[center]FOOLISH[/center]

Words from beyond the veil crackled in Arguths mind the very moment he approached undefended. It had always been his sacred duty to sacrifice himself for the sake of others when needed and it had seemed like this woman needed saving, from themselves mostly. Arrogant as the Pyre Master was, blessed with the ever burning flame, even Arguth could not prepare himself truly for the level of animalistic fury that the cornered female unleashed.

The dagger tore through his ruined chainmail and into the stomach below with impunity, the razored edge cutting thick strips of warm flesh from the Pyre Master with every feral thrust. Only by the endless flames was his entrails preserved from any significant damage as Macy's attempts to further disembowl were met with resistance by the enchantment upon her victims person.
When at last the blade fell from her hands and the fever fled, Arguth spasmed uncontrollably in pain upon the floor, biting back his anguished howls of suffering by will alone.

The twins were quick to extract their butchered Master and drag his downed form into the opposite corner, one applying what little pressure he could to the wound while the other looked at the group with a crestfallen grimace. Duty and honor fought in their hearts and duty had won, demanding they allow Arguth his pace without letting any draw near. 
It would take some time but to those with a talent for the mystic arts, Arguths bleeding form now radiated with the swirling red energies of his faiths power as the ritual began.
Blinding heat gradually rose from his downed form eliciting a hiss of pain as the Twin quickly removed his burned fingers from the painful wound. Steam had begun to rise from the wound as the skin took in a violent red beneath the pooling blood. It had only been a few minutes since his injury when the angry slashed flesh on his stomach shriveled as unnatural flames blazed to life across his chest and legs to consume every inch of the Pyre Champion.

At a distance the heat was intolerable, a bonfire of holy flames that turned Arguths useless fleshy wounds to blackened ashe blown away on an unnatural breeze. The flames burned bright and became painful to look at as they scorched the area about his downed form hungrily, uncaringly, forcing the shadowy assassins to flee to where the rest of the group still waited. 

Amidst it all was perhaps the most horrible scream they would likely ever hear. Arguths vocal chords were strained to their absolute limit as he loosed one pitiful whine of despair before no voice was left to him.

In a puff of black greasy smoke it was over. In the charred ring of the sacred Pyres passing, Arguth lay prone against the floor. It has taken a colossal amouny of his magic to patch his wounds and the will of his god had shown no mercy to its devout paladin as it burned away useless flesh and blood before heling his gaping stomach wound. 
What has once been the twisted ruin of a mans stomach dangling like curtains was once more the soft flesh of a human. Only his armor, glowing red and white with heat as his sword had earlier, was the only damage the fire had brought to him.

Even with the healing having run its course, Arguth was clearly in no shape to continue quite yet. With the utmost care, the twins put their extended finger to their mouths to silently call for quiet before striding close as they dared to Arguth.
When the champion woke, the quest for freedom would resume.

[hr]

The shouts of the dieing soldiers far below had long faded when Argus, restored to proper health by his pyromantic blessings from the Eternal Pyre, at last was roused from his heavy slumber. The group had sheltered in the burned out remains of the cell block with the twins taking over the task of night watch as their leader failed to awaken in short order. Without seeing the sun it was difficult to guess how long they had been delayed but rough estimation put it at well over 10 hours. 
Outside, daylight was no doubt on the rise. 

With the excess time on their hands, the white-suited twins had taken the chance to roam the upper level armory in the wardens office. One had gone all the way up, the other staying behind, and had returned with their weathered [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/60/c4/91/60c491863baa85730a5d46fe421075c7.jpg?b=t]armor[/url] and their weapons of choice. The wardens personal armory had been sealed shut but few things could keep an Imperial assassin out for long.
Had it not been for the magic-dampening properties of their cells both would have escaped long before.

Arguth groaned as consciousness came to him, rolling onto his elbow and holding his helmet with the other hand. A quick glance around the room brought his memories crashing back in an avalanche of painful realizations from his volatile break-in and subsequent purging of the infected creatures, to his excruciatingly painful self sacrifice to appease the blood hunger of Macy's. It had all been too much and exhausted from overuse of his power, seemed to have collapsed.
Almost idly the Pyre champion ran his iron bound fingers across the flat of his stomach and let out a quiet sigh of relief. The worst was done and he was properly restored. The shattered chainmail was an issue but it would have to wait. 

Getting to his feet proved difficult but with the help of the hawk-helmeted twin Arguth was quickly up and moving around, albeit a little stiffly. 

"I.." The words came with great difficulty. "We. We have no more time, it would seem." The others were likely just beginning to wake from whatever little sleep they could catch on the ash covered bunks that had survived Arguths fiery invasion. "Rouse the others. The Warden has been idle too long and I fear it may be too late."

The silent twins were quick on their task. With a gentle hand they roused each member of the mercenary crew, along with Hawk. Hooking a thumb and gesturing behind them it was clear what they meant. Taking a small bit of rations they shared a quiet breakfast of sorts while Arguth, sword in hand, dismantled the last part of the barricaded doors. The runic trappings placed on his march up from the lower levels had been left untested. 

The edge of the Pyre devotee's sword had turned white from heat, eager to burn away the infection that was spreading.

[hr]

[center]LEVEL 3[/center]

The group came upon what had clearly been a blockade of sorts as they approached the lowest levels. Massive glassteel bay windows, their once pristine surfaces coated in blood and black soot, were uncracked on every level. The Wardens troops had held their ground for hours against a relentless enemy and from the looks of it, their protections had held. Dozens of the insect menace were piled outside the reinforced bars of the walkway leading into absolute darkness below. 
Despite the intact defenses, no soldiers remained. Corpses belonged only to the disfigured remains of the enemy that had failed to reanimate. Without them it would have almost been peaceful to stand before the total oblivion looming beneath their feet. Unlike the higher levels the bottom 3 floors were mostly mass holding cells. Common thugs, theives, minor criminals, hundreds could be packed into this gigantic prison. Men shipped from the capital to await punishment or conscription, redemption as fodder for the engines of war.

All that remained now was the stench of death and an incessant buzzing. Hundreds upon hundreds of buzzing wings, some large and many quite small, bounced back to the parties ears. 

"Halt." With an upraised fist, Arguth held his smoldering weapon like a torch before him and inched closer to the stairway creeping into oblivion. The way down was gargantuan in size, wide enough to hold 5 grown adults shoulder to shoulder with room to spare. Along the floor, the walls, encroaching on the upper levels, was a disgusting mass of unknown origin. Like living corruption it was spreading to the blood and corpses of victims from the mutant infection, likely something the hellions vomited up to expand their newly developed hive. 

Arguth struck his sword through the disgusting mess and felt the shudder rock through the building as the entirety of the disgusting hive wriggled in soundless pain. 

"Weapons up!"

Senses alive with magic he felt them stir. Over 100 of the former soldiers and convicts of this prison, mutated into hellish insect forms complete with probuscis, antennae, and even quadruple sets of flat insect wings, reacted to the threat to the hive with instantaneous fury. The slaps of flesh and chitin on the staircase created wet squelching noise as they stomped up the creeping hives body to strike in defense.

The closest to the enemy, but drained of a great deal of magic, Arguth shouted his warcry to gods. Blessed by the endless Pyre his words turned to flame, catching the mouth of the staircase in a sudden burst of fire. The mucousy hive walls resisted the spread of holy fire as the invaders crested the last flight of stairs in a ravenous tide.

[/center]Kill or be Killed! T