by Dante King
I’d learned my lesson from fighting Gavin, spending dozens of hours training my elf to learn his strengths and weaknesses. As long as an enemy didn’t get too close and take hold of me, I would be fine. And with the Swiftness sigil, I could evade almost any attack.
I let the mace slip, and it turned end over end until it smacked into the wall. Before my first kill’s knees even had time to crumple, I’d caught one of his hands. I wrenched the wicked dagger from his grasp and gripped it in my palm, enjoying the weight of it and the harsh wooden handle against my skin. By far, this was a more fitting weapon for a Tainted Elf than a skull-cracking rock on a stick. I wasn’t sure whether the Swiftness rune would still be active if I dropped the mace, so I performed a quick test.
My limbs raced as my dagger punctured a raider’s throat. His skin peeled before the keen point of my blade, spraying my hands and bare chest with his lifeblood.
Yeah, I was still fast as hell. The Swiftness sigil must have stayed active even without the enchanted weapon, but I didn’t count on the effect being permanent.
My enthralled half-orc finally pounded into the backs of his comrades, and they scrambled up the dais to escape his fury. A few raiders turned their attentions upon the traitor, and even a Swiftness enchantment couldn’t save Jukha from a dozen blades carving him into a thousand pieces.
Well, he’d been helpful while he’d lasted.
I moved like liquid carnage as I weaved through the half-orc ranks. They were certainly no comparison to Gavin, and I thanked Lilith for that. My dagger found hearts, kidneys, and intestines—all offerings to the Infernal Goddess that fell to the tiles. Whenever I felt the magic inside me waning, I doubled-back, kicked up the mace, and empowered my body with its sigil. I protected the weapon while fighting, not allowing the half-orcs within range of the object that could boost my speed at a mere touch. It was almost like an art form and I took almost as much pleasure in dashing their flesh with my blade as I did in making my dungeon beautiful.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bertha sinking her Savage Halberd into a raider’s chest, wedging the blade in his spine. Wailing, her victim remained on the weapon as she swung it into Ralph’s path. Ralph carved the half-orc in two with a downward slash, freeing Bertha’s blade in the process. My champion burst through the shower of blood to swiftly deliver a kick directly into Ralph’s chest, but she wasn’t done yet. As she landed, her other leg blasted out behind her, catching a half-orc in the face and dislocating his jaw with a grisly pop.
Hands empty, I turned to an old trick of mine—kicking out the knee of the nearest Adventurer, from behind. His body kicked backward, instinctively, into my waiting hands.
I caught hold of his head, a slim, strong elf arm wrapping around his neck. I torqued as he fell, feeling his neck come apart like a wet branch and sending his nerveless body to the floor. Bertha took advantage of an opening, and I watched as she wedged the blade of her poleaxe into the skull of another half-orc; she kicked out at his upper chest, ripping the weapon free of his head in a spray of black and scarlet.
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 into her arms. She easily restrained him despite his weak and fragile protests. Being drained of half his blood supply had really taken its toll, and without his sword, he was just another farm youth.
I gave the so-called Chosen One a final smile as the half-troll led Ralph out from my dungeon at the point of her halberd.
I gritted my teeth and wrapped my hands around the sword’s hilt. With a swift tug, I wrenched the blade free from my stomach. Blood spattered to the floor, and my elf’s vision quickly started to spot with black. I laid the sword and the dungeon core I’d stripped from Ralph’s pocket on the dais. Then I returned my consciousness to my jewel, and Von Dominus dissolved to mere essence. I absorbed every last ounce of him. He felt weaker in my dungeon core, but he healed as his being merged with the other Infernal energy lurking within me.
A combination of Infernal and Soul Essences swirled around my chambers, tendrils of energy begging me to consume them. Items lay scattered throughout my floors, delicious blueprints lying within the new crafting materials. Ralph’s powerful sword took second place in the spoils of this campaign.
And there was something greater.
I peered at the jewel lying on the dais, and my entire being shuddered. The stone’s facets were a deep electric blue, and I could feel the voice lurking behind its fractal surfaces. I didn’t want to speak to it just yet; I wanted to savor the thought of who or what might lurk within it.
Another dungeon core. Another one like me. A terrified female, but finally safe.
My second defense of Zagorath was a success.
Now it was time for even greater power.
And to make a new friend.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Before I could introduce myself to the other core, a notification screen took shape in my consciousness.
Von Dominus killed Half-Orc Scalpers x28!
Infernal Essence +5,621
Penalty: Infernal Essence -803
Total Infernal Essence earned: +4,818
Soul Essence +183
Penalty: Soul Essence -13
Total Soul Essence Earned: 170
Von Dominus killed Alaxon the Sigil Artist!
Infernal Essence +1,023
Soul Essence +405
Lilith’s magical programming had summarized all my kills except the old man, and I was glad I didn’t have to read through thirty boxes of after-battle text. I puzzled over the negative numbers for a second before assuming that Ralph had left with the missing essence belonging to me. In the future, I’d have to either pay more attention after an adventurer died or come up with a way to absorb essence passively.
Maybe there’d be a sigil in the future that would siphon wayward essence while I spent my time guiding my minions? There were probably thousands of sigils I could discover with all kind of effects. The thought made my mind reel with potentials as I studied the readout for Alaxon.
I’d thought the old man was a priest, but it turned out he was a sigil artist. I assumed he marked adventurers so they could wield enchanted Infernal equipment. Perhaps I shouldn’t have killed him; it might have been worth testing whether my avatar or my champions could also be imbued with magical sigils.
For now, I had more important things to worry about, like meeting another dungeon core.
“You’re safe now,” I projected my words to the other jewel as it glittered in the red light of my own.
I extended my consciousness into the gem’s depths, yet I couldn’t grasp it. Electric energy seeped from every facet of the dungeon core, a different kind from Infernal Essence. This one snapped, crackled, and tingled. She was a real live-wire. But I couldn’t contact her, at least not with my consciousness. My dungeon core ate away at the container surrounding the other jewel, and then the sapphire-blue core burst with a sudden brightness. Ethereal clouds seethed from its surfaces before coalescing into a figure. My breath caught in my throat as I watched the foreign core summon an avatar. The process fascinated me even though I’d seen it plenty of times myself.
I was right about the her part.
A young woman swam into view, sitting on the step, her mouth set in a firm line. She was human, and damn, was she beautiful. Electric-blue clothing clung to her supple form and wonderfully complemented her tanned skin. Her garments were of typical fantasy fare—baring her taut midriff, slim hips, and smooth thighs. Soft golden-brown hair spilled free of a pristine white cowl and framed her delicate facial features. Sky-colored tights began halfway up her thighs and slipped effortlessly into knee-high boots that looked better built for dancing than fighting. Opera-style gloves covered her hands, forearms, and slender biceps, reaching almost to her shoulders. Between pupil-less eyes the color of her jewel, was a dainty nose that slid to a fine point.
I barely glimpsed those sapphire-colored eyes when she hid them from me, peering down at her feet.
“You’re safe,” I repeated, sitting down beside the core’s avatar, close but not too close.
She didn’t say anything, but I saw a slight tremble in her shoulders as she tried to keep it together. Something had broken her—I didn’t know what it was, but instinctively reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. Providing her with some kind of simple, warm, non-threatening comfort seemed important. She flinched at my touch, but, encouragingly, didn’t try to struggle, or hit me.
“My name is Von Dominus,” I told her, keeping my voice soft, careful. “What’s yours?”
Her slender jaw worked as if she was chewing over the words, yet she said nothing. Her eyes found mine for the first time; my smile widened and I gestured toward the First Floor.
“This is Zagorath, my dungeon; I’m a core, like you. These raiders were carrying you when they came in here—and this is what is left of them,” I said, squeezing her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Whatever they did to you, whatever you’ve endured, you’re protected from this moment on.”
Finally, her sweet voice cut into the silence.
“Abigail. My name is Abigail.” There was magic in her voice; it was soft, breathy, and had a mellow tone, like a bell’s clear ring.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Abigail,” I told her, smiling.
She searched my face for a long moment. “You’re an Infernal Dungeon?”
“Sure am.”
“How, though?” she inquired. “I know little of the details, but it is common knowledge that they were all destroyed, plundered, and broken.”
“I’m new,” I told her, a half-smirk touching my face.
Her eyes widened. “How new?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” I admitted, “But I can’t have been at this more than… what, four days? A week, maybe?”
“That’s impossible,” Abigail told me. “You cannot be that young.”
“Why not?” I asked, tilting my head playfully as I enjoyed her gaze.
“Either you’re lying and very old, or your goddess has done something obscene.”
“Like disobey the Pantheon?”
“Yes. Gadrili told me the Pantheon forbade your goddess from creating any more Infernal dungeons.” Abigail’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as I touched her face. She didn’t recoil but stared into my eyes, searching there as if she was looking to find my soul.
“Gadrili was my dungeon pixie. She was killed.” Abigail sniffed, and I had to shake the desire to take her to my breast and console her. I was meant to be an Infernal Dungeon, dammit, but a
weepy girl had brought out my sensitive side.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“She taught me a lot.” The storm avatar sniffed and then shook off her sadness. “Where is your pixie? She—or he—is obviously an excellent teacher. No newborn core could possibly excavate this much in a week without help from a very knowledgeable pixie.”
“Oh, I don’t have a pixie,” I said. “In fact, I didn’t even know dungeons were meant to have them.”
“What? No pixie?” Abigail’s mouth dropped. “How did you possibly survive?”
I leaned back against my dais’ smooth surface. “Guess I’m a different breed of core. I learn fast, and I work faster. Well, that’s all I can put it down to, anyway.”
She turned, a hand on her hip, her eyes combing over my bare, blood-splattered chest. A soft blush chased her cheeks but vanished as she managed to compose herself. My gut churned pleasantly in response, and I knew picking the Tainted Elf had been the right choice; the attractive blonde evidently couldn’t keep her eyes off me.
“Where are you from, then?” Abigail asked. “You must have been a great builder in your past life. Perhaps a high-ranked adventurer? That would explain your great knowledge of dungeons.”
“I wasn’t born in the Sinarius Realms,” I said plainly. “I came from another world. Lilith brought me here.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Yeah, I thought that too. But here I am,” I said, shifting and rolling a shoulder. The wound I’d caught from that sword had already healed over thanks to a good dose of Infernal Essence. “So, you’re from elsewhere in the Sinarius Realms?”
She nodded, her glance flickering off my arms and back to my face. “From Ciryli’s Lands, to the West.”
