The final leg of our journey through the Shorkath Mountains took another full month. Each day brought new challenges: treacherous ice fields, narrow passes where we had to edge sideways along cliff faces, nights when the temperature dropped so low that even Arctur's reptilian resilience was tested. I spent those evenings constructing small heat-generating devices from scavenged materials, placing them strategically around our shelter to keep my companion from freezing.

When we finally descended the last slope, the landscape transformed so dramatically it seemed we'd stepped into another world entirely. Gone were the white peaks and evergreen forests. Before us stretched a vast expanse of black sand, stretching to the horizon like a dark ocean frozen in time.

"We've reached the Central Hellzone," Arctur announced, his voice carrying a note of reverence I hadn't heard before.

I scanned our surroundings, my mind cataloging the environment. The air carried a heavy sulfuric stench that would have made human lungs burn. Not a single plant grew from the obsidian granules beneath our feet; no scrub brush, no hardy weeds, not even the bleached remains of long-dead vegetation. Everything was uniformly dead, as though life had never existed here at all.

In the distance, rising from the flat wasteland like a monument to desolation, stood a single massive volcano. Its sloped sides cut a harsh silhouette against the featureless gray sky that hung overhead without a single cloud to break its monotony.

"That's our destination," Arctur said, pointing toward the volcanic peak. "The enclave is there."

I focused my Mind Sight, zooming in on the distant mountain. The monster settlement is inside a volcano?

"The only place humans won't follow," he replied simply.

We began our trek across the barren plain, our feet sinking slightly with each step into the fine black sand. Occasional boulders of volcanic rock punctuated the landscape, providing the only variation in the otherwise featureless terrain. The air remained perfectly still, without even the slightest breeze to disturb the ash that had settled over millennia.

How much farther? I asked, calculating our pace against the distance.

"A week, perhaps two," Arctur replied, his eyes fixed on our destination. "Welcome to the last refuge of my people."

The black sand erupted around us without warning. Where moments before there had been only desolation, now dozens of chittering forms burst from beneath the surface.

"Sand Dogs!" Arctur shouted, immediately taking a defensive stance.

Despite their name, these creatures bore no resemblance to canines. They were nightmarish crustaceans, each the size of a large hound, with segmented bodies supported by eight elongated legs that carried them across the sand with unnerving speed. Their carapaces gleamed obsidian in the dim light, and their forward-facing mandibles housed rows of backward-curving teeth designed not just to bite, but to lock onto prey.

I unfurled my tendrils as the first wave converged on us. Each dragon head lashed out with mechanical precision, catching the monsters mid-leap. The jaws clamped down, crushing exoskeletons with satisfying cracks before tearing the creatures apart. Greenish ichor sprayed across the black sand.

This is the third pack today, I observed, pivoting to face three more that circled behind me. My sword-lance flashed, cleaving through one that had evaded my tendrils. They seem to be increasing in frequency.

Arctur moved with the fluid grace of his species, his body twisting to avoid snapping mandibles. His red spear flashed forward, punching clean through a Sand Dog's central mass. "We're getting closer to the volcano. The territory becomes more contested."

I analyzed their movements, noting their pack tactics. They attempted to overwhelm through sheer numbers, always attacking in groups of ten or more. My Analyze skill identified them as level 30 monsters; dangerous to travelers but manageable for us.

Two Sand Dogs leaped simultaneously at my exposed flank. I swung my sword in a wide arc, bisecting one, while a tendril snatched the other from the air, crushing it before flinging the twitching remains into three more advancing creatures.

Arctur spun his spear in a circular motion, creating a defensive perimeter that kept the monsters at bay before suddenly thrusting forward to impale another through its eye socket.

Within minutes, the skirmish ended. We stood amid a field of broken carapaces and pooling ichor, the black sand now slick with bodily fluids from the fallen monsters.

"They'll be back," Arctur said, wiping his spear clean on an undamaged section of sand.

I retracted my tendrils, scanning the horizon. "Then we should move quickly."

The Sand Dogs proved to be merely the first layer of the Hellzone's deadly ecosystem. As we ventured deeper toward the volcanic heart of this wasteland, the predators grew both more numerous and more cunning.

"Movement to our right," I warned Arctur, my scout spiders detecting a subtle shift among the scattered volcanic boulders.

What I'd initially cataloged as an unremarkable formation of black rock suddenly erupted into motion. The "boulder" unfurled eight serrated claws, each the length of a short sword, as its segmented shell split to reveal a nightmarish maw lined with grinding plates.

"Assassin Crab," Arctur hissed, already pivoting to face the threat.

My Analyze ability identified it as a level 42 monster. Unlike the frenzied Sand Dogs, this creature had waited in perfect stillness, its carapace indistinguishable from the volcanic terrain. Had I not deployed my scouts, we might have walked directly into its ambush.

Three tendrils lashed out, wrapping around different segments of its shell. The monster's exterior felt like hammered steel beneath my grip, but my enhanced strength, a benefit of reaching level 76, allowed me to apply pressure that would have crushed ordinary armor. The shell cracked with a sound like splitting timber, and the creature emitted a high-pitched screech as my remaining tendrils plunged into the vulnerable flesh beneath.

"They hunt in pairs," Arctur warned, just as a second crab burst from concealment behind us.

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I spun to face it, but Arctur was already in motion, his red spear driving deep into a joint between shell segments. The crab's claws snapped at him, but he danced away with practiced ease.

The Assassin Crabs were merely an introduction to the Hellzone's more formidable defenders. Two days later, we encountered our first Land Lobster, a monstrous arthropod the size of a small house. Its blue-black carapace gleamed like polished obsidian in the dim light, and its massive claws could easily crush stone.

Level 53, I announced after Analyzing it. But its defense rating exceeds its level by a significant margin.

The beast charged us with surprising speed, its tail segment raised to reveal a venomous stinger. My tendrils struck first, attempting to find purchase against its armor, but merely scraped along the surface. Even with my enhanced strength, I struggled to penetrate its shell.

Arctur's red spear, however, punched through the carapace with an ease that defied explanation. "Aim for the joints!" he called, driving his weapon repeatedly into the same spot. Despite his precision, the creature's massive size meant it absorbed tremendous damage before finally collapsing.

The monsters grow stronger as we approach the volcano, I observed, retracting my tendrils as the Land Lobster finally stopped twitching.

"The strongest are yet to come," Arctur confirmed, cleaning ichor from his weapon.

I surveyed the hostile landscape stretching toward the distant volcanic peak. It seems impossible that any settlement could survive in such an environment.

"That's precisely why we chose it," Arctur replied. "The enclave exists because no one believes it could. The natural defenses of this place have protected my people for generations."

"The Voiceless Prophet also ensures our safety," Arctur continued, his voice taking on a reverential tone. "His children patrol the outer regions of the volcano, keeping the strongest monsters from approaching the enclave."

I processed this information, my mechanical systems whirring softly beneath my frame. Children? The Prophet has offspring?

"Yes," Arctur said simply.

I frowned inwardly, connecting disparate threads. Since arriving at the War Academy, I'd experienced those strange mental intrusions. That ancient voice spoke directly into my consciousness, sending me strange, cryptic messages. The voice was powerful, primordial, and almost familiar. Now Arctur revealed this Prophet commanded an army of creatures.

This mystery deepens with each revelation.

The volcano loomed before us, its squat silhouette dominating the horizon. After days of traversing the hellish landscape, we were finally within a day's journey of our destination. The air grew increasingly sulfuric, and occasional tremors rippled through the black sand beneath our feet.

Without warning, the ground began to shift. Not the violent upheaval of the Sand Dogs' emergence, but a deliberate, almost methodical disturbance. Red forms rose from the obsidian grains like apparitions materializing from smoke.

I immediately deployed my tendrils, the dragon heads hissing as they extended toward these new threats. Six feet tall, humanoid in basic structure but entirely alien in composition, these beings stood motionless before us. Their bodies were encased in dark crimson carapaces that resembled polished armor, reflecting dull light from the sulfurous sky.

Hostiles, I assessed, preparing to strike.

Arctur's hand shot out, gripping my mechanical arm with surprising strength. "Wait!"

He stepped forward and bowed deeply, his posture one of profound respect. "These are the Voiceless," he explained, tone hushed with reverence. "Children of the Prophet."

I retracted my weapons, studying these strange entities more carefully. Though humanoid, they bore no resemblance to any sapient species I'd encountered. Their arms terminated not in hands but in massive crab-like pincers, perfectly formed for both combat and manipulation. Their faces were wholly crustacean, with flat mandibles clicking rhythmically while glossy black eyestalks swiveled independently, taking in our presence from multiple angles.

Most striking were their weapons: spears, swords, and axes crafted from the same mysterious red material as Arctur's unbreakable spear. Each weapon seemed to pulse with an inner light, as though alive.

Something about these creatures triggered fragments of Vardin's memories within me. A distant recognition, like recalling a face from a dream. I'd seen these beings before; or perhaps Vardin had. The sensation wasn't quite déjà vu, but rather knowledge buried beneath layers of forgotten history.

The lead Voiceless raised a pincer, gesturing toward the volcano with a deliberate motion. No words were spoken, yet the command was unmistakable.

"They will escort us to the enclave," Arctur whispered.

As we began to follow our silent guide, the remaining Voiceless stepped backward in perfect unison. Without disturbing a single grain of sand, they sank back into the black earth, disappearing as completely as if they'd never existed.

What are they? I asked Arctur as we walked.

"The Prophet's children," he replied. "And our greatest protectors."

The lone Voiceless led us up the volcanic slope, its movements fluid despite the treacherous terrain. With each step higher, the air grew thicker with sulfur and ash, yet our crimson guide seemed unaffected by the harsh environment.

We passed through several defensive positions where more Voiceless waited in eerie stillness. Some crouched behind volcanic boulders, their red carapaces nearly indistinguishable from the igneous rock. Others lurked beneath natural outcroppings, their glossy black eyestalks the only indication of their presence. None acknowledged us with movement or sound, maintaining their vigilant guard over the mountain path.

My Analyze ability registered dozens of them, each bearing the same name: Voiceless. Their perfect immobility was unnerving; not even the subtle rise and fall of breathing disturbed their statuesque forms. I wondered if they truly needed to breathe at all.

How many of these guardians exist? I asked Arctur.

"Hundreds, as far as I know," he replied quietly. "The Prophet creates them according to our need."

Creates them? The implications sent my mind awhirl. If these beings were indeed created rather than born, what did that suggest about their maker?

We rounded a final switchback and came upon a massive cave entrance carved into the volcano's flank. The opening rose nearly thirty feet high, its edges too uniform to be natural. Before it stood the largest concentration of Voiceless yet, at least twenty of the crimson sentinels arrayed in a defensive formation.

Among them moved other figures: intelligent monsters of various species. Unlike the uniform Voiceless, these creatures displayed individuality in their worn armor and personal weapons. They carried themselves with the wariness of those accustomed to persecution, their eyes constantly scanning for threats.

A lizardman with pale green scales looked up at our approach. His scales lacked the vibrant darkness of Arctur's, suggesting advanced age or perhaps a different subspecies. His eyes widened in recognition.

"Arctur?" The name escaped him in a hiss of disbelief. He strode forward, his weathered armor clanking. "What are you doing here? We thought you had gone to the human War Academy to grow stronger."

Standing beside them, I was struck by Arctur's imposing stature. He towered a full head above his kinsman, his muscular frame making the elder lizardman appear almost frail by comparison.

"Greetings, Elder Sathrak," Arctur inclined his head respectfully. "I was at the Academy, but I've been tasked with a sacred duty by the Prophet himself."

At this pronouncement, more lizardmen approached, along with several other intelligent monsters: a pair of minotaurs with broken horns, a goblin whose left arm ended at the elbow, and what appeared to be a kobold with mottled scales. All bore the marks of hard lives and even harder battles.

"The Prophet sent for you?" Elder Sathrak's voice carried both reverence and skepticism.

"Not for me," Arctur gestured toward me. "For my companion."

All eyes turned to assess my mechanical form. I stood motionless under their scrutiny, my tendrils retracted and my stance deliberately non-threatening.

"This is Vardiel," Arctur continued. "The Prophet wishes an audience."

A murmur rippled through the gathered monsters. The kobold leaned toward one of the minotaurs, whispering something I couldn't quite catch.

"You are blessed indeed," the elder lizardman addressed me directly, his voice hushed with awe. "Few are summoned by the Holy One."

The goblin stepped forward, his single hand making a complex gesture before his chest. "The Prophet's wisdom flows through all things. If you are called, then you are welcome among us."

The gathered monsters parted, creating a path into the volcanic cavern. Our Voiceless guide, who had remained motionless throughout the exchange, now pivoted with mechanical precision and proceeded into the darkness. Arctur and I followed, leaving behind the whispered conversations of the enclave's guardians.

As we entered the mountain's throat, I couldn't help but wonder what entity awaited us within. Who was this Prophet who commanded such devotion, who created armies of guardians, and who had been whispering in my mind?

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