Let it be known that the western wall broke before the guard. The guard fought in a manner fighting of their station. Not a single arrow was left unsent, a single sword unbent, nor a single shield left unbroken. The cambian charge was unbreakable, no matter how many times they were struck down the demons always rose again with renewed vigor. The same could not be said for the son of man. As the screams of the guardsmen pollute the silence of the valley, Virgil was only able to pray that the God’ might allow them a swift death. A prayer that would go unanswered.

“You lost man-filth? I don’t see no books round here so what is a puny booksman like you doing here?” The seven horned cambian swatted away one of his wounded before casually impaling the final guardsman that stood between him and Virgil.

“Furbog.” The cambian warlord let out a satisfied grunt at the mention of his name. “I’m gunna enjoy ripping your spine out and feeding it to Undvik. I’m sure he’ll really enjoy torturing you.” Furbog barreled forward towards Virgil slicing everything in his path with his serrated machete.

Virgil didn’t reply instead he simply raised his saber and parried the raging machete to the side. with his free hand Virgil struck the cambian in the chin exposing his throat. In one smooth motion Virgil brought his saber up and drew a thin smile across Furbog’s throat. This didn’t stop the cambian for long though, what once was a lethal wound was no longer and without hesitation Furbog rammed his head down onto Virgil. Noticing the headbutt, Virgil took a step back before raising the pummel of his saber to meet the cambian’s forehead.

With a resounding crack. Furbog staggered backwards. One of his seven horns cracked leaving a solid dent in his skull. Before Furbog could ready another strike, Virgil thrust his saber into the wound in the cambian’s neck. With all the strength he could muster Virgil spun the saber around taking the cambian’s head clean off.

Virgil couldn’t help but let out a dejected sigh. The blow was only temporary and soon enough Furbog would rise again. The cambians had won. The wall was broken, and the horrors would surely stop at nothing to destroy mankind.

***

The dagger was a brownish yellow with a stringy leather grip. After extracting it from my ribs I was able to better inspect the runes that covered the blade. Most of the dagger was covered in the same glyphs as what I had seen under the murals but on the left side of the blade lay three circled insignia. The first looked to be a sort of mishappen “R”, the second a sort of curved “V”, and the third a sideways ”K”. The most defining feature of the dagger aside from the runes was a large chip, near half an inch deep, in the blades edge.

I scoured the pit for the origin of the weapon. Nothing on the inside of the pit was abnormal. The pile was as vicious as ever and the hounds dutifully followed their patrols. The centaurs however where missing. No arrows, no grunting and trotting along. Nothing. Not a single guard looked down upon the pit.

I kept searching until one particularly annoying corpseling bit through my thigh. With a yelp of pain, I steadied the dagger and stabbed down into the corpselings head. The skull seemed to split like water and cave in on itself. I had never stabbed anyone before so I couldn’t tell if this was a particularly good result given the circumstance. That’s when I noticed the faintest trickle of warmth enter in my arm through the hilt of the dagger. I studied my arm for a while but couldn’t find any differences. Nothing seemed to be wrong, but I had never felt anything like that warmth before.

After a bit of contemplation, I stabbed the dagger down into the chest of another corpseling. Again I felt it. The faintest bit of warmth entered into my arm. I still couldn’t see any difference in my body or that of the corpseling, except for the gaping chest wound that is.

What was the dagger doing? It was obviously enchanted with something. This world was still a fantasy world, albeit a shitty one, so this much writing on a weapon could only mean magic.

I continued to stab the bodies around me. The amount of warmth I gained varied from body to body. Some gave me a full trinkle, others gave none at all. As I made my way through the pile I must have lost track of my position because I soon found myself on the southern corner of the pit staring face to face with a hellhound.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

We held that position for a while, staring into each other’s eyes. The hound opening and closing its flaming maw with every breath, my hand flexing and relaxing itself around the dagger.

I don’t know who moved first but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Everything happened in an instant. The Hound jumped at my face as I let out a weak swipe with the dagger. A thin line was drawn across the hound’s chest but it was too shallow to even draw blood. The hounds fangs sank into my neck. The flames of its breath searing whatever flesh was ripped off with its bite.

“Gahh!” I let out a half gurgle, half scream of pain as my neck was torn. Calling upon what leftover strength I had I stabbed once more with the dagger. This time the dagger caught the hound right in the side coming to a halt in between its legs.

The warmth flooded in.

The hound yelped out in pain and tried to escape.

Oh no you don’t.

My free arm wrapped around its neck puling it closer. The hellhound continued to resist as it’s flames lessened in intensity. I was greeted with an all too familiar sight as the hound began to shrivel up and wither. The warmth of the hellhound’s vitality cascaded in. I could feel it begin to focus around my neck wound. In a matter of moments the seared and torn flesh was made anew, replaced with smooth pale gray skin. As the hound’s flames began to simmer out so too did the stream of vitality.

I looked down once more on the bone dagger. Its bloody edge seemed to smile as it basked in the vitality of its prey. Just like sword I was impaled on this dagger could steal the life of others.

This was it.

The means to my escape, to my revenge was sitting in my hands.

I sat there for a while staring at the runes. Methodically running my fingers over the circled insignia. My mind began to wander. I wonder if the hound felt the same pain I did when I was drained? The suffering, the hopelessness, and the betrayal as your life leaves you for another. I sat there and pondered for a while only interrupted by the growling of two other hellhounds.

I can’t get distracted. Not yet. For now I need to keep fighting.

And so, for the first time since I was brought to my knees in the cathedral, I stood on my own two feet and charged forward towards the hounds.

I don’t know how long it took, A few minutes, a couple hours, maybe even a few days. All I knew was there was no more life to steal in this pit. I had hunted every hound and every corpseling draining every speck of vitality they could muster. I didn’t have much to show for it. Most of the change was small a little bit more muscle here, a tiny bit of skin there. Most of the vitality went to healing the many wounds I seemed to collect.

The important thing was I could move to a higher degree than before. Although I couldn’t raise my arms up above my shoulders, I was finally able to put some decent force behind my swings. I was even able to jump a few inches up without breaking my feet. Overall, I was in much better shape now than when I was first brought to the pit.

Now all that was left was the barred metal door. I’m not gonna lie I’ve been putting this off. The pain of touching that door was still fresh in my mind. I spent hours walking up to the door preparing to open it only to falter and head back to the pile. But now there was nothing left in the pit. There was nowhere left to run, no more good excuses to avoid it, only me and the door

The door and me.

I moved forward slowly as if the door might jump off it’s hinges and attack. I stopped just a few feet from the door. Taking one last deep breath, I calmed my nerves and grabbed the door. Only this time there was no pain. No unbearable suffering not even the slightest prick. The door just swung open not even locked. So, I stepped forward.

As I did torches lit up on the sides of the hall. The red glow illuminating the decrepit redbrick hallway. Everywhere I looked was filled with other metal doors. I slowly made my way through the hallway peering through the other doors that led to other pits. I tried to open the doors, but it was to no avail. Every door was locked. I moved forward until I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.

I stood staring at a wall of moving letters. Runes shooting off the wall and taking new shapes, forming letters and from those letters came words.

[All who stay here exceed in fear,

Laying down their lives in acceptance of their cowardice,

Like fools they accept their fate wallowing in their suffering,

None take the steps of change,

None try to better themselves,

None are worthy of the Path.]

What the hell does that mean? I stared in disbelief, trying to decipher meaning from the gibberish in front of me. I was brought back to reality when I heard a sharp mechanical cry. The platform I stood on began to move. The redbrick hallway disappearing only to be replaced by what could only be described as a prison complex. Cell after teal copper cell full of lightly armored corpselings came to life. All eyes moving onto me.

In the last moment of calm, I gripped the dagger so hard I thought my fingers might snap.

Then every cell flew open, and the hunt began anew.