same crimson energy as his axe, now capable of penetrating the hydra's supernatural defenses.
Nerk reorganizes his goblin archers with tactical precision, creating three rotating firing lines that ensure constant pressure on the creature while allowing each group time to reload and adjust their aim based on previous results.
Morkath leads twenty trolls into the toxic water, their regenerative abilities allowing them to withstand the caustic effects long enough to approach the hydra from beneath. Through my bond with him, I feel their pain as the water burns their skin, but also their determination as they push forward.
Morrigan, recovered from her shield spell, begins a more complex incantation. The air around her shimmers with power, her evolved form seeming to grow larger, more imposing as she channels magical energies that make the hair on my arms stand on end.
"Target the central mass!" I direct, noticing how the hydra protects its body more carefully than its many heads. "That's where the fragment must be!"
The battle escalates as our coordinated assault forces the hydra to defend multiple approaches simultaneously. Gorthal leads his blood-warriors in a frontal assault, their enhanced weapons now cutting through scales that previously deflected all attacks. Each wound draws dark green blood that steams and hisses as it touches the air.
The hydra, however, is far from defeated. It responds with terrifying intelligence, adapting its tactics to counter our strategy. Four heads form a protective ring around its central mass, while the others alternate between targeted attacks and wide-area breath weapons that keep our forces scrambling for cover.
Zephyra and Morrigan find themselves in magical competition, each attempting to counter or exploit the hydra's own magical capabilities. The elemental mage conjures whirlwinds that deflect acid sprays back toward the creature, while Morrigan completes her spell—a massive spectral talon that materializes above the battle and slashes downward, severing one of the hydra's necks entirely.
For a moment, hope surges—until we witness the hydra's legendary regenerative abilities in action. The severed neck stump bubbles and writhes, then splits into two rapidly growing replacements. Where we cut off one head, two now snap and snarl.
"Fuck!" I curse, remembering the classic mythology too late. "Fire! We need to cauterize the stumps!"
Roland apparently knows this weakness as well. "Pyrrus, ignite!" he commands one of his drakes, which immediately belches a gout of flame toward another neck that Sir Valen has partially severed with his blade. The fire catches the wound before it can regenerate, blackening the tissue and preventing the splitting process.
"Morrigan!" I call out. "Coordinate fire attacks with neck severance!"
She nods, immediately adapting our strategy. Through our bond, she relays precise timing to Gorthal's blood-warriors, ensuring that each successful decapitation is immediately followed by concentrated fire to prevent regeneration.
The battle rages for what feels like hours. My muscles ache from constant movement, dodging breath weapons and shifting position to direct our forces. Sweat pours down my face despite the ambient cool of the swamp, and my lungs burn from exertion and the caustic vapors filling the air.
We've managed to permanently destroy four of the hydra's twelve heads, but our forces have taken significant casualties. Three of Gorthal's blood-warriors lie dead on the shore, their bodies partially dissolved by acid. Several goblins have been flash-frozen by cold breath or charred beyond recognition by fire. Even Morkath's trolls, with their impressive regeneration, struggle to maintain their underwater assault as the toxic water inhibits their healing abilities.
The Concord members fight with impressive coordination for such a small team. Sir Valen has suffered burns along his left side but continues to engage the hydra head-to-head. Lysara's quiver is nearly empty, but each arrow finds a vulnerable target with uncanny accuracy. Dorin, despite his earlier injury, has rejoined the fight, his hammer creating shockwaves that momentarily stun heads that come within range. Zephyra's magic seems nearly depleted, but she continues to provide supporting enchantments to enhance her companions' attacks. Roland's drakes have suffered numerous wounds but fight on with berserker fury, their master augmenting their abilities with various taming techniques I hadn't seen before.
The battle with the hydra rages on, both sides taking casualties as we struggle against this ancient guardian. Through my bond with Morkath, I feel the moment his trolls locate a vulnerable spot beneath the creature—a seam in the scales where something glows with unearthly light.
"Fragment location confirmed!" I relay to our forces. "Beneath the creature, embedded in its body!"
This explains the hydra's unnatural abilities and intelligence—it hasn't just been guarding the fragment; it's physically incorporated it into its being. The problem is reaching it while twelve thrashing heads attack from all directions.
Gorthal pushes to the water's edge, his ritual scars pulsing with increased intensity as he senses the proximity of another fragment. "Must retrieve it!" he shouts over the chaos of battle. "Axe can extract it—can feel the resonance!"
"Too dangerous!" I call back, watching as one of the hydra's heads spews a stream of acid that dissolves a stone column on contact. "We need a better plan!"
But Gorthal isn't listening. The blood-priest tears off his heavier armor, keeping only the wrapped axe, his eyes fixed on the churning water where the hydra's body remains mostly submerged.
"Cover me!" he roars to his blood-warriors, who immediately intensify their attacks, drawing the hydra's attention toward shore.
Before I can stop him, Gorthal dives into the pool, his powerful form cutting through the water with surprising grace for an orc. My heart jumps into my throat—the water around the hydra has proven toxic even to the trolls, whose regenerative abilities far exceed an orc's natural resilience.
"Fucking idiot," I mutter, then shout to Morkath: "Your trolls—help Gorthal reach the fragment!"
Through our bond, I feel Morkath relay the command to his underwater forces. The trolls shift their attack pattern, now moving to intercept hydra heads that turn toward the diving blood-priest.
On shore, the battle intensifies as everyone recognizes the critical moment at hand. Nerk's goblin archers concentrate fire on the hydra's eyes, momentarily blinding several heads. Morrigan and Zephyra combine their magical abilities, creating a localized whirlpool that helps clear Gorthal's path through the churning water.
The Concord members, despite having no direct stake in our monster army's success, fight with renewed vigor. Sir Valen charges directly at a hydra head that dips toward the water where Gorthal disappeared, severing tendons with a precision strike that temporarily paralyzes that neck. Lysara's arrows find vulnerable spots between scales with uncanny accuracy, each shot drawing roars of pain that distract the creature from the underwater threat.
Through my bond with Gorthal, I feel his pain as the toxic water burns his skin. His lungs scream for air, but he pushes deeper, guided by the axe's increasing resonance with the embedded fragment. The water grows darker, pressure building as he approaches the hydra's massive underbelly.
Morkath's trolls reach him, forming a protective circle as several hydra necks dip underwater, sensing the threat. The trolls grapple with these serpentine attackers, their regenerative abilities allowing them to withstand bite wounds that would kill lesser beings instantly. One troll is torn in half by a vicious twist of a hydra neck, but the sacrifice buys Gorthal precious seconds to reach his target.
Finally, the blood-priest sees it—a crystalline shard the size of his forearm, pulsing with unearthly light, embedded in a seam along the hydra's belly where the scales thin. The flesh around it has grown to incorporate the fragment, veins of pulsing energy spreading outward through the creature's body.
Gorthal unwraps the axe, which now glows blindingly bright even underwater, responding to its "sibling" fragment. With trolls holding back hydra necks on all sides, he positions himself beneath the creature and swings the axe upward with all his remaining strength.
The impact sends a shockwave through the water that I feel even on shore. The pool's surface erupts in a geyser of energy and displaced water, momentarily illuminating the entire clearing with crimson light. The hydra's twelve heads all rear back in unified agony, a chorus of roars so powerful they create ripples across the water's surface.
For several heartbeats, nothing happens. Then Gorthal breaks the surface, gasping for air, his skin blistered and burned from the toxic water. In one hand he clutches the axe; in the other, a pulsing crystalline shard that glows with the same energy signature—the second fragment, torn from the hydra's flesh.
The trolls surface around him, those that survived, quickly pulling the blood-priest toward shore. I rush to the water's edge, helping drag Gorthal onto land as he coughs and retches, but refuses to relinquish either the axe or the newly acquired fragment.
"Got it," he gasps, a pained grin splitting his blistered face. "Fragment... responds to fragment."
The hydra, however, is far from defeated. Though wounded catastrophically, the creature thrashes with renewed fury, its body already beginning to heal around the void where the fragment had been embedded. Its heads snap and snarl, targeting Gorthal with focused hatred, recognizing him as the thief of its power source.
"Fall back!" I order. "We have what we came for!"
My monster army begins an organized withdrawal, the discipline we've developed through months of training evident even in retreat. The Concord members likewise recognize the strategic value of disengaging now that the fragment has been secured.
But the hydra gives no indication of allowing our escape. Five of its heads inhale simultaneously, preparing a devastating combined breath attack that could annihilate our withdrawal path.
Without warning, Morrigan steps forward, placing herself between our retreating forces and the hydra. Her transformed figure seems to grow larger, more imposing as she draws on powers I didn't know she possessed. Her hands weave patterns of such complexity that they leave trails of light in the air, and her voice resonates with harmonics that make my teeth vibrate.
"ENOUGH!" she commands, the single word carrying power that seems to physically impact the hydra.
The spell she releases defies easy description—a cascading wave of energy that intercepts the hydra's breath weapons and inverts them, turning the creature's power back upon itself. The resulting explosion engulfs the hydra's upper body in a maelstrom of contradictory elemental forces—fire freezing, lightning crystallizing, acid transmuting into inert matter.
The hydra's scream of rage and pain echoes across the clearing as it thrashes in confused agony, its heads attacking each other in its disorientation. The spell doesn't defeat it—nothing short of complete destruction could accomplish that—but it buys us the precious minutes needed to retreat beyond its immediate reach.
Morrigan staggers as the spell completes, momentarily drained by the massive expenditure of magical energy. Without thinking, I rush to her side, supporting her towering form as best I can despite our size difference.
"I'm fine," she insists, though I can feel the tremors running through her body. "The fragment is secured. We must move quickly before it recovers."
She's right, of course. Even now, the hydra is beginning to regain its coordination, its remaining heads focusing once more on our retreating forces. Its massive body shifts, preparing to heave itself back upright and pursue us.
"Continue withdrawal," I order. "Maintain defensive formation. Do not stop until we've crossed the channel."
As our combined forces retreat from the clearing, I glance back one last time at the monstrous guardian we've robbed of its charge. The hydra watches us with ancient, hateful eyes, its body already healing, its power still formidable despite the loss of the fragment.
I have no doubt we've made an enemy today—one that will remember us long after we've left its territory. But we've accomplished our objective. Gorthal carries a second fragment of the Shatterer, its power now available to the Monster Lord's army rather than serving as a battery for an ancient guardian.
The question that remains as we rush back toward the channel crossing is what exactly we'll do with this power now that we possess it. And whether our temporary allies from the Concord will remain allies once we're safely away from the hydra's domain.
