The monster, erect on two legs, hissed furiously and stormed into the classroom after me.
I groped for Djinn and found nothing. “Crap, crap, crap, crap,” I cursed, each word louder than the one before it. I pulled out my pistols and started squeezing their triggers at the Lizardman—which was nearly on top of me—pouring every ounce of magical aura into the guns and the bullets it was firing. After what seemed like a year, I opened my eyes and saw a dead Lizardman splayed on the ground, its head resting comfortably between my legs.
“That went well,” I muttered in relief as I retrieved Djinn. A series of deep breaths helped my racing heartbeat to regain its normal tempo. I made it back to the pitch-black corridor and prayed that that was the last of the Lizardmen.
I noticed the telltale signs of a spell cast only in the corridor; a dampener, reducing one’s sense of smell, sight, and sound. Lizardmen, which used their heat-seeking abilities, just like a snake, would not be hindered by the enchantment: this magic was clearly meant for any unfortunate idiot who happened to stumble in.