My next victim came racing in from the left, his scimitar looking to take my head clean off my shoulders. I closed the distance, muscle memory from thousands of VR fights overtaking any thought I might have had. I scooped up my dagger from the ground and spun into a reverse grip before parrying my opponent’s blade. The move sent his swipe up and over my head. I plunged the dagger into his exposed ribs, feeling it rip into his lungs. Twisting the knife, I wrenched it free of his chest, and then pounced on the next one.
He’d backpedaled away from Bertha and now stumbled as he turned to look behind him. I leaped at the opportunity, my blade severing his trachea with a pleasant pour of blood. I smashed a knee into his kidney, and he crumpled to the floor. Another half-orc sliced at me, and I twisted too late. The blade ripped into my left shoulder, but I barely felt the pain through all the adrenaline in my veins. The triumph in my opponent’s eyes quickly turned to horror as my blade sank into his gullet, perforated his stomach, and bit into his spine. The raider stumbled backward with a gasp, just in time to find Bertha’s poleaxe. My whirling, muscle-bound maiden of death cleaved the head from his shoulders, then smashed the weapon’s haft into an unfortunate face, interrupting yet another attack.
I caught the truncated torso and sank my teeth into warm flesh. The pain in my shoulder had quickly become debilitating, but I couldn’t see how much blood I’d lost because I was painted a dark crimson. None of that mattered now, at least not while I was lasciviously draining all the delicious blood from this half-orc.
Ralph shoved through the remaining raiders to get to me, and I ripped my teeth free of the addictive flow of fresh blood. I tossed the drained corpse toward him, and it checked his momentum. Ralph stumbled a little but continued onward. A half-orc jumped between us, his weapon raised to strike me. Ralph’s mighty sword sang like a weapon of legend as it sundered my attacker in half and sprayed me in a crimson flow.
Then Ralph came at me with all the fury of a hurricane.
I was too far from the mace to use it to boost my speed, and the magic in my veins was quickly running dry.
Bertha was tied up with the final three half-orcs, and they were more skilled than any of the others put together—they had survived this long for a reason. She could see I needed help, but there was no way she could get there in time. The raider trio knew her plans and they forced her further away from the dais.
I could only keep blocking Ralph’s powerful strikes for a few more seconds before I’d be too slow. My avatar would die, and then Ralph would likely deal with Bertha. Then the dungeon core he had taken from Alaxon’s corpse would be lost to me.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Ralph thrust forward, and I allowed the weapon to follow through. The blade sank into my chest, and I dropped my dagger. My hands gripped Ralph’s head, and I sank my fangs into his neck. I could taste the deliciousness of pure human blood, a delight unlike anything before. It was almost as though the Soul Essence within Ralph also flowed through his bloodstream. As I drank of his blood, the destroyed flesh surrounding his blade simultaneously warped and healed.
The Dark Reaper had merged with me, every part of it now mine to command. Instead of boosting Ralph’s speed and strength, it now enhanced mine. I tore my fangs free of Ralph and wrapped my arms around him. Fear collated in his pupils, and I saw his lips whisper a prayer.
Bertha now stood alone, the final three raiders corpses among the many others. “You said you would spare one,” she said to me as she cleaned her blade.
“I did,” I replied. “But I want his sword, and it’s kinda impaling me right now. I can’t exactly give it back.”
Ralph quivered in my arms, the farm boy now the only visible part of him. Where was the strong warrior, the valiant soldier who’d promised to tear down everything he’d built?
I smiled and burst into laughter. I was enjoying being an evil dungeon master far too much, but my laughter sounded far too good as it bounced off my walls.
My fingers delved into his pockets and snatched the dungeon core. An electric feeling surged down my palm, along my arms, and sent a jolt into my elvish heart. I shuffled backward and placed the precious stone beside the plinth where my own was cradled.
“Spare me,” Ralph struggled to say.
“Oh, I won’t be killing you. I want you to spread the name of Zagorath far and wide. Tell them of the spoils that can be found inside my dungeon.” I paused, realizing he would need some kind of prop for that to work. I didn’t have my dungeon senses at that moment, but I’d already sensed the sheer power of Ralph’s weapon. A sword like his would serve my dungeon well, but I also had to think long-term.
I wasn’t quite ready for more adventurers yet, but I also didn’t want to risk losing an opportunity to advertise my dungeon. I couldn’t guarantee there’d be more chances in the future since I planned on killing every last adventurer after they eventually entered my lair.
If Ralph left Zagorath without any weapons, then no one would believe my dungeon was worth delving into. I decided I’d give him the replica of Gavin’s mace; while it was nowhere near as powerful as the two-handed sword, it would still give credence to any tales about entering an Infernal Dungeon.
“Bertha,” I said. “Grab the Savage Mace.”
My champion obeyed.
“Escort Ralph to my gates. Give him the weapon after he leaves.”
“Understood,” she said as I shoved the farm boy
