The dungeon's darkness felt alive. Cold. Damp. Utterly silent. A blackness that swallowed the light. Darkness swallowed the light. Silence broke as the punishment beasts shrieked behind him.
He couldn't wait for his eyes to adjust. No time to assess the new threats deeper in the dungeon. He was a cornered animal. Caught in a deadly pincer movement. His only option was to fight.
He spun around. The Shadowfang Dagger was a cold comfort in his hand. The punishment beasts were fully formed. A horde of at least thirty shadow-spawned horrors. Twisted mockeries of the wraith-hounds from the Abyss. But larger. Faster. Their forms coalescing into humanoid shapes with long, scythe-like claws. The system's own personal hit squad. Their glowing red eyes were all locked onto him.
No room for strategy. No time for clever tactics. A battle of pure, brutal survival.
