After they reached an agreement, they filtered off into the hallways.
“This seems too easy,” Ralph whispered to the priest. “Why simply leave equipment here?”
“It’s the nature of dungeons, lad. They need to provide an incentive for folks to enter them.”
“Could it be a trap?”
“Most certainly,” Alaxon replied with a sly smile. “Which is why we wait for these half-orc fools to trigger them.”
As the raiders filtered into the alcoves, my polished obsidian walls reflected the flickering light of the torches they carried. With a cry of triumph, the first half-orc to the altars scooped up his spoils. A similar cry rang from the raider beside him as he wrapped his hands around a replica of Bertha’s cleaver. The two now sported weapons infused with Swiftness sigil, so they would be more difficult to fight, but I wanted to boost their confidence a little more. It wouldn’t serve me well if they turned tail and fled my dungeon; I needed them to remain in order to wring their corpses dry of essence.
“I know this marking,” Renkish said, turning his hands over a cleaver. “Only the Sand Pirates had access to it. Makes you quicker than a fucking crossbow bolt. Finally, some luck!”
Heh. He had no idea what was waiting for him on the First Floor.
The other raiders weren’t as satisfied with their scores, and those who hadn’t scored equipment looked on their luckier brethren with envious eyes. If I didn’t plan on killing them all, then there were a whole lot of backs that would end up with the business end of a knife stabbed through them.
After they all gathered outside the corridor leading to the First Floor, Renkish led a discussion about tactics. Most of it sounded like hot air and I tuned out after only a second.
I’d served up the entrée; now for the main course.
I reached out, the tendrils of my consciousness locating the bats hidden above the side altars in the alcoves. With a deafening cacophony of screeches, the creatures swooped from the ceiling and crashed into the backs of the raiders. Fangs sank into two unlucky jugulars before a handful of raiders scurried into the corridor. They were almost at the triggers to my Troll Iron Spike Traps, but they paused to gather their wits.
I couldn’t help feeling disappointed and it only increased when the more courageous raiders sliced my Hellbats from the air. My minions’ essence flowed free from my grasp and straight into the intruders’ tattoos. This was all part of the game Lilith wanted me to play, but even so, I hated watching others take my essence. Rather than command my Hellbats to retreat, I allowed the raiders to kill them all before they moved off into the corridor.
Nineteen were left; I’d chopped down almost half of them.
It was now time to speed up the process. Who better to contribute than my very own hyperactive champion? At my direction, Puck spoke, his grating voice magnified almost three times by the acoustic curves of the First Floor’s walls.
“You have taken the offerings of Lilith,” he intoned, his voice booming for such a small body. “And her justice shall be swift and visceral.”
The half-orcs barely flinched at the voice. Renkish just laughed and stepped forward, raising his new-found cleaver and a gleaming cutlass in his other hand. I could see the Swiftness sigil glowing, and I took a moment to admire my handiwork. It would make him faster, sure, but my Spring Traps were faster still. Better yet, he wasn’t expecting them.
Intelligent and experienced dungeon divers might have used magic to detect traps, or tossed objects into unexplored rooms to trigger them, but this group was both stupid and uninformed. Ralph and Alaxon seemed content to allow the half-orcs to explore the mysterious terrain of my dungeon, and the raiders seemed too eager for spoils to even consider why the human pair was hanging back.
“The bounties of Lilith are not for the hands of mortals,” the imp continued.
I sent a blinding flash of light from my core, illuminating the whole First Floor and into the corridor before returning to a shimmering glow.
“It’s the dungeon,” the old priest said with a dry chuckle. “It fears for its core.”
Alaxon seemed like an unusual ally at that moment, his words working the half-orcs into a veritable fury.
Ralph must have gotten wind of the plan because he lifted his head and yelled. “Hear me, Infernal Dungeon! I am Ralph Kraus, the Chosen One, and I will purge your evil from this realm. Your demonic power will have no further sway over the land.”
Was this guy for real? He must have laid it on a little too thick because the half-orcs simply laughed at the kid. He was giving me a run for my money when it came to overbearing speech. From the firm set of his mouth and the excellently-crafted longsword in his hands, I couldn’t count him out as a total lunatic. He was one of the few left without a scratch on him.
As for the old man, his time would come. Even though my mind was focused on dealing with the raiders, I hadn’t forgotten about that precious stone hiding in his pouch. I didn’t want to kill him because he could speak far and wide of my dungeon after I let him live, but I still planned on stripping that pouch from his waist. Then I’d give him an ultimatum: attempt to retrieve the pouch and die or leave the dungeon alive.
“First one to the core gets it!” Ralph yelled before he sprang forward. The Swiftness sigil worked as intended, and he surged along the tiles like a pebble dashing across pristine water.
I half expected the speedy half-orc to sail over the floor triggers, but the edge of his boot caught one, and a loud click echoed through the passage. Before his right foot could carry him forward, a
