It took three days to reach the dungeon. They were following a deep ravine that worked its way around a sharp, rocky outcropping when they came out the other side and saw it. They were standing on a small cliff, with a jagged path down into a small clearing before ending in a rock wall with the dungeon had been carved into it.

Ben thought it looked a bit like the temple from Raiders of the lost ark, if Tim Burton had been behind the design. Or maybe Wes Craven.

The entire thing was made of the same dull, dark gray rock as the cliff, with large columns and some kind of murals that Striker couldn’t make out from that distance.

They worked their way down the cliff. As they got closer, Striker started to make out the murals. They all depicted a single man at their center, probably the person buried there. Each of them was an image of some violent event. In the first, the man holding a sword aloft as he stood on top of a large pile of corpses, probably a battle of some kind. The one next to it depicted the same man, sword held above his head ready to swing downward, towards a figure kneeling before him, more headless bodies lie on the ground around them. In the third, the man stood in the same pose as the first, except bolts of lightning shot out of the sword towards figures surrounding him and a winged figure with horns stood above that. The figures being stuck with lightning weren’t carrying weapons. They were carrying pitchforks, scythes and shovels. The murals got darker and more sinister from there.

Striker shivered a little. He liked to play the darker character type, the one that summoned the dead and dealt with demons, but the images seemed to depict someone that had been taken over by them and forced to kill his own people. Sure, Striker didn’t flinch at the random act of violence in a game, it was just a game after all, but something about the images made him wary. Was it suggesting that he could become possessed if he took this path? He’d normally laugh it off, figuring he could just create a brand-new character, but he was currently stuck in the game and the idea of being taken over by a demon, dying as a result, and respawning still possessed wasn’t on his top one hundred things to do in a game. It wasn’t in his top million.

Sarge pulled them all aside as they walked, explaining the battle plan in a whisper, the message being passed on to those further away. “I spoke with Shiro, and he’s agreed with me. This dungeon has ten floors, each one harder than the previous, before reaching the boss, some kind of undead king. We’re going to let the other groups go in first and clear out the top levels. We’ll play support roles only.” Someone must have grumbled at the news because Sarge said, “I know, you want part of the action. You’re going to get it. When the dungeon starts getting really hard, we’ll step in and deal with it. I want Preacher and Doc at the center of the group since they’re the healers. Protect them at all costs. Next, casters surrounding them. Then fighters on the outside. Keep it tight and play it by the book. Any questions?”

Striker glanced at his friends after Voodoo repeated the message to him. They looked back at him with wide-eyed, frightened expressions. He was pretty sure his own expression was the same. He nodded at Voodoo as he asked, “What book?”

Voodoo chuckled softly, “It’s an expression. Means the way we trained. You’re a caster, right? Stay beside me and follow my lead. I got your back. You’re going to be okay.”

Striker nodded, not entirely convinced, but wanting to believe it.

They reached the dungeon entrance as the sun reached its zenith. Striker was forced re-evaluated his opinion of the Bimbos after the first level. He was still outside when it happened, but the aftermath left little to the imagination.

The first floor consisted of a single large room, what looked like a large banquet hall, with an arched ceiling, tiled floors, and recesses on each side where sconces in the walls provided a flickering light that illuminated the chamber just enough that his eyes could adjust.

The room was bathed in blood. It coated the floors and walls, and somehow, some had even reached the two story ceiling.

It hadn’t been a fair fight, that much was obvious, and the draughr hadn’t stood a chance. It was a straight up slaughter. Glancing at the bloody remains, Striker wondered if all their kills looked like this.

It would certainly explain the skimpy clothes, Striker thought. Any animal mutilated to this level wouldn’t have enough of a pelt left for anything but a loin cloth. They definitely weren’t the run of the meal bimbos he’d mistaken them for. No, they were fucking she-devils and it was entirely possible he was falling in love. If not love, then he was certainly feeling something. And in a very specific part of his body at that.

The lead She-Devil, completely covered in blood and gore, smiled sweetly at Dumbfuck as she said, “You’re turn to take point.”

Voodoo shook with silent laughter beside Striker as Dumbfuck gulped, nodded and refused to look at her. He mumbled something under his breath and waved for his friends to join him. He vomited halfway through the carnage, and he wasn’t the only one in his group that did.

They progressed another four levels without a problem, only losing a few unlucky players in the process. He barely stopped himself from celebrating when Dumbfuck finally died on the sixth floor, caught in an ambush that killed most of the dipshits in the process.

The party was decimated on the ninth floor, just as they were starting to feel overly confident that the dungeon wasn’t as difficult as Shiro made it out to be. The floor was large catacomb laid out like a maze. They entire party had worked its way onto the floor when someone near the exit triggered a trap. A metal grate slammed into place at the exit, and nearly every corpse on the level came to life.

The entire party was spread out as a result of the maze and the sheer amount of draughr warriors killed anyone that was isolated from the group. Once triggered, Striker started hurling fireballs down the corridors leading out of the room, hoping to buy those around him time to defeat the draughr coming to life.

Dean cast a few spells on himself, one that made him glow and another that turned his skin into scales, as positioned himself at one of the entrances, staring down a dozen draughr coming from a nearby room. It was actually a pretty bad ass move, though he’d never admit it to Dean, and a stupid one, which he’d tell Dean the next chance he got.

He almost summoned Fido, but the soldiers reacted with a deadly precision to defend the room and between the Doc and Ryan, or preacher as everyone else had started calling him, it wasn’t necessary. Instead, he hurled a few fireballs over his teammates shoulders, charring anything that tried to head down the tunnels in their direction.

The battle only lasted a few minutes, but it cost a heavy toll. The only survivors were the Rangers, his friends, Shiro, and two other solo players, a guy and a girl. It took him a second to remember their names, since he hadn’t really been paying attention during the introductions, but he thought the guy had called himself Astorath and the girl was named Alice. Ass and Alice.

After defeating the draughr on that level, he expected the final level would be harder. Then again, he expected to face a boss. The last thing he expected to find a room, a catacomb like the floors above, with an empty sarcophagus.

He’d never say it aloud, not within Dean’s hearing, but he had a bad feeling about it.