by Dante King
The second toad darted past its massacred comrade, coming too close and too fast. The creature leaped for Ralph’s legs, but he sidestepped just before it would have clamped onto his right calf. The toad lost its footing and clawed the ground as it slid over the precipice. It screeched as it plummeted.
Ralph turned to face the final demon-toad, but it was already moving, much faster than the others. It bowled into Alaxon before he could lift his staff in defense, and the two tumbled to the ground. The toad thrashed at the old man’s face, but its jaws couldn’t sink into flesh; Alaxon pressed his staff between him and the threat of certain death.
Racing forward, Ralph delivered a powerful kick to the monster’s belly, and it spiraled through the air. Before it fell to the ground, Ralph raced after the toad and delivered two quick slashes. He had crossed the distance in less than a second, and his mouth dropped in awe at his own speed. The charge had consumed almost all of his essence, but it had been remarkable.
But killing these toads had just earned him more. Ralph inhaled deeply, the Infernal Essence from the two mountain corpses siphoning into his Adventurer’s Sigil. Every time he absorbed the substance, it felt like Lilith herself was gifting him with power. It was a darkness that never felt quite sufficient, a hunger that would never be satiated.
For now, though, it was enough. It might even be enough for the rest of his life. It gave him purpose.
Breathing in the new power, Ralph pulled the old man to his feet.
“I see I have chosen well.” Alaxon smiled gratefully.
“Don’t do that to me again.” Ralph shook his head. “Thought I’d lost you.”
The old man chuckled. “Our destinies are intertwined, my boy. You’ll not be losing me just yet.”
The demon-toads plagued them twice more, but Ralph used the crumbling path to his advantage. As long as he avoided their pustules, it quickly became easy to slice through the monsters or get them to charge before sending them flying off the cliff face. Even if they fell to their deaths, he could siphon the essence from a great distance, although it took a little more time. Whatever these creatures were, they weren’t intelligent, but Ralph still had to keep his wits about him; the constant threat of loose footing and a tremendous drop to their right always loomed.
While they traveled, the priest explained that the lack of dungeons in the area meant monsters hadn’t evolved beyond their initial stages. If this new Infernal dungeon was allowed to grow unhindered, then it would affect the entire landscape, and the monsters would grow powerful beyond measure.
“Then I’ll just defeat them,” Ralph said with a confident smile. Nothing could stand in the way of him while he wielded the Dark Reaper.
That night, they entered a grotto filled with scorch marks, broken furniture, and bloodstains. It looked like it might have housed humanoid monsters at some point, but there was no sign of them among the chaotic remains of a dwelling.
“No corpses,” Alaxon said as he surveyed the destruction. “This was the location of a great battle between infernal monsters. There are no corpses because their bodies slowly break down into dust over a few days.”
“So, whatever happened here is at least a few days past.”
“Correct. We’ll be safe here for the night.”
Ralph almost choked on his tongue. “You can’t be serious? Won’t the survivors return?”
The priest laughed. “There were no survivors, lad. This was complete and total annihilation.”
It didn’t make sense that all the participants in this battle would have died. Surely there was a victor, one lonely monster who’d managed to survive the carnage?
Still, Ralph had come a long way by trusting the old priest, and he wasn’t quite ready to start questioning him. There were many holes in his story, like how he’d come upon the sword, and why he wanted Ralph to wield it. The prophecy in the priest’s stew was quite obviously a lie, but it did no harm to accept it for now.
The prophecy no longer meant much, and the only thing keeping Ralph around now was the Infernal Essence he might obtain from killing monsters. The power still thrummed inside his veins like liquid fire, and the prospect of a new dungeon filled with monsters and bounty was an irresistible attraction.
Ralph nodded at the priest. “I’ll concede to you here, Alaxon, but I’m really starting to wonder about you.”
“Wonder all you like, my boy. I just want a good night’s sleep.”
Ralph did a little exploring and found a bedroom away from the main living room. There weren’t any corpses there, and Alaxon agreed to rest there after a little goading.
“Wake me in three hours,” the old priest said, “and I’ll take next watch.”
He lay in the bed and almost immediately fell asleep while Ralph inspected the rest of the dwelling. There was little in the house that could be used, and he figured the inhabitants had been rather poor. He heard no sounds or stirrings for a good while and returned to the sleeping priest.
Alaxon’s travel sack was tucked behind the bed, and Ralph might not have noticed it were it not for a strange thrumming noise coming from it. A few days ago, Ralph might have disregarded it because he feared what Alaxon might do, but he was stronger now and less certain of the priest’s truthfulness.
Carried by curiosity, Ralph dragged himself along the ground slowly, careful not to wake the old man. When the snoring quietened, he paused, continuing forward when it grew louder. After what felt like an hour, his fingers were finally clasped around the bag, and he popped it open to find what looked like an egg. It vibrated in Ralph’s hands when he took it, and his fingers traced the runes embossed into its surface.
Was this a monster egg of some kind? Or a lizard? Perhaps a dragon egg?
It didn’t quite seem organic, as though it might only have been fashioned to look like an egg but was actually a container for something else.
“Help me,” a female voice entered his mind.
Was it coming from this egg?
Before Ralph could think more about it, he heard Alaxon stir.
“What are you doing, boy?” There was a sinister note in the old priest’s tone, and Ralph hastily shoved the egg back into the bag.
“Nothing. Just looking for things that might be useful. You told me to keep my eyes peeled for anything that wasn’t nailed down.”
“Aye, I did. It’s the way of an adventurer.” Alaxon smiled, appearing satisfied with the explanation. Then his expression darkened. “But don’t be looking through my things, or you’ll find I can be quite the harsh teacher.”
Ralph nodded as the priest stretched and yawned. It was Alaxon’s turn to watch, so Ralph took the bed.
As much as his mother had taught him to be a good person, she had also instructed him to take opportunities whenever they came. Once the priest had instilled in Ralph all the information and training he needed, then he would take the egg.
As sleepiness washed over him, he could hear the old priest muttering.
“Zagorath . . .”
Ralph awoke to pressure against his throat, and sharp pain when he attempted to sit up. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the light of twin-moons through the window illuminated the sloped forehead, jutted jaw, and white tusks of a half-orc. The intruder pressed a curved dagger against Ralph’s throat, another half-orc holding the point of a dirk to Alaxon’s jugular.
“Sorry, lad,” the priest managed to say. “Thought I could catch a few winks.”
Frustration boiled in Ralph’s stomach, but this wasn’t the time to take it out on the priest. Three more half-orcs were standing around the room, weapons drawn as they peered down at the priest and the stableboy.
Still confident from his unanimous victory over the infernal creatures, Ralph sneered at the half-orc. “What do you want?”
“Just some flesh.”
Ralph considered how best to get out of the situation, and his right hand reached beneath the bed and touched the Dark Reaper. Power entered his body as soon a
s his fingers touched the weapon’s pommel, but he stopped short of drawing it when Alaxon groaned.
“Do not be a fool, boy,” the priest said. “These are adventurers. They have powers like you. You might have thought yourself strong by defeating those lesser creatures, but these half-orcs won’t prove so easy to subdue.”
Ralph released his hand from the sword.
“The old man knows his shit,” the half-orc above Ralph barked. “Don’t be trying nothing.”
“I am a priest of Lilith,” Alaxon continued.
“A priest?” a half-orc asked, and his tone carried a sense of awe. “You wield magic?”
“Indeed,” Alaxon confirmed. “Infernal magic beyond anything you can imagine. We are bound for Zagorath. With my magic, clearing the dungeon should prove a simple task.”
“Zagorath? You know of it?”
“Maybe he is a magic man,” a half-orc said to the others. “How else would he have learned of the dungeon? He couldn’t have learned like we did. He couldn’t have spoken to the Beastmaster who communicates with chained varidu.”
Another half-orc nodded. “Aye. He could be useful inside Zagorath,”
“We can help,” Ralph said. He doubted Alaxon could actually wield magic, but an alliance with these half-orcs was the only way they would leave here alive.
The barbarian above Ralph grunted and removed his blade. Ralph took in a deep breath, grabbed the Dark Reaper, and stood slowly. The half-orcs filtered out of the grotto, and the stableboy and the priest followed behind them. The barbarian group introduced themselves as The Scalpers, a clan of half-orcs that lived on the southern side of Shadow Crag. They were warriors who plundered the caves of the mountain for loot.
The small party soon joined a much larger one further up the mountain, and Ralph and Alaxon managed to trail behind them for most of the journey. The other stragglers among the half-orcs, those disdained by the larger group for whatever reason, soon opened up to the old priest and the stableboy-turned-warrior. They showed fascination at Ralph and Alaxon, and their stares made him uncomfortable, more so when they licked their lips as though lusting after the taste of his flesh.
As they walked to the top of the peak, Ralph worried what would happen when the barbarians discovered the priest actually possessed no powers. Well, maybe Alaxon had been holding out; he had seemed to predict that the dungeon had been established on top of the mountain, and that had proved true. Or he might have discovered the dungeon’s existence by other, less supernatural, means.
Ralph asked Alaxon plainly about this as they ventured up the mountain, and the priest eyed the barbarians before answering in a whisper.
“I stumbled upon the goddess, Lilith. It was quite the sight, something I never thought I would ever see in all my days. She was consorting with one of her high priests, the last who still practice her faith.”
“So, you’re not a priest of Lilith?”
“No. These robes I wear belonged to that same priest.”
“You killed him?”
“He attacked me first,” Alaxon said with a snort. “It was self-defense.”
Alaxon hadn’t seemed all that powerful, but he’d managed to take down a priest of Lilith. If the goddess’s power was truly waning as the rumors suggested, then maybe one of her servants wouldn’t have been that hard to kill.
“So, you learned about the dungeon by eavesdropping?” Ralph asked. Alaxon was a murderer—he had admitted as much when he recounted his interactions with Lilith and her priest. The fact only further cemented Ralph’s goal to take the egg. Stealing from a murderer wasn’t evil; it was virtuous.
“Indeed,” Alaxon confirmed. “Lilith and her priest conversed together about a plan to restore her power. The dark goddess wished to bring another dungeon core into existence, against the wishes of the pantheon. The other gods weren’t to know of this, but I assume they will learn soon enough. This dungeon will become powerful, my boy, mark my words. Lilith was the one who foresaw it. She knew the name the dungeon would take before she ever created it. Zagorath.”
“It is a mighty name, I admit, but I’ll grow powerful enough to defeat it.”
“Ah, I forget how little anyone knows of dungeon lore these days,” Alaxon said. “So much has been lost. It is a pity. But I will enlighten you, my boy. Dungeons can never truly be defeated. At least, not by adventurers.”
Alaxon paused and seemed to absentmindedly pat the pouch at his waist. Ralph had never noticed it before, but the priest was constantly touching the pouch with the egg 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.
