inside. Was that same voice that had spoken to Ralph, now communicating with Alaxon?

“Even if I become the greatest adventurer in the realm?” Ralph asked.

“Even then. Perhaps if you studied the arcane arts and became a sorcerer, you might find yourself capable of destroying a dungeon.”

“It’s been done before?” Ralph realized the question was foolish since all the Infernal dungeons had been destroyed, but that had been done at the will of the pantheon, not by some rogue sorcerer.

“Enough talk. We still have quite the journey before we reach Zagorath.”

“There is one other thing. You told me that your stew foretold I was the chosen one. Was that also untrue?”

Alaxon sighed. “I’m afraid I lied to you. Wishful thinking on my part, boy. I have no powers besides the mark I can give. It is useless to me except to assist others to wield enchanted items. I am restricted to this staff that merely illuminates. It’s part of the curse of a Marker. I am merely a conduit; I can make others stronger but never myself.”

“For some time, I’ve suspected you weren’t exactly truthful with me,” Ralph said.

“Aye. I’m merely a lonely old hermit who lures young men into quests. The Dark Reaper is magical, that’s for sure, but it’s about the only thing magical about me. I stole it from a mighty man, as I have stolen many things. It’s strange; I was once a noble man and now I’ve become a common criminal.”

“You’re not all that bad,” Ralph said with a laugh.

“Perhaps not. I have goals. I have aspirations. In fact, I hoped one day to find someone who would have power unlike anything seen before. A fast learner who wouldn’t take his talents for granted. I wanted to present them with a gift.” Alaxon tapped his pouch again, but the action seemed unintentional. “Perhaps I shall at some point.”

Ralph thought the priest might have been referring to him, but nothing further came of it. Their journey toward the dungeon continued, and Ralph did his best to avoid the half-orcs. They were brutish and barbaric, but they were in desperate need of a wash.

Despite the unpleasant aroma of his companions, Ralph couldn’t be happier. He had discovered newfound courage when he’d fought against the sulfur gnomes, and the Infernal Essence he’d gained had given him a taste for power.

It was but a small morsel, and he wanted to dedicate his life to feeding the Dark Reaper with the blood of evil monsters.

There was only one path now: to clear Zagorath and gain its power for himself.

Chapter Eighteen

Traps. I needed traps.

I didn’t want more of the same old spikes; they weren’t exactly the most reusable objects. The obsidian spikes had splintered and broken off when Gavin triggered them and constantly rebuilding them after battles wasn’t optimal.

While I needed something sturdier, metal was easily the biggest drain on Physical Essence, but it seemed like the most durable material available to me. It would stand out when backed up against obsidian, but the bread-rock was a dull-gray color that almost looked like troll’s iron. Metal spikes would certainly last a lot longer than stone ones.

I dipped into my resources and carefully considered how much Physical Essence remained before I decided to excavate the area around my dungeon. I didn’t want to make any more rooms just yet, so I simply mined the bread-rock for resources until I had a total of 4,000 Physical Essence. I could always excavate for more if needed, but I wanted to get started on my traps right away; Gavin’s friends could be here at any moment, and new traps were needed to greet them.

My gem flickered as I surveyed my dungeon, practically now a cavern compared to my earlier hole in the ground at the base of a simple set of stairs. What was I missing?

My Hellbats shuffled slightly in their sleep as I examined my dungeon’s surfaces. Puck was still zooming through the vents, disturbing a few of them and cackling to himself. And then there was Bertha—beautiful, powerful, and skilled. The half-troll was still taking deep breaths as her poleaxe rested on her crossed thighs. The weapon gleamed wickedly in the soft red light . . .

Wait a second.

My mind flickered back to all the things I’d consumed. Bread-rock. Obsidian. Honeywood. Leather scraps. Troll iron. Then I focused on the blueprints of weapons and my incredibly basic Spring Trap with its stone spikes. It hit me I wasn’t thinking big enough. The Spring Trap could surely use more than just spikes.

I laughed as I slid the mental blueprints over each other, combining and manipulating them to create entirely different blades. My essence swirled as I thought of possible combinations. Why use twelve tiny spikes in the spring mechanism when I could use one goring spike to rip a gaping wound in an Adventurer?  And it wasn’t like the springs in my traps were simply restricted to spikes, right? Why couldn’t they throw cleavers at my prey and slice into them like tender sides of bloody meat? The essence cost would be higher, of course, but I was forgetting Lilith’s mantra.

Impale. Eviscerate. Decapitate.

She’d whispered those three words as my incorporeal form had floated in front of her, stunned by her beauty and by the world she’d sucked me into.

Invigorated by the memory of the goddess and the boundless potential for carnage, I searched for the best possible trap locations. The Hellbats in the antechamber were a perfect distraction from another lethal surprise. The sculpture of a bat embossed to the wall in front of the Forge Chamber was a perfect spot. I opened the mouth of the carving, and my essence counter dropped as I formed my new and improved surprise for my prey.

Zagorath built Bladed Fan Trap (Troll Iron)

Cost: 800 Physical Essence

I still couldn’t get over how Lilith’s magical programming had a catalog of not only every item I’d found so far, but also items I had built with my own designs.

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