Robert spotted his first group of hounds but with the hounds was something, or in this case someone else. Stepping back quietly, Robert pulled out the guidebook and relooked to see if he had missing something, going over the fourth floor he saw nothing about people being with the hounds, sneaking back up he used his identify skill on the person:
Name: Azrael Thorne
Class(s): Bloodsworn Devotee (Rare Class)
Profession(s): Silent Undertaker
Race: Human(G) (Variant - Touched by Shadow)
Gender: Male
Stats: Str 45, Dex 107, Con 80, Int 205, Wis 199, Cha 40
Level: 90
Resistances: Shadow (80%), Poison (50%), Magic (20%)
Pools: Health 11696, Mana 95333, Stamina 6955
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Notes: Azrael Thorne is a chillingly efficient member of a demon-worshipping cult, his devotion to their dark patron absolute. His skin possesses an unsettling pallor, and his violet eyes seem to absorb light, giving him an unnerving presence. He moves with a quiet, almost unsettling grace, a trait honed by his profession as a Silent Undertaker for the cult. His features are sharp and angular, and he favors dark, practical clothing that allows him to blend seamlessly into shadows. He speaks little, his voice a low murmur when necessary, preferring to let his actions speak for him. Azrael is no leader or figure of renown within the cult; he is simply a dedicated servant, utterly committed to the will of his demonic master. His Bloodsworn Devotee class grants him abilities fueled by demonic energy, making him a formidable, if unremarkable, opponent. He is adept at both wielding dark magic and dispatching targets with swift, silent precision, often appearing and disappearing with unsettling ease. His connection to his demonic patron grants him unnatural resilience and a chilling aura that can unsettle even experienced warriors. He is a true believer, convinced of the power and righteousness of his cult''s path, and will carry out any task assigned to him with ruthless efficiency.
<div>
"Well, hell," Robert muttered under his breath, a grim realization dawning. He was torn. Should he simply eliminate the man, or attempt to capture him for questioning? "Hal," he projected mentally, "what do you think? I''m guessing this isn''t standard operating procedure?"
<table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 35.8173%" border="1">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">Absolutely not, I''ve never heard of anything like this. Co-opting a dungeon to control demons? Robert, this is incredibly dangerous.</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
"Yeah, that''s what I was afraid of," Robert replied. "Okay, no holding back. We move fast, and we move hard." With renewed resolve, he began the incantation, channeling his power. His Tier 6 spell surged forth, aimed directly at the center of the demonic gathering. The spell detonated with the expected fury, a maelstrom of ice and holy light ripping through the demons. Miraculously, Azrael survived the blast, though he was clearly clinging to life by a thread. Seeing an opportunity to glean some information, Robert sprinted towards the fallen cultist, The Silent Judgment appearing in his hand. He pressed the blade against Azrael''s throat. "Hello there, good sir," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Might I inquire as to what you''re doing down here?"
<div>
Azrael''s eyes, burning with hatred, locked onto Robert. "What we do here is none of your concern," he hissed, the words like venom. "Leave. Now. This temple belongs to the Order, and you are not welcome." Robert shook his head, unyielding. "A dungeon," he corrected, his voice a low rumble. "And you have no authority here. However..." he let the word hang in the air, "I''m a reasonable man. Tell me what happened to the party sent here five days ago. Give me that information, and I''ll not only let you go, I''ll heal your wounds." Azrael spat, a globule of saliva landing near Robert''s feet, his face a mask of contempt. "They''re being dealt with. One last time: you are not welcome. Leave, or face the Order''s wrath." The words were barely out of his mouth when Azrael''s hand darted to his belt, producing a wand with a practiced flick. He began the incantation, power crackling at the wand''s tip. Robert moved with blinding speed. His blade flashed, a silver arc in the dim light, and Azrael''s headless body crumpled to the floor.
"Good news, Hal," Robert said, though his expression was anything but cheerful. "The party might still be alive. Bad news: we''re on the clock. Time to pull out all the stops." He rifled through Azrael''s belongings, pocketing several potions, a staff, two wands, a stack of scrolls, a set of robes, and a small pouch jangling with about twenty gold coins of various origins. He left the dead cultist behind, pushing deeper into the dungeon. The remaining guardians on this level were mere demonic hounds – nuisances he slaughtered with ruthless efficiency. Driven by a desperate need for speed, he took risks that would have made a saner man blanch. He reached the fifth floor in a little over an hour, a testament to his reckless haste. The fifth floor was the domain of Nalfeshnee – intelligent, boar-and-ape hybrid demons renowned for their powerful spellcasting. Robert knew a cautious approach was vital, but the relentless ticking clock of the missing party''s fate weighed heavily on him. He resolved to use his enchanted items, hoping their power would buy him enough time to find them before his resources, and his luck, ran out.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Robert advanced cautiously onto the fifth floor, the air thick with a musky, cloying odor that spoke of the Nalfeshnee''s presence. He gripped his weapon, its familiar weight a small comfort in the face of the magical threat. The first brute appeared around a bend, its boar-like snout twitching, eyes gleaming with malevolent intelligence. Before it could unleash its magic, Robert activated a rod, a shimmering shield of force erupting around him. The Nalfeshnee''s spell, a blast of sickly green energy, slammed against the barrier, dissipating harmlessly. Seizing the opening, Robert charged, his blade singing through the air. He aimed a blow at the demon, forcing the demon to parry. This opened the demon up and allowed Robert to land several hits. The fight was a brutal dance of steel and sorcery. Robert, fueled by desperation and adrenaline, weaved through subsequent Nalfeshnee attacks, deflecting bolts of shadow and fire with his quickly dwindling supply of enchanted items. He used a potion of speed to close the distance on another, his blade a blur, forcing it onto the defensive before delivering a decisive thrust. Each victory was hard-won, each fallen Nalfeshnee a testament to his skill and a grim reminder of the stakes. The sixth floor was even more treacherous, the architecture shifting and twisting as if manipulated by the demons'' magic. Illusions flickered at the edge of his vision, attempting to disorient him, to lure him into traps. He relied on his instincts, trusting his gut to guide him through the labyrinthine corridors.
The chamber beyond was a scene of controlled chaos. Two Nalfeshnee, their tusks dripping with a viscous, black ichor, flanked a figure in the crimson robes of the Order. This cultist was no mere warrior; he was a conduit, his body wracked with the strain of channeling demonic power. Arcs of green energy lashed out, binding the Nalfeshnee to his will, their normally savage intelligence replaced by a chilling obedience. "Fools," the cultist spat, his voice echoing with unnatural resonance. "You cannot comprehend the power we wield! This dungeon belongs to the Order!" Robert assessed the situation in a heartbeat. The cultist was the weak point. He feinted left, drawing the attention of one Nalfeshnee, then, chanting a quick incantation, unleashed a bolt of force at the other, hoping to stagger it and create an opening. He sprinted towards the cultist, his blade held high. The cultist snarled, diverting the uninjured Nalfeshnee to intercept, but Robert was ready. He parried the demon''s clumsy blow and, channeling magic into his blade, making it glow, with a desperate lunge, aimed a strike at the controlling mage.
The cultist, eyes wide with surprise, barely managed to raise a warding hand, but Robert''s enchanted blade sliced through the feeble magical defense, and then through flesh and bone. A strangled gasp escaped the cultist''s lips as the flow of demonic energy abruptly ceased. His body crumpled, the unnatural green light fading from his eyes. The two Nalfeshnee, suddenly freed from their mental chains, roared in confusion and pain, their bodies shuddering as their own instincts reasserted themselves. They were disoriented, their movements sluggish, their powerful magic temporarily inaccessible. Robert didn''t hesitate. He spun, his blade a whirlwind of silver, catching the closest Nalfeshnee across its exposed throat before it could fully recover. Black ichor sprayed as the demon staggered back, its roar turning into a gurgle. Robert Pushed his advantage not letting the demons regroup. He charged to the next demon and cast a spell as he moved towards it, a large hammer made of pure force appearing and slamming into the demon sending it to the ground. Robert followed this up with several well placed strikes, finishing the final demon. He Stood panting, covered in the demon''s ichor, the silence of the chamber broken only by his ragged breaths.
<table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 6.89103%" border="1">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">Level Up!</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
Heading down to the seventh floor Robert knew to expect Glabrezu, which the guide described as treacherous demons that prefer to trick and deceive rather than fight directly. They can cast powerful illusion and enchantment spells. Robert breezed through the seventh and eighth floors. The Glabrezu proved disappointingly reliant on illusions, a tactic that his keen perception and honed skills easily countered. He''d find them huddled in corners, patiently setting their traps, only to be dispatched before they even realized he was there. Less than three hours after starting, Robert ascended to the ninth floor, and that''s where his progress stalled.