Heavy Metal

"What are these things, and why are they in this part of the dungeon?"

A woman screamed while firing a few arrows into what seemed to be living suits of armor. Even though the monsters were easily punctured, they kept rising again.

"I can't find the core. It's not where it should be. Damn, why did that idiot have to go down!"

One of the adventurers lay on the ground with a pale complexion. A large, muscular man shook him and poured a few recovery potions down his throat, but the man did not move.

"He is dead. Leave him."

Shouted the leader of the group, Beros. His armored form caught the glow of the scattered light in the chamber. He lifted his massive shield and bashed it against an advancing suit of armor. The construct flew back and struck the wall. The plate on its back bent, and its limbs fell apart, yet moments later, the pieces began to rattle and pull themselves together once more.

"These are not living armors. They are possessed suits of armor."

Beros said as he finished his analysis of the enemy.

"What's the difference?"

Replied the large man called Grahn, who was still swinging his axe in wide arcs. With of his swings dug into the armor and shredded the iron they were made from. Yet, even when they were damaged or pushed away, they somehow continued to recover or new ones appeared from the black mist around them.

"The difference."

Beros growled, raising his shield to block another blow.

"Is that living armors have a core. Break it, and they're done. These…"

He spat the word out in anger.

"…these things don't have cores. They're being controlled."

"Controlled? By who?"

Sable snapped, loosing three arrows in rapid succession. Two found gaps in the armor, the third ricocheted uselessly off a shield. All three enemies fell apart only to rise again, dragging themselves together piece by piece. Beros' expression darkened. His eyes flicked across the chamber, past the haze of black smoke, as though he expected to see someone smirking in the shadows.

"Either they are in that mist, or watching us from nearby."

"So, where are they?"

Sable shouted while ignoring the reassembling armors. She raised her bow into the mist but could see nothing. Her teeth clenched in frustration as she loosed several arrows in random directions, striking only empty air.

"How should I know? That dead fool was supposed to figure these things out for us. And stop wasting your arrows."

Beros snapped and then glanced at the lifeless rogue lying on the ground. The man had been their tracker, the one responsible for disarming traps and detecting hidden enemies. The rest of the party were fighters who had relied on his warnings to avoid ambushes. Now, with him gone and the black mist spreading through the chamber, there was no way to locate the creature lurking within.

"What should we do then? Just wait?"

"Skills and magic are not endless. Whoever or whatever is behind this cannot keep it up forever."

"I hope you are right."

"But first, put on your masks. We do not know if this mist is poisonous."

Although they did not step into the fog, they did not remain idle. The three remaining adventurers searched through their fallen companion's satchel and retrieved masks. They covered only the mouth and nose, yet they were designed to resist poison and other corrosive effects.

Rusty crouched low, hidden in the darkness, watching their mounting panic with quiet satisfaction. His twilight iron puppets crashed against the D-rank adventurers again and again, buying him time to circle behind them. Their armored bodies were battered and torn apart quickly, but as long as Rusty scattered spare parts across the ground, the constructs could reassemble. As long as the damage was not absolute, they could still be controlled.

He had targeted the rogue first, knowing the man had sensed something of his presence. A well-placed arrow followed by a swift stab from the shadows had removed the party's greatest obstacle. Now only three remained.