The elevator ride down to the Deep Dark wasn't just a descent. It was an amputation.

  They left the "civilized" sewers if you could call the Grotesque-filled tunnels civilized and entered the pipes that the city had forgotten. The air here wasn't wet anymore. It was dry. Bone dry.

  And cold.

  Wilhelm’s breath puffed out in little clouds. He hugged his faux-dragon coat tighter.

  "It's chilly," he noted, his teeth chattering a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like a distress signal. "Is it supposed to be this chilly? I didn't pack mittens. Or a will."

  Gerald didn't answer. He was checking his sword edge for the tenth time.

  Freyda was a statue of frost. The cold seemed to suit her.

  Mary was... well, Mary was brooding. But she was brooding while shivering, which made her look slightly more human.

  And Astrid? Astrid was vibrating.

  "It's like winter in Kaledon!" she chirped, her breath misting. "Remember, Wilhelm? When we built the snow fort and you got stuck in the tunnel?"

  "I was exploring structural integrity," Wilhelm sniffed. "And I wasn't stuck. I was... tactically wedged."

  The cage ground to a halt.

  Level 5. The Deep Dark.

  The gates opened.

  They weren't in a tunnel anymore. They were in a cavern. A massive, natural cavern that had been swallowed by the city’s foundations millennia ago.

  And it was beautiful.

  Deadly beautiful.

  Massive icicles, thick as trees, hung from the ceiling. The floor was a sheet of black ice, polished to a mirror shine. And in the center...

  Statues.

  Dozens of them. Frozen in mid-scream. Mid-fight. Mid-prayer.

  "People," Mary whispered, touching a frozen hand that stuck out of the ice wall. "They're... perfectly preserved."

  "Don't touch the merchandise," a voice sneered.

  They spun around.

  It wasn't a monster.

  It was Volpert.

  The Prince was sitting on a throne of ice literally, a block of ice he had draped with a fur cloak. He was flanked by four massive Ironvine guards, their armor gleaming even in the dim light.

  Volpert was eating a candied apple.

  "You're late," Volpert said, taking a loud crunch. "I've been waiting for hours. It's boring. My toes are cold."

  Wilhelm stared. "Little Lord? What... how did you get down here? Why are you down here?"

  "Mother has secret tunnels," Volpert said dismissively. He pointed his half-eaten apple at Wilhelm. "She said you were going to do something stupid. Like fight monsters. I want to watch."

  He grinned. It was a sticky, red grin.

  "I want to see you bleed, Bastard. It's funny when you bleed."

  Wilhelm sighed. He looked at Gerald. "Can we leave him here? Just... accidentally forget him?"

  "He has guards," Gerald noted grimly.

  Volpert slid off his ice throne. He walked stumbled, really, on the slick floor toward them. He stopped in front of Astrid.

  He looked at her empty sleeve.

  He giggled.

  "Look at the cripple," Volpert said. He poked Astrid’s shoulder, right where the arm used to be. "Where's your arm? Did a dog eat it? Or did your mother cut it off because you were ugly?"

  Astrid went still.

  "Don't touch me," she whispered.

  "I can touch you," Volpert sneered. "I'm the Prince. I own you. You're broken. Broken toys go in the trash."

  He turned to his guards.

  "Isn't she funny? She thinks she's a knight. With one arm! She can't even clap!"

  He clapped his hands in her face. Clap. Clap. Clap.

  "Bravo, cripple! Bravo for existing!"

  Something snapped in Astrid.

  It wasn't a loud snap. It was the sound of a bowstring being cut.

  She didn't use her wooden sword.

  She moved. Fast. Faster than Volpert’s guards could react. Faster than Wilhelm could blink.

  She stepped inside Volpert’s guard.

  And she headbutted him.

  CRACK.

  It was a beautiful sound. The sound of arrogance meeting skull.

  Volpert screamed. He fell back, clutching his nose. Blood bright red, royal blood spurted through his fingers.

  "My nose!" Volpert shrieked. "She broke my nose! Kill her! Kill her now!"

  The guards moved. Swords drawn.

  Gerald stepped in front of Astrid. Sching. His ranger sword was out.

  Freyda stepped in front of Gerald. THOOM. She slammed her shield into the ice, cracking the floor.

  "Touch the girl," Freyda rumbled, "and I will bury you in this ice."

  The guards hesitated. They looked at Freyda. The Tower. The Skullwarden. They knew her reputation.

  Volpert was rolling on the ice, wailing.

  "Mother! Mother will hear of this! You're dead! You're all dead!"

  Astrid stood over him. She was breathing hard. Her forehead was bleeding slightly from the impact.

  She looked down at the weeping Prince.

  "I don't need two arms to beat you, Volpert," she spat. "I don't even need a sword. You're weak. You have two hands, two legs, and a crown... and you're still smaller than me."

  She kicked snow into his face.

  "Get up. Stop crying. It's pathetic."

  Volpert scrambled backward, crab-walking away from her, snot and blood mixing on his face.

  "Stay away!" he sobbed. "Guard! Guard! She's a monster!"

  Wilhelm watched the scene. The Prince of the Realm, cowering before a one-armed girl in a ragged tunic.

  He felt a strange, warm feeling in his chest. Pride.

  "Well," Wilhelm said, breaking the tension. "That's one way to handle diplomacy. I usually use bribes, but... headbutts work too."

  He walked over to Volpert, offering a hand. Not to help him up. To check his pockets.

  "We have work to do, Your Highness," Wilhelm said, patting Volpert down and finding a bag of lemon cakes. Jackpot. "You can stay and watch. But if you make another sound... I'll let Astrid finish the job."

  Volpert stared at him, eyes wide with terror. He nodded mutely, clutching his broken nose.

  "Good," Wilhelm popped a lemon cake into his mouth.

  "Now. Where were we? Ah, yes. Ice Golems. Anyone see a giant angry snowman?"

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  A rumble answered him.

  The cavern shook.

  From the back of the cave, two blue lights ignited.

  Massive. Cold.

  "I think," Freyda said, raising her shield, "the snowman found us."

  And out of the darkness stepped a nightmare made of glaciers.

  The Ice Golem wasn't just big. It was a geological event.

  It stepped out of the shadows, and the temperature in the cavern dropped another ten degrees. Its body was made of jagged, blue-white glacier shards, held together by a humming, magical core that pulsed in its chest like a frozen heart.

  It roared.

  A sound like an avalanche.

  "Right," Wilhelm said, pulling his rapier. It looked like a toothpick against the monster. "Everyone, scatter! Try not to look delicious!"

  The Golem didn't care about looking delicious. It cared about movement. It swung a fist the size of a carriage.

  Freyda didn't scatter. She braced.

  She slammed her shield into the ice floor, crouching behind it.

  CRASH.

  The impact sent a shockwave through the cavern. Freyda slid backward five meters, her boots carving deep grooves in the ice, but she held.

  "Go!" she roared. "I will hold its attention! Find the weak points!"

  Gerald moved. He was fast, silent, a grey blur circling the monster's flank.

  Astrid moved. She charged straight at its leg, screaming a war cry that was way too big for her small body.

  Mary vanished into the shadows, looking for a vantage point.

  And Wilhelm?

  Wilhelm stood there, doing math.

  Problem: Chest is 4 meters in the air and covered in armor-grade ice.

  "Physics," Wilhelm whispered. "I need physics."

  He looked at the floor. Ice. Slick.

  He looked at the Golem's feet. Massive pillars of frost.

  "Friction," he grinned. Or grimaced. It was hard to tell with the chattering teeth.

  He pointed his hand.

  "Grease Slick!"

  A pool of shimmering oil appeared under the Golem's right foot.

  The monster stepped. And slipped.

  It flailed, arms pinwheeling.

  "Now!" Wilhelm screamed. "Hit the knee!"

  Astrid was there. She swung her wooden sword. Thwack. It did nothing. Literally nothing. 0 Damage.

  "It's rock!" she wailed. "It's literally rock!"

  Gerald had more luck. His steel sword sparked against the ice, chipping away a chunk.

  But the Golem recovered fast. Too fast.

  It slammed its fist down.

  He saw the shockwave coming. He tried to jump. His legs were too slow.

  The ice floor erupted. A shard the size of a spear shot up.

  It grazed his leg.

  "Gah!"

  Wilhelm fell, clutching his thigh. The cut was deep.

  "Okay," Wilhelm wheezed, scrambling back. "That hurt. That definitely hurt."

  Suddenly, a screech echoed from the entrance.

  Nine figures.

  Not golems.

  Zombies. Ice Zombies. Preserved corpses from the ancient wars, animated by the Golem’s ambient magic. They shambled into the light, blue eyes glowing.

  "Adds!" Wilhelm yelled. "We have adds! Gerald! Peel!"

  Gerald disengaged from the Golem and intercepted the first three zombies. His sword was a blur. Hack. Slash.

  Mary dropped from an icicle above, landing on a zombie's shoulders and driving her dagger into its skull.

  But there were too many.

  One zombie lunged at Wilhelm. It wore rusted chainmail and had half a face.

  Wilhelm scrambled back on his butt. "Personal space! Personal space!"

  He thrust his rapier.

  Poke.

  It went through the zombie's eye.

  "One down," Wilhelm panted. "Eight to go."

  Another zombie grabbed his ankle. Its grip was like iron.

  [He couldn't break the grip. He kicked, flailed, panicked.

  "Get off! Get off!"

  He pointed his hand. Panic-casting.

  "Fireball!"

  The fire exploded in the zombie's face. It shrieked and let go, its head melting.

  Wilhelm gagged, the heat making him dizzy. His vision blurred.

  "Too hot," he mumbled. "Why is magic so... hot?"

  The Golem roared again. It ignored Freyda’s shield-bashing and turned toward the group. It raised both fists.

  It was going to bring the ceiling down.

  "It's charging a slam!" Gerald shouted. "Move!"

  Wilhelm looked around.

  In the corner, cowering behind a stalagmite, was Volpert.

  The Prince was curled into a ball, sobbing.

  "Make it stop!" Volpert wailed. "I'm the Prince! I command you to stop!"

  Brandan’s voice boomed from the entrance.

  "Stand up, boy!"

  The King strode into the cavern. He didn't have his armor. He just had his hammer and his rage.

  "Fight!" Brandan roared, smashing a zombie into dust with a casual swing. "You are a Stormsong! Pick up a sword and fight!"

  Volpert looked at his father. He looked at the zombie shambling toward him.

  He screamed.

  And he ran.

  He didn't run toward the enemy. He ran away. Past Wilhelm. Past Astrid (who was trying to bite a zombie's leg).

  "Coward!" Brandan yelled, his voice breaking.

  The Golem’s fists came down.

  BOOM.

  The floor shattered. Wilhelm was thrown into the air.

  Wilhelm felt his life force drain away. His veins felt like they were collapsing.

  He jumped on the air. Once. Twice.

  He was above the Golem.

  He looked down. He saw the core. The glowing blue heart.

  "Doctor wants a biopsy," Wilhelm whispered, his vision graying out.

  He pointed his rapier down.

  "Gravity," he muttered. "Don't fail me now."

  He fell.

  He drove the sword into the crack in the ice armor.

  CRUNCH.

  The blade sank deep.

  The Golem froze. The blue light flickered.

  Wilhelm hung there, holding the hilt, dangling four meters in the air.

  "Did I... did I win?"

  The Golem shuddered.

  And exploded.

  Not fire. Ice shrapnel.

  Wilhelm was blasted backward.

  He hit the wall. He slid down.

  Everything hurt.

  He looked up.

  The Golem was a pile of rubble. In the center, pulsing faintly, was a blue crystal.

  The Cryo-Core.

  Wilhelm tried to crawl toward it. He couldn't.

  "Freyda," he croaked.

  The giantess was there. She picked up the crystal.

  "Got it," she said.

  Wilhelm closed his eyes.

  "Good," he whispered. "Now... someone find me a lemon cake. Or a blood transfusion. Preferably both."

  But Wilhelm didn't care. He was too busy trying not to vomit his own soul.