rumble through the concrete: droning
ceaseless bestial groaning
feel it deep within your skullmeat
tingling tiny bonies
great machines of city streets
hulking yellow ponies
stabled for the night in peace
asphalt pastures wait for morning
Under the weight of the warhammer, the wheezing concrete thing crumbled. Its rebar skeleton bent and cracked as Shyan laid into it. Her shield forgotten, she pounded the splintering beast into rubble.
When it moved no longer, Shyan, panting, dropped the warhammer, which soon returned to its normal size, such that Cang was able to lift it and attach it to his back. Abia’s whistling died away, and the corridor seemed oddly silent without the concrete creature’s wheezing. Fassn examined the rubble, nose scrunched, and let it lie.
Shyan said simply, “Let’s rest.”
Fassn’s appeals to Old Ajralan went unheard, or at least so it seemed. From Shyan’s flank, he offered a few blows with his sword that sparked off the rocky hide of the creature and were otherwise ineffective.
Abia’s whistling rose in pitch, and as it did so, the hammer in Shyan’s hands grew in size and density, nearly doubling before their eyes. Suddenly the hammer was a struggle to wield, but Shyan, with teeth gritted, brought it up over her head. With a barely discernible nod, she signalled Cang.
Cang, behind the beast, lobbed a glass flask of oil at its concrete form. It shattered, coating the creature in a film of black oil, and at this, the thing turned, wheezing at Cang. When it did, Shyan brought the full force of the amplified warhammer down upon its spine.
The creature of concrete raised a heavy paw, tipped with ragged iron, and brought it down upon Shyan with a wheez. She deflected the blow with her shield, but the force of it nearly sent her sprawling. Regaining her footing, Shyan let out a baritone cry and charged toward the thing.
Abianarin fell back and began whistling a birdsong, waving her hands in undulating patterns. Cang darted past the creature, and withdrew his warhammer, made ready to toss it to Shyan. Fassn spoke muddied phrases in praise of Old Ajralan.
Shyan pushed back against the creature with her shield, but its bulk was implacable. She signalled for the hammer, and tossed the shield aside as she snatched the lobbed weapon out of the air. It was small for her, and she wielded it easily, gritting her teeth at the wheezing beast.
A thing of crumbling concrete and rebar stepped out of the murk, blocking the path of our erstwhile heroes. Its breathing was low and heavy. Its black eyes glassily stared. It advanced a step, another.
“Back, demon,” shouted Fassn, to no effect. He turned to the rest and shrugged, raised his weapon.
“A creature of stone and iron,” Shyan said.
“That certainly seems to explain the stench,” Cang added. He lobbed a stone at the creature with his sling, but it plinked harmlessly away.
“This place rise up against us,” Abianarin said.
Shyan grimaced, raised her shield and advanced with careful steps. “Ready your weapons.”