Dungeon of the Old Gods: A Dark Dungeon Realm LitRPG Read online

  Instead, what busted through the wall was a minotaur, the one who unfortunately had not gotten stuck. As he ran, John heard the crash of stone as the massive thing completely plowed through a stone wall, opening up a brand-new door out of the library.

  If he’d been nervous before, he was absolutely terrified now. He had barely survived a blow from one of them before. Now, it was super-sized.

  What was worse was that the monster saw John heading towards the end of the hall, and John didn’t know if the dark room contained an exit. The fountain room hadn’t. If this minotaur saw him go that way and followed, he could be trapped with nowhere to go.

  Looking around himself, John did not have many options. He could run back down the hallway and into an adjacent room, but the now bigger and probably faster minotaur could beat him there and smash me to bits. So what do I do?

  Then came an answer. All along the hallway, there were torches embedded into the walls that had come alight when he entered. Maybe he could use one of them.

  Once again, John made a motion with his hand, drawing the attention of the monster. The minotaur obliged. If he was being hunted by smarter predators, John would have most likely died already. But the bloodthirsty single-mindedness of these minotaurs was working to his advantage.

  The bullman charged down that hallway, and it was as if the very earth were quaking. Once John was sure that it wouldn’t be able to stop, he grabbed one of the torches from the wall and lobbed it at the charging minotaur.

  The flame connected, smashing into the minotaur’s chest as blackened tar and oil spilled out, helping to spread the flames. The monster’s coarse, thick hair went up like a tinder box, but it didn’t stop the minotaur.

  Hurriedly, John dodged to the side, and headed straight towards the dark room. The minotaur crashed into the wooden door, screaming in agony he proceeded onward.

  Chapter 7: Further into The Abyss Below

  * * *

  Inside the darkened room, John struggled to see. He cursed himself for not retrieving another torch to light his path. The light of the burning minotaur cast a pale glow that barely stretched into the room, but what John could see looked like bars.

  Carefully, he reached out. John used his sense of touch where his vision failed. His fingers snagged against cold metal. Alright, those feel like bars. In fact, after he felt around a bit more, he realized that it was a cell, or at least a cage.

  In the next instant, a skeletal hand reached out and gripped his own with bony fingers. It took all his resolve not to scream. It was a grip he could not pull away from.

  John feeling panicked pulled away with his whole body. There wave another wave of energy. It was much smaller than what had spawned the minotaurs, and in response the torch on the wall of the room came to life.

  The light revealed what had grabbed him from within the cage. One of the undead. A broken hand lay unmoving at the monster’s feet.

  The skeleton looked relatively new. It didn’t have the discoloration one would expect to see in older bones. From a belt that dangled off the body John saw a key. I think that’s the one from my note then. The one who came before. John offered a silent prayer that the undead would eventually find comfort in whatever afterlife awaited it.

  John was in no immediate trouble. The skeleton was safely behind bars and the hand that gripped his own did not do so with much real strength. Still, if he wanted that key, he would have to go inside and face the undead.

  The cell wasn’t locked, just closed shut. The adventurer likely tried to hide in there. Maybe they died from blood loss? John had faced the undead before. They could be relentless and could easily overwhelm opponents with sheer numbers. They also possessed an unnatural strength. Still, if he could take down two minotaurs, one undead skeleton shouldn’t be much of a problem.

  John readied himself. I can do this, just stay away from its mouth and don’t let it bite me. He had just about been ready to open the door when the skeleton inside of it reached down and retrieved the key from its side with its remaining hand and pushed it through the bars, offering it to him.

  John was obviously stunned. The undead typically had one drive and one alone. To add to their numbers. But this one seemed different. The skull held no expression, the skin having long since faded. But still, it looked as if it were pensive. Did this undead just see another adventurer, as it had been in life? One who had a chance like it had had?

  Whatever the case, John would not pass up the gift. He reached out and retrieved the key from the bony hand. Once it was free of its burden, the skeleton stepped back and fell into a pile of bones. It was cursed. The skeleton had to wait to pass on the key.

  John almost thought he saw it smile beforehand. Now, there was only one minotaur left, and John had the key. He could make it. The light in the room suddenly started to increase. Why was it getting brighter in here?

  The second minotaur came to the doorway of the cell, still burning. There was no way it should still be alive, but here it was. John could see the blackened skeleton of its face and chest. The only thing driving it now was the thought of ending the one who it would eventually succumb to.

  It roared and charged forward. John retreated to the only place he could. The cell. He was inside with the door closed before the minotaur made it across the room. If he could just wait it out long enough for the thing to die he might be ok. But then it started bashing on the bars and that hope was gone.

  Even on fire and nearly dead the minotaur remained monstrously strong. One blow bent one of the bars inwards. A couple more like that and it’ll be free to take whatever revenge it wants on me.

  Even if it did die beforehand, John noticed didn’t matter. He saw the figure of the third minotaur darken the hallway. Whatever this one doesn’t finish, the other one will.

  John was trapped with no way out. He would die here, and probably become another undead skeleton, guarding the key until the next unfortunate soul was trapped within these walls, and the cycle would repeat.

  With no other course of action left to him, John prayed. He was not an overly religious man, but there were no other options. He prayed to the god of those who were lost begging for guidance. He did not expect to get an answer, but he did receive one.

  All around the cell, there was a new, pure, white light that had nothing to do with the burning minotaur. It soothed John and spread warmth through his body. A voice that was completely different from the one before spoke into the air.

 

  I who call this dungeon my own have heard your prayers my child. I have come for the lost. I am the god of the Ruthiare. The vagrant and lost warriors. He'rne

  Suddenly, an energy that was also different than the one before coursed through John. The while light brightened until he was forced to close his eyes, and there was the feeling of vertigo. When John opened his eyes again, he saw that he was sitting in the chapel.

 

  I have removed you from the danger you faced, my child. But there is little more I can do. Much of my power is sealed. Perhaps once you've grown in faith and helped to restore some of what has been sealed away, I can provide further assistance.

  “Thank you for answering my prayers. But I don’t know that I can make it out of here. The last creature will consume its brethren, and it will become too strong for me to stop." John explained

 

  I cannot help much, but I can help some. You may ask a boon of me. Three options I will give you, so that you may live to fight again. Tell me, would you seek to smite darkness, wherever it may roam? Do you seek to endure the injuries of the flesh, so that you may continue the fight? Or do you seek a shadow, to fight alongside you?

  After some careful thought, John had his answer. “I choose to smite darkness, great one.”

 

  A wise choice. Go forth and rend the dark. You will be able to smite the unclean. My blessings upon you.

  The divine energy of the god of lost w
arriors filled John once again, bringing his senses to high alert, as the roar of the final minotaur emerged from the room of the prison cell.

  That divine white light filled him, and then slowly faded as the sound of hooves drew closer. In his hands, John held his twin axes, but they were different now. Even though the godly light was gone, his axe still glowed with it, as if they were shining with holy attribute. No. They have become something else. They have become blessed axes.

  Feeling confident after being saved by the god, John walked from the chapel into the large library. Moments later, the final minotaur smashed through the door. He had grown too large to fit normally, but his strength allowed him to rip the wall as if it were tissue.

  Blood dripped from his mouth, and his once dark eyes were now the shade of blood. His horns curled and rubbed the ceiling, making sparks.

  John Younger was ready. His meeting with the god who had answered his prayer had filled him with a confidence that he had never felt before. He did not see a gargantuan of muscle before him, but a challenge to overcome.

  The minotaur roared, and John roared back. Together, they charged. John barely dodged the swinging arm the beast sent at him. The next swing was met by the blade of his blessed axes. The weapons glowing with that ethereal white light that meant it had been imbued with a holy attribute.

  Blade met flesh and it cut deep. Where before, he had needed to target the vital spot of a regular minotaur to deal any damage at all, his blessed axes bit into the flesh this more powerful as easily as the minotaur had torn through stone.

  The minotaur drew back its arm, roaring in pain. John stepped further into its reach and delivered a blow to its massive thigh.

  Before he could do more, the beast lashed out with both arms, one bloody, and John had to dodge backward or else be crushed.

  He distanced himself from the angry creature, and watched as it bent forward, its gigantic horns aimed toward his heart, and charged.

  John timed it perfectly, the adrenaline of battle coursing through him.

  He jumped into the air, right between those horribly sharp horns, and brought his axe down onto the minotaur’s skull with every ounce of strength his body possessed.

  There was a sickening crack and a squelch of pain from the monster as the blessed axe. hit home. The body of the minotaur fell to the floor and moved no more.

  John sheathed his weapons and made a sign with his hands, and sent a silent prayer to the god Her’ne.

  Around him, all was silent. He had the key. He had slain the minotaurs. John was fully alone. He expected something more to happen, for those who had tossed him into the dungeon to say something, or send a message. But no voice issued forward any message..

  Before he went to the locked wooded door, John took another trip to the fountain room, to ease the fatigue that had entered his body after the adrenaline had been purged. Finally, he stood in front of the door, inserted the key, and turned it.

  There was a satisfying click, and the door swung outward. John locked down. Before him was a staircase that led downward into the unknown darkness.

  John didn’t know if this was the end of the plans those who dwell below had for him, but he highly doubted it. Whatever was thrown at him next, John pledged to overcome. Just like he had overcome this.

  He did not know if the god of lost warriors would be able to help him further, but his blessed axes still glowed with pale white light, so he was at least better prepared than he had been before.

  Steeling himself for what may lay ahead, John Younger took one step downward and then another. He descended to whatever challenges may lay ahead, ready to face them head-on.

 

  Complete. You have survived the challenge of Castle Labyrinth. With your life and wits mostly intact. Let us see how this experience has changed or scarred you.

  Hmm.... you seem to have gained some of the minotaurs strength and endurance. Your wit and agility remain the same however. Ah. He'rne has given you his blessing. That will help you.

  STR = 3 - > 6

  WIT = 1 > 1

  END = 4 >7

  AGI = 2 > 2

  Abilities

  *Smite - Upon killing an unclean one, the spirit of what is holy will be stored within your body. Use this power to amplify the holy effect of any attack you should unleash on the unclean.

  Ailments

  *Fear of the Dark

  *Bruised Ribs

  Equipment

  *Blessed Axes, Simple Leather Armor, Sovereign Medallion *

  Items

  Book: The Book of Keys

  Torn Page

  Moldy Bread

  Minotaur's Essence x3

  Chapter 8: The Hall of the Gluttonous King

 

  Ah, this place. It has been some time since an adventurer was pushed to this floor. You're entering the 3rd Floor. The Hall of the Gluttonous King. Long may he reign. You will find this place... unsightly.

    How bad can it be after those minotaurs? John Younger crept down the stairs, the hair on his arms standing up as he processed the information. I don't like the sound of that. The door shut behind him. The only option remaining was to descend further down the stairs, deeper into the bowels of the dungeon.

    This time, he could at least see his surroundings as he stepped down the stairs. He was lucky that the white glow of his [Blessed Axes] gave a bit of illumination, just enough for him to see. Though there wasn't anything worth noting. The staircase was encased all around in grey stone.

    As he descended, John tested the walls, looking for a hollow point. Maybe I'll be able to find some sort of secret passage that lets me get out of here. But the stone remained solid against his touch. The only way out was down.

    John's leathery boots echoed heavily on the stairwell, the only sound besides his breathing on the otherwise silent enclosure. His heart beat faster and faster with loud thudding noises as he went, feeling as if he was heading into an even darker underworld. An underworld that would take him straight into the heart of darkness.

 

  Maybe you are. There are many mad things that lay within and madder still below. Come, come. I am waiting.

  John ignored the voice. He didn't recognize it. The stairs continued for a long time in an almost endless stretch. After a while, John came across something he had not been expecting in the slightest. A sensation that had become absolutely foreign to him.

    It was the smell of food, but not just any food. Hot food, succulent meat, cooked over a fire.

    Instantly his stomach began to grumble. Reminding him once again that he had not eaten since his drugged meal back at the tavern. But I have food, though don't I? He realized as he held out his hand and imagined the place the bread he had found before was stored.

    "Bread," he said, giving the command. The hardened wheat loaf appeared in his hand, and though it wasn't the food he was smelling, he bit into it hungrily knowing he would need his strength.

    Maybe when I find the source of that wonderful smell, I'll meet up with others like me. Others trapped by whatever cruel gods reside here.

    Still, John was cautious, and while eager to meet up with others, he was not a fool. With his blessed axes at the ready, he finished his descent as silently as he could.

    At the bottom of the staircase, there was a small landing where a wooden door lay open. There's nowhere else to go but through. Every door that he had come through thus far had locked behind him, urging him to delve deeper and deeper into the dungeon.

    He approached the door, cautiously, and looked in with an unobstructed view of the scene that awaited him.

    The door opened up into a large and spacious kitchen. In the center, there sat a huge copper pot over a roaring fire. The pot boiling with an unknown substance. John had smelled whatever it was that was cooking before, but he couldn’t place it now.

    Milling around the pot were
several people. Actual people. They looked dirty and were draped in rags, but they were people, nonetheless. Some of them were stirring the pot with large spoons, while others periodically dumped in chunks of bloody meat. While others carved what looked like turnips and potatoes into the pot.

    They did all of this in near silence. In fact, it looked as if they were going through as much effort as possible to be as quiet as possible. Have they lost their tongues? What possible reason do they have to be so quiet? Regardless. I need to take note and do the same.

    John took a few small steps forward in an effort to see them better. The only source of light in the kitchen seemed to be coming from the fire under the boiling pot. While further in the distance, a couple of scattered torches cast their flames. He held up one of his axes to try and see a bit better in the dimness as the door started to shut behind him.

    As John stepped through the door, his boot scuffed the stone underfoot. In the terrible quiet of the kitchen, it sounded like a clap of thunder and echoed.

  The head of the nearest human snapped toward John, and in the next instant, it was right in front of his own, illuminated by his blessed axes.

    It took all of John’s hours of training and practice to not make a sound. To not scream. He held his breath, lest it betray him.

    What stood in front of him was not human. Or at least not anymore. That’s not a man at all, that’s a monster.