Chapter 42: Into The Dungeon
“Damn it!” Niko snarled under his breath, the chaos swirling around him like a suffocating fog. His heart pounded in his chest, the noise of battle an overwhelming cacophony that made it hard to focus. Candreva had fallen unconcious, Eitan also layed unmoving, and now the rats—those filthy, bloodthirsty creatures—seemed to materialize from every shadow. This place was a labyrinth of traps, each corner threatening more pain, more death. They couldn’t catch a break, and it was starting to feel like they wouldn’t.
Niko’s mind raced. He was torn between too many things—the lives of his comrades, the relentless ratmen attacking from every direction, his own survival. The room was a battlefield drenched in blood, the air thick with the stench of death and the metallic tang of fresh wounds.
His senses screamed danger, and instinct took over. Niko whipped his head to the side just as one of the ratmen, its beady red eyes gleaming with malicious intent, lunged at him. Its filthy blade sliced through the air, and Niko barely dodged, feeling the edge of the weapon graze his skin. A thin line of blood welled up, the pain sharp and immediate, but there was no time to react. It wasn’t deep, but it was a reminder—he was still too slow, too fragile.
Why me? Niko thought bitterly, gritting his teeth as he readied himself for the ratman’s next strike. But before it could lash out again, two ethereal figures—his ghastly ratman spirits—descended upon the attacker, their spectral claws ripping through its flesh. The ratman let out a strangled squeal as it was torn apart, its body crumpling into a heap of blood and fur.
The battle around them raged on. Singh guarded Priya with a fierce determination, his axe cutting through the ratmen that dared come close. Fumito, Ivanic, and Dharma fought with relentless precision, though the injuries they sustained were beginning to pile up. The wooden floor beneath them was slick with blood—both human and rat.
Niko’s eyes flicked to the fallen. Candreva was down, his massive form unmoving in the growing pool of crimson. Ivanic crouched over him, his expression unreadable. A moment later, he looked up, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. Candreva was still alive, though barely. But when Ivanic’s gaze turned to Fumito, who was kneeling over Eitan’s still form, his face darkened.
Fumito shook his head, his expression grim. The silent confirmation sent a ripple of sadness through the group. Eitan was gone, a man who had fought with pride and honor until the very end. He had died saving Candreva, an act of selflessness that now felt like a cruel twist of fate in this brutal world. Heroes like him were rare, and now, one more was lost. The lat ratman was taken care of, before Niko spoke.
“Quick, treat Candreva!” Niko urged, his voice strained with urgency. Even as he spoke, he felt the telltale rush of power—a sign he had leveled up. But the thrill of growth was dulled by the weight of what had just transpired. Survival was the goal, but at what cost?
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The group was battered, their strength waning, but there was no time to dwell on the losses. Minor injuries were being hastily treated, the makeshift battlefield littered with the bodies of the dead. Niko’s mind kept circling back to one grim realization—healing skills were the most valuable thing in this world. If they had a healer, Eitan might still be alive, and Priya might not be struggling to stand.
As Ivanic worked to stabilize Candreva, a cold, menacing sound echoed through the hall.
A snicker. Low, mocking, and filled with malice.
Every head turned toward the source of the noise, and there, at the top of the staircase, stood a figure that sent a shiver down their spines. A ratman—different from the others—slowly descended from the shadows. Its snout was elongated, its fur a mottled grey streaked with age. This was no ordinary creature. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence, a cruel, calculating glint that promised nothing but death. Dressed in a tattered green robe, outlined with intricate brown designs, the ratman looked like a twisted parody of a wise sage. In its bony hand, it clutched a staff topped with a grotesque rat skull, its yellowed teeth glinting in the dim light.
The creature sneered down at them from the stairs, arrogance written across its face. Its body language was calm, confident—like it knew it was in control. The air around it felt suffocating, an oppressive aura of power that made the group step back in instinctual fear.
“This bastard… It has to be the boss,” Ivanic muttered, his voice tense. “Prepare yourselves. If we kill it, we can win this. But don’t underestimate it—it’s far stronger than the others.”
Sweat dripped down their faces as they readied themselves for another fight. They were exhausted, beaten down, but they had no choice but to keep going. The only way out of this hell was to kill the ratman.
The creature bared its sharp, white teeth in a wicked grin, clearly enjoying their fear. Slowly, it raised its staff, and a cold chill settled over the room. The ragged robe around its body began to twitch, subtle at first, then violently.
And then, the nightmare truly began.
“Screech!” A single rat, no larger than a house cat, burst from under the robe and scurried toward them. And then another. And another.
“Screech! Screech!” The sound grew louder, more frantic, as a flood of rats began to pour from the ratman’s robe like water from a broken dam. The horde of red-eyed creatures swarmed across the floor, their numbers growing by the second. There were so many of them—far too many. It was as if the ratman’s robe hid an entire dimension of vermin, an endless army summoned to drown them.
Niko’s stomach twisted in terror. The wave of rats closed in on them, a seething mass of fur and gnashing teeth. It was overwhelming, like something out of a nightmare. There was no time to think, no time to plan.
“Dear lord…” Veronica whispered, her voice trembling.
The group was on the edge of collapse, their bodies battered, their minds fraying under the relentless assault. But they had no choice. They had to fight.