The pirates gathered together as they looked at the corpses of their fallen. I thought Ralph might offer a few words, but he was too consumed by bloodlust to speak. His chest heaved, and spittle flew from his mouth as he grunted. The muscles in his body were spasming, and it took him a whole minute before he gained control of his functions.
“Are you all right to continue, Chief?” the pirate with the battleaxe said.
“Yes, Zarrik!” Ralph roared. “Do I look like I cannot bring this dungeon to its knees? Do you assume to test me as you tested me in the catacombs beneath Serpent’s Horn?”
“Serpent’s Horn? How do you—” Zarrik paused. “You absorbed too much of Kerril’s Soul Essence, lad. Your mind cannot take all that knowledge.”
“I am not a lad!” Ralph squared up in front of the other man, towering over him. “I am your chief!”
“Apologies, Chief. The dungeon awaits.”
The rest of the pirates looked at Ralph with unsure glances, but a single glance set them aright. Ralph’s surety and courage seemed to infect them, and I noticed a slight trace of something magical in the air whenever he addressed the others or set his eyes on them. It was almost like my Charm magic, but it did something else—it infected the band with Ralph’s own passion. Whatever item contained that enchantment would be useful to me. For one thing, it would almost certainly prevent my minions from fleeing in fear.
“How many more floors?” Zarrik asked his chief.
“One,” Ralph answered as he licked his lips. “Not much has changed to the structure beside a little lengthening, widening, and extra traps. The shock fairies are also a new addition, as was the demonic champion.”
“The shock fairies are strange,” Zarrik said.
“How so?” the giant man asked.
“They don’t seem very Infernal,” the lieutenant answered. “Almost like they should be in a Storm dungeon.”
“It’s another mystery to add to Lilith’s machinations,” Ralph said. “Her very hand is at work here in Zagorath. There’ll be more surprises along the way, but we still have the numbers to take them. And fate is on our side. I know now that I am the Chosen One. I will lead you all to victory.”
“Aye! Aye!” the pirates screamed, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Ralph was proving quite the ally. With his infectious magic spurring the pirates on, I was sure they would all meet their deaths in my dungeon. Not one pirate would flee, taking his essence with him.
As they started toward the staircase, Puck reached my plinth, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
“You fought well, and valiantly, Puck,” Bertha said.
The Shade wasn’t so hurt that he didn’t have a sarcastic comment. “Yes, valianty. The mark of all evil winged creatures who worship Lilith. Our honor and forthrightness is unmatched.”
“Are you all right?” Abby asked, her voice colored with concern.
“Oh, blood’s not really necessary, in the end.” He hissed in pain, and then coiled his body, ready and waiting for any adventurers who survived the staircases, Pretzel, and corridor. “Master, you’d really be best putting the troll up there first. I’d much prefer to watch her bleed than do it myself.”
“Can you still fight?” I asked him, concerned.
He chuckled as the shadows rolled around him. “These adventurers are not the only ones with healing properties.” The mist surrounding him was repairing his body, slowly but surely, and they faded a little after they were done. “My magic is waning, but I’ll slay another before they reach the First Floor, don’t you be concerned about that. You’d better ready yourselves. These men are no idiot half-orcs.”
Puck flew from my dais and perched above a side-altar while Ralph and the others proceeded down the second set of stairs. Like the first adventurers, these were cautious, but they prodded each step with a spear to test for trap triggers. The self-proclaimed Chosen One had retained the information his mentor had taught him—but this time, he was taking the lead, with skilled adventurers at his back.
They moved into the Pretzel, but even with the promise of newly-forged and Infernally-infused loot at the side-altars, they took their time and watched for traps. Puck was silent, invisible against a pitch-black obsidian wall. My jewel pulsed like a steady heartbeat as my consciousness lingered near the remaining Hellbats and Storm Sprites. I was ready to pull the trigger when they least expected it.
A crossbowman finally stepped up to a side-altar as his eyes searched the area for triggers. Satisfied that the prize laying on the altar would not set off a trap, he snatched up a scimitar. He admired the weapon, and Ralph caught his shoulder, none too gently.
“There are more of those damned bats nearby,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “I can smell them and hear the flutter of their wings.”
Enhanced senses? That was new. I reminded myself not to allow another adventurer to absorb all the essence of his fallen comrades while he was still in my dungeon. I’d have to install some kind of vacuum to scoop up the essence from dead adventurers while I was busy concentrating on dealing with those who were alive.
“Don’t let your guard slip,” Ralph said, loud enough for the others to hear. “Or Zagorath will punish you for it.”
The pirate who’d grasped the scimitar nodded, but it didn’t stop him from buckling the weapon to his belt and scooping up the armor. Still, silence reigned throughout the Pretzel. Patience was the game here—if I could lull them into a false sense of security, even just a little, my minions would be all the more effective.
The adventurers spread out, always moving in pairs, knuckles white around their weapons. A half-orc pirated stopped in front of Puck’s altar, taking up one of the daggers I’d left behind. He unsheathed it and admired the craftsmanship of the blade.
“Stay still,” I warned Puck. “Wait for him to drop his guard.”
“I am merely an
