Feeling the adrenaline from the encounter with the automaton still coursing through his veins. He knew he needed to check for any injuries and ensure that he wasn’t suffering from any corruption or lingering effects from the creature’s touch.

  He quickly examined his body, running his hands over his arms and legs, checking for any signs of damage or strange sensations. Thankfully, everything appeared to be in order. His skin was unblemished, and he felt no unusual aches or pains aside from taking the bolt from behind when the automaton shot at him.

  After a few moments of concentration, he felt a reassuring crity within himself. There were no signs of corruption, no dark tendrils of energy wrapping around his essence. “Good, it would have been hard to look as good as I am if I suddenly turned into some form of monstrosity,” he said with a cynical smirk.

  The prisoner took a moment to gather himself in the dimly lit hut, then realized he needed to readjust his perception arts. He had always relied on his ability to sense danger and detect magical energies, but now he understood that he needed to expand his awareness to include movement, magical disturbances, and sudden entropy.

  He closed his eyes again, focusing on the flow of energy around him. He reached out with his senses, attuning himself to the subtle shifts in the air and the vibrations of the ground beneath him. The hut, though seemingly still, was a part of the byrinth—a living entity—and he needed to be aware of every nuance if he was to navigate its treacherous depths.

  As he recalibrated his perception, he felt the familiar hum of mana in the air, but he also sensed the chaotic undercurrents of entropy that seemed to pulse through the very fabric of the hut. It was as if the space around him was constantly shifting, threatening to unravel at any moment.

  He opened his eyes, now seeing the world with a heightened awareness. The shadows flickered with movement, and he could feel the weight of magical disturbances lingering in the corners of the room. Every creak of the floorboards and rustle of the air became amplified, each sound a potential warning of danger.

  The prisoner decided it was time to move on from the infirmary and explore the other rooms in the hut-turned-dungeon.

  As he explored, he found that the other chambers were mostly empty, filled with remnants of what had once been a functional space. Dust and cobwebs clung to the corners, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. Old furniture y overturned, and broken crates were scattered about, but nothing of particur note caught his eye.

  After thoroughly searching the upper floor, he made his way back to the staircase leading down. The soft glow of the light orbs followed him, casting a reassuring light as he approached the stairs. Instead of descending immediately, he took a moment to assess his situation. He needed to regroup, reassess his loot, gear, and recover the mana he had lost during the confrontation with the automaton and the exhausting trek through the forest.

  Once he felt confident that the entrance was secure, he stationed himself at the very back of the room, behind the petrified guardians that stood like silent sentinels. The guardians numbered around two dozen, their stone forms a formidable barrier between him and whatever was approaching. He hoped that his foes would be as easily tricked as he had been when he first entered the hut, underestimating the power of the guardians.

  The prisoner then conjured multiple magical turrets of various elemental and arcane schools, creating the illusion that there was more than one of him. The turrets hummed with energy, their surfaces shimmering with vibrant colors as they prepared to unleash their spells.

  The prisoner waited, his senses on high alert. He sensed more wards get triggered outside, and he began to piece together the number of opponents he might have to face. “About 17… might be more stationed farther away,” he calcuted, his mind racing as he assessed the situation.

  Then, he heard a voice giving orders, confirming his suspicions that they had noticed the magical nature of the door. “Clever,” he thought, impressed despite himself. It seemed they were not just mindless brutes; they were strategizing.

  Suddenly, he heard a small thud. “Did they just throw a rock at the door?” he wondered, a mix of annoyance and amusement washing over him. It appeared they were employing some rudimentary tactics, perhaps testing the defenses before making a more direct approach. “Looks like they dealt with mimic beasts before as well,” he mused, impressed, as they were hard to study due to their nature of devouring any would be researcher before the beasts could be properly examined.

  The sound of the rock hitting the door echoed in the silence, and he could almost feel the tension building outside. He tightened his grip on his weapons, ready to respond to whatever came next. The magical turrets he had conjured stood at the ready, their energies crackling in anticipation.

  The prisoner had yet to trigger the traps outside the door, even though he could feel the energy pulsing through the wards he had set. He knew he needed to determine if the presence outside was truly a foe before unleashing the full force of his defenses.

  “Patience,” he reminded himself, weighing his options. If it was indeed an enemy, he would trigger the traps once he opened fire from the inside, effectively sandwiching the assaints between his magical turrets and the deadly mechanisms he had prepared.

  He listened intently, trying to discern any further details about the intruders. The voices outside were hushed, but he could make out snippets of conversation, indicating they were coordinating their approach. This only heightened his resolve; they were clearly aware of the potential dangers and were taking their time.

  “Clever, but not clever enough,” he thought, a smirk creeping onto his face. He was ready to spring his trap, but he needed to be sure.

  As he waited, he focused on the magical energies around him, preparing to unleash a barrage of spells at a moment’s notice. The turrets hummed with anticipation, their elemental powers ready to be unleashed. He could feel the tension in the air, a charged silence that promised action.

  With each passing moment, he weighed the risks and rewards. If he could catch them off guard, he might turn the tide in his favor. “Just a little longer,” he whispered to himself, his finger hovering over the trigger for the traps, ready to act when the time was right.

  Then, without warning, the door was bsted away, splintering into pieces and sending shards flying across the room. The prisoner braced himself, ready to spring into action.

  The first entity to step through the threshold was taken aback by the sight of the petrified guardians. Their eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting such formidable defenses. Instead of erecting a barrier or charging forward, the entity quickly vaulted back outside, seeking cover behind a nearby tree.

  “Interesting choice,” the prisoner thought, noting the creature's instinct to retreat rather than confront the guardians head-on. It seemed they were more cautious than he had anticipated, perhaps wary of the magical traps he had set.

  He could hear the muffled sounds of the other assaints outside, their voices rising in confusion and arm. The momentary hesitation of the first entity had given him a valuable opportunity.

  The prisoner gave the assaints a chance to respond, his voice ringing out through the chaos. “Cabbage!!!” he shouted, the code word agreed upon by his team before they had entered the dungeon. It was a signal meant to identify allies amidst the confusion, a way to prevent unnecessary conflict.

  He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, listening intently for any response. The sounds of scrambling and shouts outside momentarily quieted, repced by a tense silence. He could feel the weight of the moment, the uncertainty hanging in the air.

  The prisoner gave the assaints a chance to respond, his voice ringing out through the chaos. “Cabbage!!!” he shouted, the code word agreed upon by his team before they had entered the dungeon. It was a signal meant to identify allies amidst the confusion, a way to prevent unnecessary conflict.

  He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, listening intently for any response. The sounds of scrambling and shouts outside momentarily quieted, repced by a tense silence. He could feel the weight of the moment, the uncertainty hanging in the air.

  After what felt like an eternity, an irritated and gruff voice with a Cockney accent replied, “Fucking hells! Pickled!!!” The familiar tone brought a rush of relief, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the colorful response.

  The prisoner gave the assaints a chance to respond, his voice ringing out through the chaos. “Cabbage!!!” he shouted, the code word agreed upon by his team before they had entered the dungeon. It was a signal meant to identify allies amidst the confusion, a way to prevent unnecessary conflict.

  He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, listening intently for any response. The sounds of scrambling and shouts outside momentarily quieted, repced by a tense silence. He could feel the weight of the moment, the uncertainty hanging in the air.

  After what felt like an eternity, an irritated and gruff voice with a Cockney accent replied, “Fucking hells! Pickled!!!” The familiar tone brought a rush of relief, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the colorful response.

  With a sly smirk, the prisoner then replied, “Is that the bowler hat-wearing short ass inquisitor I’m hearing?”

  As the inquisitor stepped into the hut, he shot back, “Well, fuck you too, you clownish bastard! I’m not that short!!!”

  One of his deputies, trying to stifle a ugh, chimed in, “To be fair, Inquisitor, when we entered the byrinth through the swamp, you’ve been cussing about how you keep getting stuck in the mires.”

  San Fergus, whose full name was Fergus Florid, was called San as it was a title reserved for wizards, sorcerers, warriors, and priests who had reached a certain level of power and were considered saints. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “I’ll have you know that my stature has nothing to do with my abilities!” he retorted, his voice a mix of irritation and amusement.

  The banter lightened the mood, and the prisoner could see the tension in his allies ease as they recognized his voice. He stepped cautiously to the edge of the doorway, peering outside to see who had responded. The sight of his teammates emerging from their cover brought a smile to his face. They were battered but alive, and he could see the relief in their expressions as they recognized him.

  “What took you so long?” he called out, a mix of humor and genuine concern in his voice.

  The prisoner listened intently as San Fergus recounted the horrors he had witnessed. The weight of the inquisitor's words settled heavily in the air. “I found others, but some were dead, others eaten. I even came across one in the process of being turned into one of those statues. He begged for death before he transformed.”

  The prisoner’s expression hardened as he responded, “I see my theory was correct.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts, the implications of Fergus's account resonating deeply within him. “Have everyone enter the hut. It’s bigger than it looks. Let’s set up a temporary camp here. I’ll tell you what I’ve found so far.”

  He gestured for his allies to move inside, his mind racing with the information he needed to share. The magical turrets he had conjured stood ready, their energies still crackling in the dim light of the hut.

  As the others filed in, he quickly began to outline his findings. “This pce is riddled with traps, but they are my traps,” he crified, his tone serious. “I would have seen a pyrocsm from a front seat—if you hadn’t shown yourselves.”

  He gnced at San Fergus, his expression grave. “We need to be on high alert. The byrinth is designed to separate us, to pick us off one by one. I’ve set wards and traps to protect us, but we must remain vigint.”

  Once everyone was settled, he began to share the details of his own experiences, the wards he had set, and the traps he had prepared. “We can’t let fear dictate our actions, but we must be strategic. We need to regroup and pn our next move carefully.”

  The prisoner took a moment to gather his thoughts before addressing San Fergus. “I had a run-in with an automatons,” he said, his tone serious. “It was a fierce battle. I had to outsmart it, using the environment to my advantage. In the end, I managed to trap it in this bottle.” He held up the shimmering container for emphasis.

  “But there’s something you need to know,” he continued, his expression grave. “Whatever is turning flesh to stone in this byrinth is also turning metal to flesh and bone. That automaton was a perfect example of that transformation.”

  The prisoner leaned closer to San Fergus, his voice low and urgent. “Listen, that automaton abomination has a way of hiding its magical signature. I couldn’t sense it until it was almost too te.” He paused, gauging the inquisitor's reaction before continuing. “I barred the way to the basement to avoid any more of those things surprising us on this floor.”

  Fergus frowned, absorbing the information. “So, we can’t rely on our usual methods of detection. That complicates things.”

  “Exactly,” the prisoner replied, his expression serious. “If there are more of those automatons lurking around, we need to be extra cautious. I didn’t want to risk encountering another one unprepared.”

  The prisoner took a deep breath, his expression serious as he continued. “I’m not sure if whatever that automaton has is contagious,” he said, gncing at San Fergus. “I was using my physique during the fight, and that might have prevented me from getting infected. But I can’t be certain. If I hadn’t been using it, I might have been vulnerable.”

  Fergus’s brow furrowed with concern. “So, we could be dealing with a threat that not only attacks physically but also spreads in some way? That’s troubling.”

  The prisoner leaned closer to San Fergus, his voice steady but urgent. “And there’s something else you should know. The automaton was using arcane bolts during our fight. I suspect it still retains some of its mechanical properties, even in its transformed state.”

  Fergus raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, it’s not just a mindless creature. It has the ability to wield magic?”

  “Exactly,” the prisoner replied, nodding. “I also noticed a faint trace of its original magical signature when it fired those bolts. It’s possible that whatever transformation it underwent didn’t strip it of its abilities entirely. We could be facing a hybrid of sorts—part machine, part something else entirely.”

  San Fergus frowned, considering the implications. “That makes it even more dangerous. If it can still use arcane attacks, we need to be prepared for a fight on multiple fronts.”

  The prisoner felt a renewed sense of urgency. “Let’s make sure everyone is aware of this threat. We need to set up defenses and prepare for the possibility of encountering more automatons. We can’t let our guard down.”

  Once everyone was settled in the hut, San Fergus stood up, his expression serious. He cleared his throat to gather the attention of the group. “Listen up, ya gits!"

  “We’ve got a situation on our hands. There are corrupted automatons in this hut.... Our clown friend here already took care of one but there could more in the lower floors"

  He paced slightly, gesturing as he spoke. “From what we’ve seen, these creatures have undergone a transformation that goes beyond mere mechanical malfunction. They’re not just machines anymore; they’ve become something else entirely. The automaton I encountered was able to use arcane bolts, which suggests it retains some of its original magical properties.”

  “We’re not entirely sure if these automatons are contagious, but we need to consider the possibility.”

  The prisoner then cut in. “What’s more concerning is that during my encounter, I noticed traces of its original magical signature. This means that whatever is happening to these automatons could potentially affect us as well. If they can transform from metal to flesh and bone, who’s to say they can’t spread that transformation to us?”

  He looked around the room, making sure everyone was paying attention. “We don’t know if the essence that’s turning them is contagious, but we can’t take any chances. If any of you come into contact with one of these creatures or its essence, we need to act quickly. We can’t afford to let anyone become infected or transformed.”

  Fergus’s voice grew more intense as he continued. “I want you all to be vigint. If you start to feel unwell or notice any changes in your body, you need to tell the rest of us immediately. We can’t let fear dictate our actions, but we also can’t ignore the potential danger.”

  He took a deep breath, trying to calm the tension in the room. “We’ll set up a watch rotation and keep a close eye on each other. If we work together and stay alert, we can minimize the risk. But we have to be smart about this. We’re in uncharted territory, and we need to be prepared for anything.”