Delving

The entryway to the dungeon seemed just as much like an innocuous rundown building as its exterior suggested, nothing standing out to even my paranoid senses as obviously out of place for an abandoned drug den. That only made me even more unsettled and twitchy, my eyes raking over every shadowy, grime coated corner a dozen times over as my fellow thugs shuffled in. There was a large amount of incoherent but universally violent graffiti on the walls, most written in red and crusty brown; I didn't even need my sharp nose to pick up that most of it was written in various shades of decomposing blood.

I didn't want to think what the other colours were made of, though I suspected bodily fluids were involved given the precedent set.

To someone with a less developed sense of danger and an unrefined palate for violence, the place might just look like any other run down hovel in a bad part of town; the actual blood used for paint said otherwise. The walls were nearly coated in the stuff, layers of rotting graffiti, mostly random expletives (many of which I was unfamiliar with, but doubted had any flattering meaning given the context) and calls for violence and death covering the walls so extensively I could only see the base paint in small spots amongst the random lettering.

That much blood could not have come from a small amount of people, especially considering some of it was so old it was peeling off the walls while more than a few random slurs were still dripping. I supposed it could have come from pure dungeon magic, I didn't know enough to say whether the dungeons of this world could just conjure matter from pure mana or not. Regardless, the entryway sent a clear and unambiguous message; die.

Roin spared the scarlet graffiti barely a glance, turning back to the group with a clap of his hands. “Alright chucklefucks, we are going to run a basic sweep of the upper floors here, glance down the stairs, and then set up a rotating watch on the door and the stairs. Simple enough, right?” He spread his hands, “Well then, no use sittin’ around twiddling your dicks, get to it!”

Contrary to my expectations, we didn't break up into smaller groups; instead, the whole group formed up into a loose, circular formation and headed towards the door next to Roin. The lanky killer himself waited until the last of us passed him by before folding into the rearguard role. I was a little surprised to see him leading from the rear, but ultimately I couldn't fault the decision; leading from the front might seem badass, but it's also a quick way to lose your entire command structure in one bad turn.

Not that leader's haven't been killed regardless of where they stayed, but the point stood.

I found myself in the middle of the group, mostly by dint of my admittedly diminutive stature; no one forgot I was here -they were all stealth specialists themselves after all- but no one wanted to trust their back to someone not even tall enough to stab them in it. I didn’t take it personally, it was just simple logic; I, quite frankly, wouldn't be all that great at preventing someone behind me from getting killed, I had not a single proper defensive skill and I even lacked the raw mass to body block attacks.

Not to mention, I didn't much want to be a guard; the outside edge of a formation tends to take the brunt of attacks and do a disproportionate amount of the dying.

From what I could see between the legs of my associates (and with my Paranoia, of course), the second room was the dilapidated ruins of what was likely some sort of living room or parlor. The walls weren't quite as coated in literally bloody graffiti (though it was certainly still plentiful), peeling paint revealing the rotting boards underneath; most of the I-beams were covered in carvings, strange symbols I assumed were either personal tags and gang signs (either from visitors or, more likely, simulated by the dungeon) or mystic traps/wards of some sort. The fact no one else seemed concerned by any of the pictographs on the walls only mildly assuaged my concerns; it was always possibly they were ignorant or stupid, after all.

There were two couches, both rotted and slashed up to different degrees, and at least eight different bean bag chairs in various states of decay scattered around the room. The only thing that ran counter to the image of clear disuse and abandonment of the room was the total lack of dust; there was grime to be sure, but no proper dust. The room looked somehow both as if it had been decaying unattended for decades and as if it was frequently traversed all at once, lending a strangely eerie air to the dilapidated room.

Suddenly, a man to my left (who Observe named Gannis) turned and hurled a knife. The tool of violence sailed smoothly through the air (in defiance of teenage me's many experiments to make a knife fly straight) to spear the forehead of a diminutive (yet notably still slightly taller than me), pale skinned humanoid with small crimson crystals jutting from red and swollen rents in their skin. The creature slumped to the ground from where it had been crawling out from behind tattered paint hanging over a hole in the boards, killed instantly. I recognized the creature from Vlad's book, a smaller and weaker version of the standard humanoids most often sent… in… swarms.

Well, that couldn't be a good sign.

I didn't even need to bother verbally warning anyone, the thugs around me silently pulling various blades as more of the diminutive monsters crawled out from open doors and tears in the wall, crystal teeth clicking and cracking. It felt… strange to see genuine hints of competence in the gangsters I'd found myself amongst. On the one hand I liked to have more effective meat shields, on the other hand it made any future dreams of betrayal a touch more difficult.

Then again, if I balked at such a minor hurdle as mildly competent opposition, I may as well just give up on life.

Roin hummed, “Hmm, this is an unusually aggressive response so early into a delve. A full fledged hoard, even one of small monsters like this, in the second room? Something has the dungeon riled up.” His voice was calm on the surface, but carried a faint edge of tension underneath.

I drew my own blade alongside the crowd, despite my position away from the edge. Even if I did have faith in my comrades (which I decidedly did not), it never paid to be under-prepared. The possibility that the enemy might slip past my allies, use area of effect attacks, or simply attack from above or below was far too high for me to even consider keeping my blade in its sheath.

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My caution was proven warranted when not a second after the tip of my blade cleared the lip of its sheath, a full sized dungeon spawn contorted its emaciated form through a barely one foot wide hole in the ceiling. I couldn't tell if it was smiling or if the jagged red crystals replacing the barely human-looking monster's teeth had simply forced its jaw into that shape, but it let out a hideous laugh -like broken glass being forced through a jar of jellied meat- as it fell with its crystalline claws spread wide.

I kicked the heel of the man closest to me and shouted, “Above!” Though, I suspect I needn't have bothered; while I disappeared in a puff of smoke, the squad seamlessly spread out from where the full sized monster landed. I reappeared in between the legs of a broad shouldered man by the name of Lemoi, nearly tripping both of us if not for quick reactions on both sides. The square jawed tough sent me an unimpressed look, but quickly set his dark brown eyes back on the monster in our midst.

I spared the outer edge of our little double layered circle a glance, and turned my eyes away with a grimace; there had to be at least thirty of the little bastards around us. I adjusted my grip on my blade, running a hand through my fur to kill my scent out of nervous habit as I watched the five foot, pale skinned monster amongst us leap up from its failed ambush. The crystal-ridden beast let out a decidedly inhuman screech, eyes held open by tiny crystals erupting from the cracked looking iris sweeping over the crowd as it spread its arms wide, before settling on me as the obvious weak link.

The abomination didn't hesitate a second, charging straight at me with fingers wide to grasp and tear. I noticed as it approached that its fingertips were split open by the sharp crystals jutting from them, the flesh around the gems swollen and yellowed with infection. It's diseased form belayed its speed; though not a quarter as swift as Rokharth, it was undeniably quick on its malformed feet.

That speed availed it none as Roin flicked his wrist and sent a loop of thin wire whipping out to wrap around the dungeon spawn's neck.

The lanky killer took each side of the loop between his first and last fingers respectively, clenching his fist and wrenching it back. The wire went taut, snapping tight around the creature's throat and putting an end to its short lived assault. Neither I nor any of the other killers of the inner circle hesitated, stepping forward to plunge our many knives into the choking crackhead.

Even being actively strangled, the mad beast of drugs and dungeon-made flesh didn't go down without a fight, swinging wildly and ineffectually snapping its jaws as best it could. Luckily for me, I was short enough to fall below its reach, allowing me to stab at its legs and groin with abandon while my taller allies dealt with the creature's raking red claws. Despite the mad thing's best efforts, its flesh was soon torn to ribbons and it ultimately slumped boneless into a puddle of its own blood.

Blood throughout which I noticed small red crystals quickly began to sprout.

Dungeon Bloodstone Fiend Death Assisted, Exp +26

Roin gave one last firm tug, the wire around the creature’s neck managing to tighten even further, spinning and digging into the humanoid's flesh, before he let go with his pinky and retracted the wire into his sleeve. He grunted, turning around and folding into the outer layer to begin killing the spawn's lesser kin. He spoke up over the din of combat filling the air even as he rejoined the fight, “Don't step in the blood, those damn crystals can and will grow on your clothes and skin.”

I grunted in acknowledgement even knowing he likely wouldn't hear it, holding my bloodied knife a little further away as I turned to face the small army of lesser dungeon spawn. It felt deeply unsettling to turn my back on what I knew to be an open route of attack, but with Paranoia keeping watch I felt only incredibly uncomfortable. I couldn't ignore the clear and present threat of the hoard for the potential threat the opening in the ceiling represented, so I compromised.

I silently slipped between two of my comrades, standing backwards and slightly behind their legs, using Paranoia and the reach granted to me by my tail to slice at the jaggedly crystals ridden little gremlins while keeping an eye on the ceiling. The things were relentless, utterly uncaring for how many of them died and seeming unbothered by wounds unless they killed them outright; though, a well placed cut could still see them bleeding to death despite their apparent lack of pain.

A grimace set across my muzzle as I fought, deepening as the once familiar sound of nearby gunshots came from outside. I grunted, my tail lancing out from behind Lemoi's leg to pierce a lesser fiend's throat while it was distracted fighting the large man, “The fuck was that?”

My bulky human shield hummed, kicking my still gurgling victim into another child-sized monster. The dusky skinned man responded after a moment, his narrow tipped dagger opening a leaping bloodstone fiend youngling's throat as he did, “Nothing good.”

I sighed, moving fluidly around the man's ever shifting legs to slash a paper-skinned little crackhead's heel, “Thanks, I could have guessed that much.” The broad gangster chuckled, bringing his heel down on the toppled over toddler-sized beast's skull with enough force to crush it like an egg.

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Moment's Earlier…

Mismatched eyes watched the cloaked thugs milling about outside the dilapidated facade of the drug den dungeon. He could sense the ineffable taint of the Blight within, the ultimate illness weeping its dread song in his ears from miles away. His body hurt, his soul hurt, but his duty burned hot in his mind; he could not rest while the dissolver of souls lingered.

The ragged, actively mutating man took slow and deliberate steps, his halfway demonic body not as well balanced and familiar as before he was gifted his new arm. He leaned on the spear he'd retrieved in his journey out of Alxhaustra's lab like a staff, using it to offset his increasingly uneven gait as he walked. The thugs took notice of him as he approached, seeming off put by his ragged, burnt, and bloodstained attire but not seeing him as an active threat. The thought floated through his boiling mind that it was probably the way he stumbled, the strange noises he made with every breath, that made him seem like just another diseased outcast in this malignant city sector.

That was their mistake, if they had recognized his charred cloak or broken mask for what they were, they might have taken him more seriously. Maybe.

Breathing felt wrong, half his chest now shaped strangely. Speaking came even harder, words that once flowed like water twisting through his slowly shifting mouth and throat. “By zhe… the authority of the Orgar… Order! Of dzhe… the Burning Feather! I command you ku… to step aside.”

A blond thug leaning against the wall beside the door picking dirt out from his nails with a knife sent him an unimpressed look, “Now, I don't know where the fuck you think you are, but I ain't never sworn no oaths to no feathers, burning or otherwise. This is Burnpike territory pal, and you ain't welcome so you'd best fuck off on home now.”

The demi-demonic plague doctor twitched at that reply, his still human hand clenching around the haft of his spear as his melting mind processed what he was hearing. He stole a quick breath through his nose, swaying backwards slightly as he filled his mismatched lungs with air. “Very… very well then.”

The very next moment, two loud bangs rang out in quick succession and the blond guard slumped to the ground with a fist sized hole through his chest, revealing a matching crater in the wall behind him leaking fire like blood.