The carnage was laughably one-sided, if petty things like fairness and honour could even be considered relevant to this slaughter. Half a horde of a dark-spawned hell pitted against a single half-breed. In all the books of Fate, the conclusion was forgone. Drell threw back her head and laughed in pure, unbridled joy as a cluster of slavering, purple-skinned brute demons discovered they could indeed be set on fire. 

The Wyrm-claw fitted upon her right hand spewed brilliant flares of dragonfire, a cacophony of shrieks elicited from snarling throats before her. Demons born in the spawning pits of darkened hells experienced the sensation of burning for the first time, their screams a chorus to her ears. 

They came through the shadowed halls of the lost temple, a horde of brutes bred for strength and overwhelming force. They roared into battle with blood-stained weapons raised, lungs emptying themselves with the sounds of sheer hatred. 

Drell gloried in every second of this Schlacth. Her iron boots crushed demonic skulls underfoot as she strode forward, wholly in her element amid the carnage. The steel claws that covered the left hand belched streams of flame, and a simple hilt that lacked a blade was held in her right. 

She stomped over a corridor of corpses and flames, the demonic horde that served as the dungeon's second line of defense withering before her. Dozens had killed themselves in their mindless charge into the dragon's maw, and one final batch remained.

Drell'akoshta Demonbane grinned in excitement as her purple eyes beheld what she had waited for. The sinewy, purple-skinned Fleshtearers were shoved aside, and a hulking, many-eyed Bloodletter slithered through their ranks. 

The Wyrm-claw was withdrawn, it's ethereal fire snuffed out as she rolled her shoulders and flicked her right hand. The hilt extended in an instant, becoming a staff as the steel fluidly molded itself. A surge of intent spiked through it's form, and two vibrating blades of energy extended to either side of the head. 

A screech that chilled blood and froze muscles rang along the corridor's rough black walls, flaring the runes transcribed upon them. The infected naga closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, dual scimitars flashing down to behead the intruder. It blinked for just a moment as it felt both hands go missing. 

A second too long. The power-axe tore through it a heartbeat later, and the demon shrieked as its mortal form became undone. The will and magicks that kept it bound to the mortal realm were cut in twain, a bond undone as it collapsed upon itself. Banished back to whatever pit it crawled from. 

It was to their simple-minded credit that the remaining demons did not break and run, then. Fury sounded its trumpets as they came streaming down the corridor, weapons raised overhead as bloodlust pounded in their eyes. 

They were put down all the same. The last one crumpled, missing half its body as tiny deformed wings beat in futility. Drell stepped from the corridor of carnage as her axe flickered out and folded back down into a hilt. She had, recently, come to the conclusion that she was utterly lost. Partly her fault, if she could admit so. She had not expected that a dungeon not yet a year old would be so sophisticated in it's layout and placement of spawning pits for minions. 

There was an inkling of thought in her mind that perhaps her usual method of taking the path of most resistance was not all cracked up to be. This, Drell mused on as she tromped down the obsidian-stone corridors, searching for the next spawn-pit to empty as she made her way towards the core. She idly cut through demonic statues she passed, making it a point to desecrate every idol in reach. 

She was, quite frankly, bored. The parts between one slaughter and the next were of little interest to her when clearing dungeons. A mental count put her body count in this place somewhere around two hundred in the past few hours, if memory served correctly. 

Boredom was alleviated as she came to a doorway set in the wall of yet another darkened corridor, runes and sigils to ward the hellspawn onwards carved in the stone surface. A wide grin split her face as Drell recognized the carvings and their purpose. 

One powerful leg was raised, and applied to the stone surface at breakneck speed. Steel booths and orcish strength met stone, and the carved rock gave way. 

A mass of cultists turned to face her, rising from tables and beds as they took in the hulking form in their doorway. Black horns that signaled a minotaur heritage swept from her skull, green skin and powerful curves gave away her orcish parentage, as did her human face. More than one pair of eyes lingered on large breasts that strained against leather armor, another sign of a minotaur parent. 

The collection of demon-worshipping humans, elves and various other races took a moment to realize they were unarmed. She was not. Screams rose by the dozens as they bolted towards tunnels and hiding places as Drell stomped into the room, glee writ upon her face. 

She emerged a moment later, a struggling elf carried over her shoulder. Her very own living map of the dungeon. Coercion took a few moments more, as did convincing the man that his safety and wellbeing were worth more than loyalty to the core. 

Directions successfully extracted, she slapped him on the ass and sent him scurrying away, back to his brethren. Pity they wouldn't have much of a dungeon left to worship by the time she was through. 

Directions to the core firmly in memory and mentally recited just to make sure, she set off at a brisk jog. The clangs of steel boots on rough rock rang through the area, alerting any creature nearby as to her presence. She considered this an absolute win, and the Wyrm-claw dispatched anything that hurled itself from the darkness with fiery disdain. 

She stormed into the dungeon guardian's arena, barreling through the high stone arches, a taurus demon pile-driven before her. Through sheer, brute strength, she forced it back and down as the corrupted minotaurling roared. A blow to the head toppled it to the side, collapsed into unconciousness. 

Drell righted herself, stretching in satisfaction and anticipation of a good throwdown to come. Smart as the dungeon was in it's layout and maze-like corridors, it followed the same instinctive formula as countless before it. The strongest being within its service was kept close, guarding the heart‐core within. 

And that was why Drell was here. To do battle, and grind her foes into dust. A tall figure dressed in gladiatorial armor descended from a perch high above. Torches flared to life with every beat of her wings, spilling forth light into the stone arena. She landed before a vestigial altar covered in runes, a spiked shield of iron and leather grasped within one hand, a cruel spear of cold steel in the other. 

Her skin burned like the setting sun, hues of red and pink dancing over her form. And what a form it was, Drell admired. She was a creature of nature, and said nature could not help but appreciate the feast for her eyes. Well-rounded, with curves and muscles in all the right places. A loincloth of embroided leather hid whatever was between her legs while showcasing wide hips, and a tight golden chestpiece of leather strained to contain perfectly shaped breasts. 

The succubus sashayed forward, a wink thrown at Drell as she caught her staring. 

"Like what you see, intruder?" She spoke in an attempted purr, her rough tone making it seem a bit off. "Surrender, and perhaps it could be yours, for a while." 

"Nice offer." Drell countered, hands rising to a combat stance. "Shame I don't like doing the surrendering myself."

"An honorable trait." The succubus acknowledged, a few lazy swings of her sword stirring the dead air within the altar arena. "Before you pass on from this mortal coil, indulge me with your name. You seem familiar, but I cannot place you." 

"Drell'akoshta Demonsbane." She announced with a lopsided smile. "The second part comes with the line of work." 

The demonesses face went flat in an instant. 

"Oh." The uttered. "Oh." 

"Yeah," Drell sighed. "I have that effect on people I try to get friendly with. Turns out you can't even meet a girl in some forsaken dungeon and take her out to dinner anymore." 

"Huh." The succubus continued. "Well, I'm fucked." 

"No, but you could be." Drell interrupted with a roguish smile.

The other woman tossed aside her armaments with a sigh and spread her arms. 

"Right, let's get this over with. Being at the bottom of Dreik'hoth's food chain until I get summoned again is gonna suck, but there's no use in prolonging it. Just make it quick is all I ask." 

Drell considered her offer. Part of her was mightily disappointed that she was not about to have a blood-pounding duel to the death. The other was busy thinking of something else. 

"Suppose I have a counter-offer," She mused, scratching her chin with the Wyrm-claw's warm edges. "You direct me to the core, I destroy it, and we head on back to my place. I know what I want, you don't mind giving it, and we see where the night goes from there."

"Fantastic plan," The succubus drawled. "There's just one teensy problem with that. Nothing passes through that," She pointed at an archway in the wall behind her. "Until there is only one being alive in this room. Even then, I am soul-bound not to tell you the actual location of the core and-" 

She shuddered as pink waves of pain suddenly flared from her chest, gasps of breath coming from her pain-wracked lungs. 

"Don't," She gasped. "Stab the wall behind the core pedestal exactly at knee height three paces left from the center. There is nothing hidden there." 

"Well," Drell grinned with a gleam in her eyes. "The problem you so kindly presented is easily fixed after all." 

The glowing energy axe appeared in her grasp a heartbeat later and she advanced, steel hilt held tightly with both hands. 

The archway into the core room stood empty, crackling with deadly energy. Ready to strike and overload the mind and body of anything that passed through it regardless of who died or triumphed within the guardian's arena. A final, cunning trap for any overconfident delver. 

It proved useless. Drell's axe cleaved through stone with ridiculous ease, vibrating as she cut her own doorway into the core room. A push of her boot collapsed it inwards, and she strode in, the room surveyed by her gaze. Ignoring the gaudy and obvious orb-heart pulsing with colors upon a pedestal, she made her way to the very specific spot the succubus had revealed. 

A single, mighty swing later, and the room went dark. Another swing came around, just to be sure. A voice, a whisper floated into her ear, an otherworldly confirmation that the core was indeed destroyed. 

With one final look around, Drell turned and sauntered from the room. She had a hot succubus waiting for her and a long night ahead if all went well. 

It usually did.