“I suspect this dungeon might, perhaps, not be wholly abandoned.” Veska mused loudly.

“A shocking conclusion.” Drell agreed from beside her, arms folded as the duo took in the decidedly not-crumbling dungeon entrance. In direct defiance to Morilath’s words, the exterior -at least- was not at all what Drell expected from a supposedly abandoned ruin. Carved into the sheer cliff face, a massive archway with murals of combat carved upon it with painstaking accuracy led underground. 

“One might even be so inclined as to assume it is inhabited and well-maintained.” Veska continued. 

“You don’t say.” 

Drell sighed inwardly, drew her weapon and flexed muscles as the two stood in the shade before the sheer cliff-s face. An hour of flight had crossed much distance, and yet taken so much from Veska. The succubus stood rigid, unwilling to show outwardly how much the harsh sunlight had burnt her. Reserves of whatever lust energy she had siphoned from their last sexual encounter were at slow work to mend Veska’s cracked skin.  

“We could rest further if you require it.” She suggested.

Drell suspected pride had much to do with the stiff shake of Veska’s head.

“It is but a minor nuisance,” The succubus lied smoothly. “Gone in but a moment.”

The interior was not smooth rock, but much to Drell’s surprise, carefully carved rock tunnels. She narrowed her eyes at the murals that decorated the descent into the darkness. Precisely spaced along the tunnel’s roomy walls, the showed a minotaur in grapple-lock with a dragonling, a war-golem and even a land-wyrm. Further murals showed different creatures locked in battle before the lack of light faded all into a dull gloom.

A lack that Veska solved moments later. The succubus snapped her fingers and a multitude of orbs that radiated warm light appeared. They swirled around her form as she gestured and darted them away to hover around the duo.

“Versed in light magic?” Drell raised an eyebrow, carefully stalking through the sloped tunnel. “The surprises are endless with you around.”

“Though I wish it were so, I am not.” Veska sighed, following closely behind. “The paradox of false light. It is an illusion of light, yet you see it. Best not to overthink it or the magick might fail entirely.”

That was easy enough, Drell decided. 

“I find this place...unusual insofar.” Veska mused. “I served under a dungeon core for years, and they are often utilitarian to the extreme. The need for these murals fails me, as does the lack of traps so far.”

“I have no complaints,” Drell grinned. “Least favourite part of dungeon dives are always the traps.”

“Yes, I wholly understand your reasoning, yet, they are necessary to the core’s primary instinct. Survival. The amount of time and effort it could have taken to carve out these murals could have been better invested in another defensive room, a few more monsters or so on.” The succubus shrugged. 

“Or maybe not everyone is as hyper-focused on such things as you.” Drell challenged as she stopped short of a massive wooden gate. 

“Oh but cores are, Drell.” Veska threw back. “Make no mistake, I speak not from personal preference. In fact, I enjoy the luxuries and frivolities that come with life. Cores, however, are not strictly alive. You must have noticed this in at least some of the dungeons you’ve conquered.”

Not really,” The orc shrugged. “I fight my way through. The more the better. Don’t care enough about core psychology to give a damn.”

It was at this moment Veska realized her mental image of Drell was shifting even further away from the mighty dungeon conqueror she had initially thought her to be. Towards more of a battle-hungry, adrenaline-addicted berserker. One still worthy of respect, yes, but not the woman she had thought her to be. 

“Now then,” Drell rubbed her hands with glee. “Shall we see what unfortunate soul awaits?’

There were several. Hundred. 

Drell all but whooped in glee as they entered perhaps the last thing either of them expected to find. 

An underground colosseum welcomed the pair, a vast arena carved into a titanic cavern. Packed earth tainted with spilled blood and skeletons clad in rusted armor lay before them, lit by metal braziers scattered everywhere, still aflame. Raised stands were carved into the rock to either side of a pit that ringed the arena, filled with thousands of apparitions that cheered in anticipation of the bloodshed to come. 

Drell raised her arms to crowd and let them bathe her in glory. This was her element. Oh how she had sorely missed the adoration of the masses as she stood over broken foes. 

“It is not you they cheer for.” Veska shattered her thoughts with that one phrase, finger stiffly pointed across the vast arena. Drell’s gaze followed, and excitement grew within. A far more ornate gate than what they had entered through raised, and a metallic form strode out. The crowd’s approval amplified a hundredfold, a cacophony that threatened to deafen the orc and her companion. 

“Warforged.” Drell breathed in excitement. “By the Thrones, yes.”

“Of course it would only be an orc that is excited at the prospect of a mechanical death machine come to slay them.” Veska sighed. “I will be over here if you require assistance.” She waved at some vague direction Drell ignored, entirely focused on her opponent. 

It stood taller than her, bulky body forged of starmetal, lit by a ghostly light that spilled from its joints. It gleamed in the arena’s firelight, a sentient being forged solely for war. Cracks ran through its armored body, and it forsook weapons in favor of gauntleted claws. 

Drell raised her axe in salute, a begrudging gesture of respect to a creature whose nature mirrored her own. Born for battle, living only to slay and overcome until it could fight no more. Were the pleasures of flesh not so alluring, she might have chosen to transition into one herself long ago. 

An uncalled for spirit swirled into existence between the two. A translucent blue human, overweight and in mere wraps of clothing as he swaggered through the air.

“IN HER NAME, I COMMAND THEE FIGHT!” He boomed. 

Drell needed no further encouragement. 

She was across the ground in a heartbeat, only paused to twist aside as the warforced hurled a lit brazier at her. She was off-balance for but a second, and that was enough. The cruel dragon-mask of the warforged’s face filled her vision as it appeared before her, and the headbutt staggered her. Blood dripped from her nose over fangs bared into a smile. This was what she lived for. 

The crowd roared as the Warforged relentlessly applied pressure, heavy strikes barely deflected away by the slayer. With every surge of ghostly approval, its blows grew in weight. Drell went from deflecting them to dancing aside, eyes narrowed. With a leap back, she regained her balance and cleaved a path through the armored giant’s stomach. 

Only for it to immediately reseal. 

The crowd booed its disapproval, and a physical weight settled across Drell’s body. With a snarl, she surged forward and slammed the haft into the thing's face. It was toppled by Drell’s sheer force as the axe was spun overhead and buried into its chest. 

The blow did nothing.

Menace radiated from the being as it physically pulled itself up the battleaxe’s length. A swipe from those giant clawed gauntlets forced Drell back, lest she lose her head. Now disarmed, She warily watched as it stood, the weapon embedded through its body ignored. 

The crowd cheered their damned approval once more, and Drell swore she could see wisps of light that entered the warforged’s body. 

With a twist, she called the battleaxe back, and watched with satisfaction as it ripped through the immortal warrior’s body. If only for some faint measure of delight for herself, as it did little to even falter the being she faced. 

Phantasmal weight struck her being as the crowd voiced their displeasure. 

It struck Drell then. Strength came and went based on the crowd’s favor. This was not the world above where such things only mattered to morale. This was the dungeon’s domain, and she remained ignorant to its rules. 

Eyes narrowed, she retracted the weapon back into condensed form and spread her arms to the crowd. A scant few mutters of approval came, a small weight lifted from her shoulders. 

Bolstered by the certainty, the orc turned to meet her foe. They would do proper battle now, until one was rendered unable to fight further. 

A ferocious swipe missed her head by a hairs-bredth as Drell ducked beneath the blow. She grabbed the already-shifting arm and yanked it towards her. With a grunt, she wrapped her arms around the warforged’s form, spun and physically threw it through the air. An attack that did little to deter it as the being landed and immediately climbed back to its feet.

To inflict damage was not Drell’s purpose, however. The roar of approval that sent strength through her veins was. 

The succubus flitted in the corner, a faint smile on her face as she watched the orc trade blows with the war-construct. Battle-crazed as she might be, her companion was far from a brute. She had chosen wisely, it seemed. The orc was fast to strike, even faster to adapt. And a willingness to learn was one of the most valuable traits she had found in mortals over the years. 

Veska gazed on as Drell stopped a direct blow to the torso, now on equal strength with the warforged. She winced as another blindsided the slayer and sent her sprawled to the ground. Only to grab a lit brazier and smash it across the draconic metal face that bore down on her. The crowd’s approval came in waves now, ebbs and flows that strengthened either side as they hurled across the arena with vicious intent. 

The warforged was deathly silent, its actions and posture the language of violence. It contrasted harshly to Drell, who roared in insults and boasted every small victory. The apparitions lusted for brutality, hungered for a feast of violence, and they received. 

Until Drell grasped the Warforged by its throat and hurled it across the arena, over the edge and into the pit below. Strength slowly faded from her limbs as the crowd cheered in thunderous approval. A cascade of noise that slowly faded as ghostly forms winked out of existence. 

Until only one remained. 

The fat phantom floated up to Drell, spectral hands engaged in a slow clap.

“MOST EXCELLENT BATTLE, WORTHY ONE!” It boomed. “YOUR FIRST REWARD IS AT HAND.”

Ghostly hands were smashed together, and a fat purse materialized in Drell’s bloody hands. Coins jingled at the bottom, a not inconsiderate sum. 

“A GENEROUS DONATION FROM PLEASED PATRONS,” It bellowed hollowly. “MORE LIES DEEPER WITHIN.” 

“WE AWAIT THE BRAVE!” 

Came one last obnoxiously loud boom before the spirit took its leave. 

“Well,” Drell grinned as Veska drew near. “That’s some damn good incentives to dwell even deeper.”

“I cannot tell which you adore more,” Her succubus companion mused as she drew alongside the orc. “The coin or the carnage.”

“Both. Both are fine.”