Another raider caught one in the back, and I watched as it sank straight through his leather armor, cracked his ribs, and slid deep into his vitals. Another blade took off half of another’s jaw, ripping it from his skull and sending it spinning to the ground like an afterthought. The blade continued spinning and bouncing off bone until it found another half-orc. It pierced straight into his groin and opened up precious arteries before cleaving away what he valued most.
The fourth fan blade severed an arm, its sword still clutched in spasming fingers as it tumbled to the ground. The last blade wedged itself into a collarbone, cracked it like an eggshell, and sprayed the contents of the half-orc’s veins over his friends.
Satisfaction boiled in my jewel; I almost wished I had a mouth, so I could grin. My bloodthirstiness was a little surprising, and I wasn’t sure whether it was a result of my vampire-like avatar, my dungeon instincts, or my affinity to the Infernal Realm. Maybe all three?
The Hellbats stirred into a frenzy from the sheer amount of spilled blood. The minions became heedless to the raiders’ attacks, diving through the ranks despite the blades cutting them down. Just to score a taste of the precious scarlet substance leaking from wounds and running through veins, they latched onto limbs, throats, hands, and anything else they could find. Still more blood splashed onto my sable floor and ran in rivulets along the channels separating the tiles.
The priest with the glowing staff moved with surprising strength as he swatted one of my Hellbats from above him. The monster tumbled along the floor before lifting itself into the air again, only to be met with its end by the kid’s Essence-infused longsword. The human pair drank in the Infernal Essence with their sigils, and I retreated my consciousness into the walls to watch them. Their skilled movements actually entertained me, and I was left admiring the sigils on the kid’s sword.
I needed them.
I instilled the Hellbats with fear, and the emotion caused them to retreat back into the safe confines of the vents. I couldn’t order them as easily as my champions since they weren’t very intelligent, but a good dose of emotion did the trick.
While the raiders paused to tend to their wounds and loot over the corpses of their comrades, I surveyed the damage I’d done to their numbers. The blades of my trap and the Hellbats had claimed nine of their lives, but there were still twenty-one left.
“That was tough,” the kid said, speaking for the first time. “Did you know it would be this difficult, Alaxon?”
“Ah, this is just the beginning, Ralph,” the priest answered as he leaned on his staff. “This dungeon is far more powerful than I assumed.”
The half-orcs barely paid attention to the pair of humans, so I figured they weren’t actually the leaders but likely late additions to the party.
“Zagorath will not stand to our combined might, nor the might of the Dark Reaper!” Ralph brandished his sword and lifted it up high like a beacon of power, while the half-orcs looked at him like he’d just grown a second head. Some stifled chuckles under their breath, while others gazed at the sword as if just waiting for my dungeon to claim the kid so they could take away his weapon.
I might have wondered how Ralph had learned of my dungeon’s name, but I was too busy trying to curb my own laughter. Not only was Ralph confident, but he was also great at fulfilling a bunch of tropes. A named sword, a lame declaration, and a mentor that looked like a wizard; was he going for the epic fantasy hat-trick?
Had he also been an orphan farmboy not too long ago? I didn’t plan on letting him complete his chosen-one destiny, and his Dark Reaper would be mine after I dismantled and absorbed it. The two-handed sword would look particularly formidable in the hands of my elf avatar.
My first party had entered my depths, and I was only just getting started.
Chapter Twenty
“They’re getting closer,” I warned my minions. “Twenty-one left.”
“Then let them come.” Bertha’s fingers tightened around her poleaxe.
“In the name of the Goddess!” Puck added.
I turned my attention back to the dead raiders. I couldn’t build or transform essence while they stood in my dungeon, but the precious Soul Essence floating above their corpses was right there for the taking. Before I could draw in the essence, the raiders who were alive sucked it into the heart of their tattoos. They seemed to grow stronger, and I wondered why they didn’t just kill each other to gain in strength. In fact, they probably did it all the time—a ruthless society in the Sinarius Realms I’d need to adapt to.
The surviving guests crept down the steps, away from the glowing red eyes of my menacing wall feature. They were moving far more cautiously now, eyes sweeping from side to side and weapons ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Ralph and Alaxon stayed at the back, happy to let the avarice of the others spur them into the deaths I had planned for each of them. This pair was smart, but they’d soon be dead, their essence and equipment added to my growing repertoire.
“What the fuck is this place?” one of the half-orcs muttered, tightening his grip on his spear.
“If the traps are that strong, the rewards will be worth our toil,” the half-orc called Renkish told him, his eyes glittering with greed.
Renkish’s promise of spoils was infectious, and they cleared the steps three at a time, reaching the Pretzel in mere seconds.
“Looks like there’s a few alcoves with treasure in them,” a half-orc commented.
“Should we all go together?” another asked, his overhanging jaw trembling with fear. “There’s no telling what surprises might be in there.”
“Nah,” Renkish said, and it was clear he wanted to share his treasure with
