Picking it up, he went to tuck it into his belt only to realize he wasn’t wearing a belt. Or pants. He searched for something to wear, and for a better weapon, but found neither.
So I get to kill some random asshole while my cock’s just swinging in the wind. Fantastic.
He would have laughed at how ridiculous it was if he wasn’t still keenly aware of the quagmire he’d landed himself in. Daemons never offered straightforward deals. There was some catch to this, and the presence of goblins already hinted at one.
This wasn’t just some normal guy. It wasn’t even a noble in the common sense of the title. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, he’d been sent to assassinate a dungeon lord.
Keaton didn’t even know if that was possible. He’d fortunately never had the occasion to meet one face to face, since only people who could tap into Anima needed access to the ley lines dungeon lords presided over. There’d been one time where someone offered to pay him a laughably small sum of money to risk his neck by scavenging inside a dungeon lord’s lair, but he’d known better even then.
Dungeon lords and the monsters that served them were nothing to fuck with. Even if he didn’t know much more about them beyond that, it was enough. Yet here was, bare-ass naked, about to try and take one down on his own.
Maybe that was the entirety of the trick. She’d plucked him out of boiling water only to dump him straight into a lake made of lava.
He could run. Try and find a way out. But if she’d sent him to kill another guy who’d backed out of their deal — a dungeon lord, no less — what lengths would she go to for his sake? Keaton didn’t want to think about the dismal odds. He needed more information, then he could decide.
With his poor excuse for a dagger tucked into his palm, he carefully made his way into the hall, following the low flicker of light that denoted a larger chamber. The goblins had moved on, though their stench remained. Keaton had to swallow a wave of bile that rose high in his throat not once, but twice. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t wearing actual clothing — he’d definitely have to burn it after this.
Shadows began to dance along the walls, flowing with the draft that blew through the tunnel. There were torches nearby, and he continued toward them, stopping at the edge of the hall where it opened to a large, central chamber.
“Do understand that you are expendable. Should you disobey me, displease me, or in any way fall below my expectations, I will not hesitate to dispose of you.”
The voice sent an icy chill down Keaton’s spine. It was pure malice; evil made manifest. Each syllable raked over him, sparking a mix of both fear and anger. He’d never had such a strong reaction to anyone before, even people he rightfully hated. But this man…
From his position, Keaton was able to see a throne carved out of stone, small creatures with twisting horns and long, lashing tails building it out of what seemed like nothing. It rose above the room’s few other features, including some large stalagmites that were clustered around a small pool of water, a crevice from above dripping into it. His attention turned there first as the most obvious place to hide.
He wasn’t currently in danger of being seen where he was, so he took a few extra moments to take stock of the rest of the room, leaning out just enough to see. The biggest draw in the cavern — and the thing that was giving off the most light in its own right — was a large red crystal that pulsed almost like a heartbeat. It was chained across its center, those chains holding it in midair between the ceiling and the floor. If Keaton strained, he was able to hear a low hum of energy resonating from it; an almost captivating note, though it was just a single sound.
Not captivating enough to keep him from moving on, though, his gaze finally finding the source of that voice.
The man wasn’t what Keaton would call “puny,” but he supposed by the standards of a goblin he might be. He was tall and slender, his robes falling like silk over a wiry form. Small skulls adorned his belt, a mantle of bones settled on his shoulders, a crown of twisting horns atop his head. His face was made only of severe lines, long hair drawn back, a snarl practically etched into his features.
Well, he certainly looks the part.
“Answer me, girl. Tell me you understand.”
The rattle of chains drew Keaton’s attention. The dungeon lord yanked hard, that one tug enough to send whoever was attached to that chain to the ground.
Keaton wasn’t sure just what he expected to find on the other end of it, but the woman who just managed to catch herself before falling completely to the floor was not one of them.
There was no mistaking her for a normal human woman. Even as far back as Keaton was, as strange an angle as he had to view her from, it was obvious. Her body had the same shape as a woman — arms currently braced on the ground, knees tucked beneath her, her figure on full display thanks to the fact that she was only wearing two scraps of clothing.
Keaton’s attention wasn’t drawn to those features, though. Instead his eyes widened as he took in the small horns in a nest of tangled white hair, the patches of shimmering silver scales that covered part of her body, the silver wings that looked too small for her by half, the bones fused strangely and held close to her back, and the thick, silver tail that curled around her almost protectively.
A dragonkin?
He’d never seen one in person. Very few people ever had, and those that did rarely lived to tell the tale. They were reclusive creatures, living their entire lives in caves like this one. The last remnants of powerful, intelligent creatures that had long ago died out, though it was said they had far more in common with their draconic ancestors than humans.
The skeptic in him hadn’t even truly believed they were real. The logistics of a dragon ever having children with a human was… not something Keaton cared to think about. But here she was in the flesh, stunning in her beauty, yet…
Broken. Chained at the ankles and wrists, with a thicker manacle around her neck. That was the one the dungeon lord currently controlled, the chain connected to it wrapped tightly around his hand.
“Y-yes, Master,” she managed, her voice sweet, but a touch hoarse, as if she needed a drink of water to soothe her throat. “I understand.”
A dragonkin serving a dungeon lord? Were they really that powerful, or was there something else going on? Looking at her wings again, Keaton’s brow furrowed. They didn’t look like they worked at all, and it was hard not to wonder if they’d been broken.
If she’d been broken. He had his answer soon after.
“Anything I want, you will do. Any way I wish to use you, you will not fight me.”
He reached down to grope one of her breasts and Keaton felt bile well in his throat, along with a burning rage that sparked to life in his belly. It caught into a full blaze as she choked back a sob, burning out of control when the dungeon lord backhanded her, the impression of his hand red and angry across her cheek and jaw.
“Stop your whining, girl. It’s unattractive.”
There were times when Keaton felt guilty over killing his marks; when their morality had been as ambiguous as his own, their hopes and dreams just as real and relevant. But this man was pure evil, and he felt no such worries over the thought of killing him.
In fact, he reveled in it, a dark glee bubbling up from someplace Keaton thought he’d long ago buried.
Slipping into the chamber, he stuck to the shadows and crept behind the cluster of stalagmites. The dungeon lord’s back was to him, and it took little effort for him to make his way to that stone seat. He crouched behind it, the little imp creatures continuing to work as if he wasn’t even there.